Over the next month, Clara ran the company as usual. Chris lingered like an unshakable ghost, appearing at the door promptly every day. Today he brought an expensive necklace, tomorrow a bouquet of fresh flowers with dewdrops, and the day after that, a fashionable designer handbag. Every gift was attached with an apology letter. Clara never opened them, sending them back unopened.
Until a gloomy afternoon, Chris stumbled in, saying, "Clara, you can blame me, resent me, ignore me... but all three children are sick, burning with a high fever, talking nonsense day and night asking for their mom... I really can't hold on anymore!" The bills in Clara's hand fell onto the table. "You brought all the children back? If the children are sick, you should call a doctor. Why are you coming to me?" Sh
