He Gave Me Hearing, Then Taught Me What Silence Really Means novel Chapter 92

Juniper heard his voice too and scrambled deeper into the car.

But even if she were reduced to ashes, Nelson Saint would still recognize her.

"Juniper?"

Josie blinked, looking from the retreating car to the spot where the dog had been.

Juniper was safely inside and immediately told the driver to go.

Nelson stood tall beneath his large black umbrella, his dark eyes fixed coldly on the departing vehicle.

It finally dawned on Josie that the woman was Juniper. She shrank back, a wave of fear washing over her.

She was terrified her mother would find out she had spoken to her.

She was terrified her mother would learn she had followed Juniper for blocks.

So, she burst into loud, theatrical tears.

Nelson suppressed a surge of irritation. He crouched down to look at the miserably crying child and gently tapped her nose. "What are you crying for now? I haven't even scolded you yet."

"Daddy, promise me you won't see that bad woman anymore, okay? I hate her."

What did a four-year-old child really understand about hate?

Nelson took her small hand, his tone dangerously neutral. "Why do you hate her?"

"She bit you, and she hit you."

A large umbrella shielding a small one—it painted a deceptively heartwarming picture.

Nelson pulled her into a hug and let out a low chuckle. "Kids don't know anything."

The image of a bedraggled Juniper flashed through his mind, and that familiar, gnawing frustration returned.

Because she had already been climbing into the car and had tossed her crutch in first, he hadn't noticed her injured leg.

All he saw was her soaking wet, dragging along some random stray dog.

She always managed to end up looking so pathetic over the most inexplicable things.

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