Scum Daddy Dreams Of Stealing My Mommy!
Chapter 258: I... I’m Not Wearing Clothes

Chapter 258: Chapter 258: I... I’m Not Wearing Clothes

Having finished the soup, Amelia glanced at her wristwatch. It wasn’t even noon yet, and she had some time to spare, so she decided to see her good deeds through to the end.

"Hey, are you going to turn over or not? The caretaker said you can’t just keep lying like this, you need to air out a bit." After dropping her wrist, she looked at the man who appeared more lethargic after his meal and asked coolly.

Christopher frowned slightly, uttering no word, clearly reluctant.

Amelia couldn’t be bothered to argue with him and bent down to pull at his blanket.

Unexpectedly, he reacted swiftly. His cold, hard fingers, surprisingly strong, clutched the blanket tightly.

"What, what are you doing!" he asked urgently.

"As a matter of fact, I’m helping you turn over!"

"No... no need." He was awkward, though blind, his eyebrows were still downturned, not daring to lift.

Amelia furrowed her brows, her patience exhausted. "Christopher Hart, don’t think I have all day to dilly-dally with you! If you won’t cooperate with the treatment, I won’t care whether you live or die!"

He muttered, "I... I didn’t ask for your help."

"What did you say?"

Her tone suddenly rose, carrying a dangerous air, and Mr. Hart immediately cowered, not daring to repeat his words, whispering faintly, "I... I’m not wearing, clothes... just, just wait, let the caretaker help me turn over later..."

Tsk—

Amelia straightened up, arms crossed, gazing leisurely at his handsome face blushing to the tips of his ears, finding it utterly astonishing.

"I can’t be seeing this right? Mr. Hart can be shy too?"

"..."

"You are so fierce to the caretaker, how do I know that later when they return, you will cooperate?"

Mr. Hart pursed his lips, hit the nail on the head with her comment, and fell silent once more.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t see, and was injuries all over, indeed lying down too long felt as painful as being pricked by needles.

Yet, to be uncovered and turned over by others in front of strangers was more humiliating than death to him.

Thus, every time the caretaker tried to turn him, he would lash out fiercely.

Until his strength gave out and he faded into unconsciousness with a hazy consciousness, only then could the caretaker manipulate him.

But when he was awake, he would never allow others to touch him no matter what.

"Guessed right, didn’t I?"

"Anyway, it’s not necessary."

He wouldn’t reveal such vulnerability even in front of the caretaker, let alone in front of the woman he deeply loved.

This embarrassment was worse than death by a thousand cuts.

"Christopher Hart, we’ve grown up together since we were kids and been married for three years, what part of your body haven’t I seen? What’s there to be shy about now?"

"Amelia Garcia, you!" His handsome face reddened even more, sputtering in his anger, "For a woman to say such things, aren’t you being vulgar?!"

Amelia provoked him on purpose, "Even if I were to be vulgar, I wouldn’t choose you."

"You, don’t go too far!"

"I am exactly this excessive, what can you do to me? Get better quickly if you can, continue acting tough and commanding!"

"..."

He went silent, and Amelia had no time to keep nagging, she bent down again and pulled at the blanket, "Let go of the hand!"

"It’s different," the man muttered darkly, still gripping the blanket with a pained look on his face.

"Huh?" Amelia didn’t understand, she frowned looking at him, "What’s different?"

His face turned even more embarrassed, red as if dripping blood, "It’s different now from before... My body now, it’s ugly, I’m afraid of scaring you..."

He really cared about this.

It was hard to imagine, Christopher Hart, who used to be arrogantly overbearing, was now so overly sensitive.

"If you don’t turn, and end up with bedsores, rotting, stinking skin, and maggots, it will be more than just ugly—it will be disgusting and might even kill you."

Although Christopher was blind, his brain’s imagination was still intact.

Those scenes she painted were so gruesome that it made his skin crawl, breaking out in anger, "Amelia Garcia, why have you become so venomous?!"

"Is this venomous? I was never as venomous as you used to be!"

The man glared, doubtful.

Amelia lost her patience, and took action herself, prying open his fingers clasping the blanket and flipped the blanket over before he could protest.

Christopher stopped resisting—indeed, at this point he was like a fish on a chopping block, unable to resist.

He tightly shut his eyes, somewhat like the ostrich burying its head in the sand.

Amelia, seeing the "exposed" male body in front of her, was also momentarily stunned.

It turned out not only was his face much thinner, but his body had also become nothing but skin and bones.

_muscles that were once strong were now barely discernible, his abdomen was wrapped in layers of gauze, still oozing blood, and tubes connected his heart to the medical equipment by the bed, monitoring his vital signs constantly.

His arms, shoulders, and legs had bruises or wounds of varying degrees, some shallow and faded to a light yellow, some severe and still bruised and bloody._

It looked as if... his entire body was shattered.

Upon reflection, falling from the seventh floor was indeed enough to shatter a person.

The fact that he survived was truly a miracle.

Though Christopher couldn’t see, he could feel her gaze lingering on him for a long time.

Previously, in such situations, he would definitely have made flirtatious remarks to take advantage of it.

But now, he...

Being in such a weak state, exposed with nothing left to hide, felt as if his body was on fire.

"You... have you seen enough? Benny said you’d have many suitors, you even have a boyfriend, how come—have you not seen a man’s body in many years?"

He spoke awkwardly and coldly, intentionally masking his embarrassment with ferocity.

Amelia Garcia snapped back to reality, realizing tears were rolling down her cheeks, and hurriedly wiped them away with her hand.

"Who’s looking at you? I just see so many injuries on you, I don’t know where to start, afraid I might accidentally touch a vital spot and send you right back to death’s door," she retorted fiercely, bending over to carefully yet forcefully shift his body.

Although Christopher Hart’s body could not move, his senses were still intact.

Her touch was warm, soft, and delicate, the feeling starkly evident, causing him to instinctively furrow his brows and tense up slightly.

Amelia noticed his tension and glanced at his profile, wanting to say something but ultimately holding it back.

Finally managing to turn him on his side, her gaze shifted and saw that his back was also covered in bruises, with a long wound along his waist.

She remembered the day he fell, landing multiple times on residents’ awnings or security nets—although they broke his fall, they also caused numerous injuries.

"Is it okay to lie on your side like this?"

The man, knowing she was behind him, let out a slight sigh of relief and spoke in a hoarse voice, "Put a pillow under..."

Otherwise, once she let go, he would roll back again.

"Oh..." Amelia responded, quickly grabbing a pillow from the chair, carefully placing it between his body and the mattress for support.

A seemingly simple movement of turning over had him sweating profusely in pain, beads of sweat covering his forehead.

Yet he silently gritted his teeth, making no sound.

After settling everything, Amelia quietly breathed a sigh of relief, walked around the end of the bed, and returned to his front.

Upon seeing his closed eyes and frown, enduring the pain, her heart tightened. She looked him over fearfully, "You... what’s wrong? Did I hurt you with my handling? Should I call the doctor? I’ll go right now—"

"Come back!" He called out just as she turned.

Amelia turned around, "You..."

"It’s nothing, I have many wounds, turning over naturally hurts, it’ll be better after a while," he explained with heavy breaths.

Amelia didn’t speak, standing there dazed, wanting to do something for him but not daring to move recklessly.

After thinking, seeing him drenched in sweat, she quickly turned around, "I’ll get a towel to wipe off your sweat."

Rushing to the bathroom, she finally took a deep breath, letting her heart pound and her ears buzz.

At that moment, she realized why he was so irritable, never showing a happy face to anyone.

Apart from the blows and frustrations caused by blindness, memory loss, and immobility, it was also because of the constant pain, wasn’t it?

Under such circumstances, who could remain in a good mood?

Caught in her thoughts for a moment, she came back to her senses, took a towel, soaked it in hot water, and returned to his bedside.

The sound of water splashing echoed softly in the basin.

Christopher Hart lay on his side, feeling the sound right beside his ear, mingling with the woman’s light and pleasant scent lingering around him.

After so many years, she had grown from a young girl to a mother of three, yet her scent remained the same.

As elegant and alluring as orchids, so enticing it made one want to breathe it in more deeply.

"This is a hot towel, I’ll wipe your face first, and then see if I can wipe down your body a bit later..."

He smelled of disinfectant, having laid there for days without proper washing, which must be very uncomfortable.

Christopher Hart remained silent, letting her meticulously tend to him.

Amelia stayed quiet as well, but her mind was racing.

The towel gently swept across his handsome brows, high nose bridge, sexy thin lips, and chiseled jawline, almost as if she was painting.

Neither spoke, and the temperature in the room subtly increased, the atmosphere turning inexplicably intimate.

After wiping off his sweat with a hot towel for a bit, his face looked rosier and more spirited.

Having wiped his body down once, Amelia was so tired she could barely straighten her back.

Brushing the hair at her temples, she quietly massaged her waist and moved her neck from side to side.

"You used to avoid me like the plague, afraid that I would entangle you further. Now doing all this for me, what does it mean?" His deep and slow voice filled the room, questioning her intentions.

Amelia paused her movements to soothe her posture, her gaze resting on his face.

After a moment, she calmly responded, "It means nothing. You don’t listen to anyone else, but at least you listen to some of what I say. So, I came to care for you reluctantly, as a way to accumulate some good deeds."

"Is that all?"

"What else could it be?"

"Oh, I understand..."

He responded softly, closed his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and then he meditated, staying quiet.

Amelia felt that he seemed angry again.

But this time, he did not vent his anger; instead, he sulked silently.

She understood what his questions meant earlier.

But how could she respond?

Still love him?

It didn’t seem so.

Yet she definitely couldn’t let go, couldn’t remain uncaring.

She told herself it was just accumulating good deeds, for the sake of the children, doing more good deeds was always beneficial.

Carrying the basin to the restroom, she returned shortly.

It was noon already, she needed to take the children to lunch, and she had work to handle in the afternoon.

So, she had to leave.

Grabbing her bag, seeing that he seemed to be sleeping, she hesitated and then called softly, "Hey, Christopher Hart?"