CHAPTER 68: STUBBORN WOMAN

The silence that followed was thick. Sandra’s hands curled into fists at her sides, her nostrils flaring. For a moment, Rachel thought she might argue again, but then Sandra exhaled sharply, snapping her gaze toward Rachel with a glare that could have cut glass.

"Fine," Sandra said through clenched teeth. "You’re lucky he spoke for you. But hear me now—" She took a deliberate step closer, her voice low, cold, and venomous. "If anything like this happens again, if you let him so much as stumble under your watch, you won’t walk away so easily. You were hired to care for him, so do it properly."

Rachel held her ground, though her pulse raced. She refused to let Sandra see her fear. "I already am."

Sandra’s eyes narrowed further, but she didn’t reply. Instead, she turned on her heel and walked to the door, her heels striking the floor in clipped, angry beats.

The door shut behind Sandra with a sharp click, her words still ringing in the air like the aftershock of a storm. Rachel stood frozen, her chest tight, her fists clenched at her sides.

The sting of the granddaughter’s accusations still burned in her ears. She had thought she was used to unfair words — Mr. Camden’s sharp tongue had given her plenty of practice — but this had cut deeper. Perhaps because Sandra’s words carried judgment without even the smallest attempt to understand her.

Rachel had done everything she could. And yet, in Sandra’s eyes, she had failed.

Her gaze drifted back to the man in the bed. He looked smaller than usual against the weight of the covers, his skin pale, his breaths measured. The doctor had assured her moments earlier that he was stable, but the image of him collapsing, his knees giving out, his lips turning white, still refused to leave her mind.

"Come here," came his voice, soft but firm.

Rachel startled slightly, not expecting him to still want to talk to her. He was still recovering his strength, and she thought he might have slipped back into unconsciousness. But his eyes were open now, watching her with a kind of steady determination that didn’t match his weary body.

She hesitated, her feet rooted for a moment. Then, drawing in a slow breath, she crossed the room and stood beside his bed.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then, with effort, Henry shifted his hand from atop the blanket and reached toward hers. His touch was rough, calloused, but warm as it folded over her smaller hand.

"I owe you an apology," he said at last, the words low.

Rachel blinked. "What? No—"

"Yes." His tone cut her protest short. "I put you in a position I had no right to put you in. If I’d just... maybe listened to you earlier, none of that scene would’ve happened. And Sandra—" His jaw tightened. "She shouldn’t have spoken to you like that."

The weight of his words settled over her. Rachel’s throat tightened, and she looked down at their joined hands, unable to stop the heat rising in her chest. "You don’t have to apologize. Really. I should’ve done better. Maybe I should’ve stopped you sooner—"

Henry huffed a weak laugh. "Better? You’ve been nothing but better. Stubborn as a mule, yes, but better." His lips quirked faintly. "And let’s be honest — no one stops me when I set my mind to something. You tried, more than once. It isn’t your fault I didn’t listen."

Rachel opened her mouth, then closed it again. He was right, though she hated admitting it. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips despite her lingering guilt.

"Well," she said softly, "thank you... for standing up for me. I didn’t think you would. It sort of meant a lot to me."

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Stubborn woman, how could I not? You had the audacity to challenge Sandra, of all people. No one ever dares challenge that girl. And there you were, unyielding as a rock."

Rachel gave a short, breathy laugh. "I didn’t want to say anything. I really didn’t. But the way she was talking to me..." She shook her head, her brows knitting. "It was like I was beneath her. Like I didn’t matter. And she’s about my age, isn’t she? Why should I stand there and take that?"

Henry chuckled, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. "You should have seen the look on your face. The fire in your eyes was sharp enough to cut steel. You just reminded me of myself in my younger days."

Rachel snorted softly. "I wasn’t trying to be fiery. I just... didn’t like it. That’s all."

His hand gave hers a gentle squeeze. "You don’t have to explain. But don’t take Sandra too much to heart. She’s... complicated." He paused, his expression softening in a way Rachel hadn’t seen before. "Sandra is a good girl, truly. What you saw today wasn’t cruelty. It was just her fear. She thought she was losing me like she lost her mother to illness. Fear makes people lash out and say things they don’t mean."

Rachel exhaled slowly, letting the words sink in. She could see the truth in them, though the sting of Sandra’s voice hadn’t quite faded. "Maybe so," she said quietly. "But that doesn’t make it right."

"No, it doesn’t," Henry agreed. "And I’ll speak to her. But for now... let me apologize on her behalf."

Rachel’s eyes flicked back to him, startled. "You really don’t have to—"

"I do," he insisted, his tone firm despite his weariness. "She was wrong. And she’ll come around, eventually. Give her time. She’s protective of me, perhaps too much so. But I’d rather she love me fiercely than not at all."

Something in his voice softened Rachel’s edges. She looked at him properly then — really looked — at the man who both exasperated and baffled her daily. He was stubborn, yes. Infuriatingly so. But beneath it, there was a heart that cared deeply, even when it didn’t show in the ways she expected.

Her lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "You know," she said lightly, "for someone who swears he doesn’t need anyone, you’re awfully lucky to be surrounded by people who care so much."

Henry chuckled, his shoulders shaking faintly. "Stubborn woman," he murmured, though the words lacked any real bite. "You’re just as impossible as I am."

Rachel arched a brow, her smile widening despite herself. "Takes one to know one."

That drew a real laugh out of him — rough, tired, but genuine. The sound filled the room, easing the heaviness that had lingered since his collapse.

For the first time since she’d stepped into his life, Rachel didn’t feel like just an outsider filling a role. She felt... seen. Not merely tolerated, but valued.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy anymore. It was steady, gentle, almost companionable.

And Rachel thought, as she watched him settle back against the pillows, that perhaps, they were starting to understand each other more than she’d hoped for.