Rising from the Ashes The Heiress They Tried to Erase Novel

Chapter 87: The word "husband" made Maia fumble slightly, a cough escaping before she could stop it. She still wasn't used to the reality of their marriage.

After all, this marriage had an expiration date. Sooner or later, it would end.

Choosing silence, Maia said nothing.

Chris noticed the flicker of awkwardness crossing her face and chuckled under his breath. "It's fine. I'll be waiting." Later that afternoon, Maia carried several bags filled with fresh fruit and health supplements as she made her way toward the slums, heading for Ethan's home. From inside the house came the rough sound of coughing.

With a few quick taps on the weathered wooden door, she waited until it opened a crack.

A young boy peered out cautiously, his once-bright eyes dulled by a misty sheen.

Recognition flickered across his face when he saw her, and he pulled the door open wider.

Surprise lit up the boy's face as he exclaimed, "It's you?"

Offering him a warm smile, Maia said, "You saved me yesterday. I came to thank you properly. What's wrong? Not happy to see me?"

Frantically, the boy shook his head. "Come in, please!"

"Would it be alright if I came inside?"

Ethan shuffled by the doorway, biting his lip, his eyes red and glassy as if he had been crying.

Maia's gaze grew concerned as she glanced past him. "What's wrong?" Only a dim, narrow hallway met her gaze.

Speaking in a voice so faint that it barely carried, Ethan said, "There's someone sick inside. It might be better if you stay out."

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Before Maia could answer, a rough coughing fit burst from somewhere within the house, followed by a hoarse voice saying, "Ethan, who's out there?"

"I need to see for myself."

Maia frowned and moved past him into the house.

Ethan hurried after her, almost tripping over himself.

At the end of the short hallway, a cramped room appeared, with two beds, a battered cabinet, and a worn-out desk.

Chipped furniture filled the room, the walls peeling with old paint, and water stains spread across the ceiling, leaving it damp and gray.

It felt like a scene ripped straight out of a tragic TV show.

Truthfully, even the prison cells she once lived in had looked better than this.

No words came immediately to her.

A woman lay stretched out on one of the beds, her skin pale and her body painfully thin. She looked to be in her forties, maybe even older.

Setting her bags carefully on the floor, Maia moved toward the bedside.

The woman blinked at her with wary confusion. "And you are…?"

Speaking softly, Maia said, "I'm here to thank Ethan for what he did yesterday."

Hearing that, the woman turned her gaze to Ethan, who was hovering shyly a few steps behind Maia. Her face softened, a frail smile curling at her lips. "Ethan doesn't say much, but he's always had a good heart."

A few coughs rattled her chest again before she looked back at Maia, her tone tender. "What's your name, dear?"

"Maia Watson."

The moment the name left her lips, the woman's entire expression shifted sharply.

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