Chapter 210: The Old Woman Stamped Her Foot Anxiously

"Old man, don't talk nonsense. Nolan isn't that kind of person. Nolan, tell your father it's not true." The old woman stamped her foot anxiously.

Nolan Brooks remained silent as he walked toward the backyard, leaving no clear answer.

Watching her son's retreating figure, the old woman's heart pounded. "Old man, with Nolan reacting like this... could he really have such thoughts?"

Walter Brooks squinted, taking a deep drag from his pipe. Amid the swirling smoke, his expression was unreadable.

"We'll arrange the marriage tomorrow. We can't delay our eldest's wedding any longer." He exhaled a smoke ring. "If he could say such things today, there must be something on his mind. Don't I know my own son? He's probably taken a liking to some young wife in the village."

The old woman was still confused. "That can't be. Nolan never even goes near women."

If she could see her son interacting with a woman, she'd actually feel relieved. Their eldest son, named Nolan, had a temperament as hard as stone—all he knew was work. Raising pigs, delivering livestock—he handled everything at home. Of their three sons, he was the most devoted to the family.

Walter Brooks shook his head. "That's exactly what makes it dangerous. We need to get him married quickly. Once he's sharing a bed with his new wife, all those thoughts will disappear."

The old woman nodded repeatedly. "Alright, we'll go first thing tomorrow."

For their son's sake, the old couple resolved to act swiftly.

In the backyard, Nolan worked up a sweat, but the fire inside him only burned hotter. The frustration he'd been holding since morning now seared through his entire body.

As he worked, the image of Rose handing him shoes kept flashing before his eyes. Just the memory of touching her hands sent an electric current through him, leaving him restless and feverish.

He labored until nightfall, hastily ate a few bites of food, then wandered to the village reservoir to sit and brood.

* * *

All three children were fast asleep.

The courtyard gate was locked.

Rose sat cross-legged on the heated brick bed, a plate of peanuts and a bottle of apricot blossom liquor in front of her. The liquor, leftover from entertaining the mayor days ago, had a sweet, smooth taste that didn't burn the throat.

She'd already drunk nearly half the bottle. Her body felt light, and the heaviness in her heart had finally eased somewhat.

Suddenly, the courtyard gate creaked. Rose pulled a pair of scissors from under her pillow and staggered to the door.

"Who is it?" Since her divorce, idle men often came knocking at night.

"It's me. Nolan."

Rose relaxed and unlatched the door.

"Nolan, what brings you here so late?"

As the door opened, the strong scent of alcohol hit him. Nolan frowned, closed the door behind him, and steadied the swaying Rose.

"What are you doing drinking at this hour?" he scolded, guiding her back inside.

The liquor bottle on the low bed table was more than half empty. Rose, her eyes bleary with drink, pointed to the opposite side. "Nolan... you came at the perfect time... Let me toast you... Thank you for looking after me and the kids..."

She raised the cup and drank, not noticing Nolan didn't even have a glass.

Nolan grabbed her wrist. "Stop drinking!"

Rose pulled her hand free. "Let me drink... My heart feels so heavy..." She downed another cup, and suddenly, tears streamed down her face.

"When I married Darren, I wanted to make a good life... Who knew he'd turn out to be such a monster..." Rose slurred through her story—from being forced into marriage to the beatings and humiliation, to the moments she'd nearly given up on life.

Nolan's fists clenched until his knuckles cracked, veins bulging on his forehead. He'd never known Rose had suffered so much. If not for the alcohol, she likely would have carried these words to her grave.

How could such a good woman end up with such a beast?

As Rose spoke, she finally collapsed onto the table, drunk. Nolan carefully carried her to the heated brick bed and tucked her in.

By the dim lamplight, he studied the lines on Rose's face. He still remembered her as the most beautiful girl in the village. Now, life had worn her down so much he'd barely recognized her when they first met again.

How had that once-vibrant flower withered to this?