The Accidental Son-in-law Is A Genius

Module 4 - HIS WIFE, WINIFRED

Back at the house, Clarke fell into his routine as if no hospital visit or familial confrontation had ever occurred. The soft sound of his tasks filled the rooms as he went about scrubbing the floors, dusting the furniture, and putting the kitchen back in order. 

By evening, Clarke prepared a light meal and set aside a portion for Michelle’s medicines, knowing she’d need food before taking them. After packing everything neatly into a plate and a tray, he slipped out of the kitchen and made his way up to the woman's room.

When he stepped into Michelle’s room, she was seated upright. Seeing him, a slight scowl appeared on her face. She quickly shifted her face to the untouched glass of water beside her.

“What are you doing here again?” Though she was weak, her voice was sharp.

Clarke approached with his usual calm. “Ma, I noticed you haven’t had much to eat today. The doctor mentioned you’d need food to take your medicines properly, so I brought you something light.”

Michelle’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve eaten enough. Why are you getting so close to me?”

Unfazed, Clarke pulled a chair from the corner closer and sat. His posture remained relaxed, determined. “I know you’ve been given medicines, but I think you still need a proper massage to alleviate the pain.”

Michelle scoffed. “What do you think you are, the president of doctors? Who told you I needed anything more than rest and my very own alone time?”

“I didn’t need anyone to tell me,” Clarke replied, his tone firm yet respectful. “I know what I saw earlier. Pain like that doesn’t just go away with pills. Let me help.”

Before Michelle could retort, the door swung open, and Mrs. Nate marched in. “I saw you sneak in. What is going on here? Clarke, why are you sitting there like you own the place? Michelle doesn’t need your interference.”

“I’m not interfering,” Clarke replied. Hello stood up but, he also maintained his ground. “I’m trying to help.”

“Help?” Mrs. Nate folded her arms, her expression incredulous. “You? You’re more likely to make things worse.”

Again? 

Ignoring her, Clarke turned back to Michelle. “Ma, I’m not asking for permission. I’m asking for trust.”

Michelle opened her mouth to argue, but Clarke gently took her hand, carefully inspecting her wrist. Despite her protests, his touch was light and deliberate as he began applying pressure to the nerve points along her arm.

“This is ridiculous,” Mrs. Nate muttered, though she didn’t stop him.

Michelle hissed at the initial discomfort, but as Clarke continued, her expression softened ever so slightly.

“You’re stubborn, I’ll give you that,” Michelle muttered, her voice begrudging but no longer sharp.

“It’s a family trait,” Clarke said lightly as a faint smile tugged at his lips.

Mrs. Nate huffed in frustration. She hated that they were getting close. “If you’re going to waste your time, at least don’t mess things up further.”

Clarke didn’t respond, focusing instead on ensuring Michelle was as comfortable as possible. For once, his resolve paid off.. not in words of gratitude, but in the simple fact that neither women stopped him.

---

Clarke was still carefully kneading Michelle’s arm when the main door downstairs slammed. He barely registered the sound. His focus was entirely on the pressure points under his fingertips. 

But then a sharp voice pierced through his concentration, shouting his name.

“Clarke!”

Startled, he froze mid-motion, glancing toward the doorway. Mrs. Nate rolled her eyes at the disruption, muttering something under her breath about "useless distractions." 

Clarke sighed and stood.

“I’ll be back shortly, Ma,” he said politely. That earned him a half-hearted grunt from Michelle, who waved him off like she was doing him a favor.

Clarke made his way to the living room, where his wife, Winifred, stood with an air of impatience. She had changed out of her work attire into a silk robe, her heels clicking on the tiled floor as she paced. Her expression was a mix of irritation and disdain.

“Didn’t you see me when I came back?” she snapped, glaring at him.

Clarke blinked, clearly taken aback. “I—uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t really notice,” he stammered. He gestured vaguely toward his hands, “I was busy with Mother’s massage, trying to help her feel better.”

Winifred scoffed, flipping her hair dismissively. “I don’t want your excuses and she's not your mother. Just go prepare me a bath.”

Clarke hesitated for a moment. “Do you want bubbles in it?” he asked cautiously. He's doing his all to appease her.

Winifred waved her hand impatiently. “Whatever. Just do it. And come sponge me. I’m tired and feeling lazy.”

“Okay,” Clarke replied quietly, already heading toward the bathroom to prepare the bath.