No More Mrs. Nice Wife (Eleanor) novel Chapter 784

Eleanor held her daughter close, her thoughts drifting back into old memories. After a moment, she said, “Your dad and I met at the hospital.”

“Oh! So who liked who first?” Evelyn asked, sounding like a pint-sized grownup.

Eleanor’s reply was a bit stiff. “Mom liked your dad first.”

“But Daddy liked Mommy too, didn’t he?” Evelyn pressed, her curiosity undimmed.

Eleanor sighed softly. “It’s getting late, honey. How about we save the chatting for tomorrow?”

“Alright,” Evelyn agreed obediently. She picked up a rag doll and began whispering stories to it, lost in her own little world.

Eleanor closed her eyes, and memories crashed over her. She was seventeen, hurrying through those bleach-scented hospital corridors, arms full of paperwork. She ran straight into Ian, and everything she was carrying spilled across the floor.

She’d been a flustered teenager, cheeks burning, while Ian—just nineteen—was so calm and collected he seemed older than his years.

After that day, she stopped studying at the school library. Instead, she spent her afternoons in the hospital’s tiny reading nook, where Ian always studied, too. She read medical texts; he had his nose buried in business school materials.

Ian had that distant, aristocratic air about him, while Eleanor was just an ordinary girl, fresh out of high school and about to start her first year at Ashford Medical.

Her father happened to be the lead doctor on Ian’s father’s medical team.

One day, needing her father’s signature, Eleanor pushed open the conference room door. Inside, Ian sat at the head of a long table, surrounded by the world’s top medical experts. Her father led the discussion about treatment options for Ian’s dad.

She froze in the doorway, overwhelmed by the crowd of brilliant doctors. But her gaze landed on Ian—white shirt, brow furrowed, exuding a maturity well beyond his age.

That day, her father finally made formal introductions. “This is my daughter, Eleanor—she just got into Ashford Medical,” he said, then turned to her, “Ellie, this is Mr. Goodwin’s son, Ian.”

Ian stood, easily half a head taller than Eleanor. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

“Mommy, I have to go potty.”

Eleanor’s reverie was broken by her daughter’s urgent voice. She looked down at Evelyn’s sweet, expectant face and, for a moment, felt utterly dazed. Her daughter was the one thing in her life she never, ever regretted.

Once Evelyn was tucked back in bed, Eleanor glanced at the clock—it was late. Not wanting her little girl to be tired for school, she gently patted Evelyn’s back to help her drift off. Before long, Eleanor herself began to doze.

She opened her eyes.

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