No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 239

Eleanor gently wiped her daughter’s tear-stained cheeks, murmuring soft words to soothe her.

The commotion upstairs drew Joslyn, who found Evelyn in tears, wailing for her father. The sight pulled at Joslyn’s heart.

She’d once believed that Mr. Goodwin doted on his daughter so much that, even if his love for Eleanor had faded, he would at least hold the marriage together for the sake of giving Evelyn an intact family.

Clearly, she’d been wrong.

“Evelyn, how about Aunt Joslyn takes you to school today?” Joslyn offered, her voice warm and coaxing.

“No! I want Daddy!” Evelyn pouted, arms crossed tight against her chest, her lower lip trembling.

Eleanor bit her lip, her resolve wavering. After a moment, she made a decision and knelt down to meet Evelyn’s eyes. “How about this: I’ll ask Daddy to pick you up from school today, all right?”

Evelyn’s eyes widened hopefully. “Will Daddy come home and have dinner with me too?”

Eleanor hesitated, the longing in her daughter’s gaze making it impossible to say no. She nodded.

A smile broke through Evelyn’s tears, and she nodded back fiercely. “Okay!”

After dropping her daughter off at school, Eleanor sat alone in the car for a long time before finally pulling out her phone.

She hesitated, then dialed.

“Hello.” Ian’s deep voice came through, the background quiet—he was probably at home.

“Do you have time this afternoon? Can you pick up Evelyn from school?” Eleanor asked, keeping her tone businesslike.

“I’ll pick her up,” he replied without hesitation.

Hearing his answer, Eleanor ended the call, took a steadying breath, and started the car.

She held firm to the boundaries of their post-divorce lives, never letting the conversation stray beyond what was necessary.

At the lab, Eleanor set her mother’s old donation records on the desk. The pages were yellowed at the edges, but her mother’s signature at the bottom remained bold and clear.

She ignored them, walking straight ahead. After days of being the talk of the building since the divorce, she’d grown used to the stares.

In the main lab, Faye was chatting and laughing with two assistants. As soon as Eleanor entered, Faye’s smile vanished.

“These numbers aren’t right,” Eleanor said without preamble, placing the file on the workstation. “I need the original data—now.”

Faye folded her arms. “That is the original data.”

“Petri dish eighteen had contamination issues last time. Why does the report say it was successful? And this electrophoresis chart doesn’t match the sample numbers at all.”

The room fell silent.

Faye’s face went pale, her fingers twisting nervously in her lab coat. One of the assistants tried to interject, “It’s not Faye’s fault. Maybe… there was a mistake when writing things down.”

“In research, there’s no room for ‘mistakes,’” Eleanor said, her voice calm but firm. “Especially in work that could affect people’s lives. We can’t afford to be careless.”

Faye’s head snapped up, her tone defensive. “What are you getting at, Eleanor? Are you questioning my competency?”