CHAPTER 90

Lisa's POV

Due to the abnormally high volume of customers today, I had a difficult time getting the sales kid to bring me the books I wanted.

I keep reading romantic fiction. While some are like my case, others are flawless from start to finish despite the fact that difficulties are unavoidable. But the couples' love and confidence in one another are really important.

I doubt I'll be able to return if the shop keeps becoming this packed since by the time I grabbed the books, I was already exhausted.

I was unable to even sit down, and it was becoming more difficult for me to squat or budge each day.

Since I have enough books to last me for the whole month, I suppose I should stop coming to the shop. Alternatively, I may ask the lads to have them delivered to my home. Spending extra cash on my hobbies won't harm me.

Although I haven't been spending much, I want to start shortly.

I still have the money Damien gave me stashed up in my account. The remaining funds have been supporting me for the last six months after I spent half of it on Grandma's operation.

I want to get baby supplies online and have them delivered right to my home. It would have been so lovely to have someone to go window shopping with me for baby items, but I don't have anybody and it feels risky to go by myself.

I believe I am equally as sluggish.

Sometimes when I finish eating, I find it amusing that cleaning or emptying the dishes looks like a great issue. I can remember how diligent I used to be, therefore the changes in me make me smile.

I adjust my tote bag on my shoulder and make my way home slowly, one step at a time.

To make the morning stroll easier, I'm also donning a pair of slacks and sandals. Since moving here, I haven't worn heels, and I doubt I'll be able to in the next six months.

I nearly stamp my feet on the ground in despair when I realize that I have to climb steps to the fifth level once I reach the building's entrance.

"Oh, my goodness!" I chuckle mockingly to myself as I go inside and up the stairs. I truly can't help but do this.

I'm eager to go inside. I'm too worn out to come up with a solution. Furthermore, there isn't even a workable answer.

The only thing I can do is wait till I restore my strength before climbing the stairs, but that won't do. I need to sit down below for a bit.

I don't want to seem foolish. If a neighbor walked by and saw me sitting there, they would look at me with sympathy, which would make me feel horrible for myself.

I ascend each staircase at a time and when I reach the third level I start counting to 50 breathlessly. This is now customary. I will already be at my door by the time I'm 50.

I am on the final stairs at the age of 50, hardly breathing.

I exhale a sigh of relief, inhaling as much air as I can, and stumbling almost to my apartment door.

I'm about to use the almost-rusted key the landlady gave me to unlock the door when I see a bouquet with a piece of paper firmly fastened to the doorknob.

I look around the corridor to see whether this was accidentally thrown here rather than somewhere else as my mouth drops in disbelief.

The lady emerges when the door next to me opens. She grins as her attention is drawn to the flower.

Have you had a hidden admirer? Her amused eyes flash in the light. Earlier, before I went inside my flat, I saw it.

I didn't respond to her; I simply kept looking. She closes her door and gives me a wink before stomping to the stairs.

She is the same person who consistently knocks on my door while I am in tears. I'm not sure how she knows I'm an American or why she talks to me in English rather than French.

Everyone else I've met, including those who first think I seem American, expects that I speak French.

The first month was difficult here. If you don't speak French, the locals may be very rude to you. I made myself study French online, and within a month, I was able to speak clearly in the language.

I turn my head to look at the flower in my palm instead of her vanishing body.

I grab the little piece of paper to read what is written inside since my curiosity gets the better of me.

It has text. "You are a masterpiece and one in a million beautiful."

I am now quite certain that this is a mistake. It's not intended for me. This should be for one of the young females who leaves the apartment in style each morning, seeming to be someone who doesn't reside in the dated building.

I open the door and go in with the flower because I can't get rid of it. I put it on the table and carefully make my way to my cane chair, where I relax and let the view out the window calm my irritability before starting to read the new books I just bought.

I have 10 novels, and for the first time ever, I want to attempt reading some horror. I'm hoping I won't have to scream until my kid unintentionally comes out of me.

As I slump onto the chair, I giggle to myself.

I've always preferred reading romance over other genres. I become scared, my mind runs wild, and I can have nightmares because of horror.

Every time I watch a horror movie in class, my roommates roll their eyes at me because of my screaming, but if it gets too scary, I am booted out and don't get to see the whole thing.

As I bend forward to stare out the window and chuckle once more to myself, I can feel the fresh morning air blow past my face.

After a time, I lean back and set down my tote in order to choose the first book I come into contact with and begin reading.

I know that reading romance is bad for my mental health, yet I can't stop myself. Every time I desire something comparable or greater, it makes me giggle.

I'm aware that I can't have it.

A cliché is also having a hidden admirer. That's ridiculous.

Why? Because I'm unattractive and pregnant. My mouth laughs unconsciously. How am I supposed to appeal to any rational man?

I don't recall the last time I checked my looks in the mirror before leaving the house. I don't think anybody is looking at me, and even if they were and saw my tummy, I think their curiosity would vanish into thin air.

Right now, even romantic relationships don't interest me. I may give it another go when my kid is born and I've completely recovered, but I've already learned my lesson.

Because I don't know what the future will bring, it is just a possibility. But I'm finished right now. It doesn't interest me. My decision to become a single mother for the rest of my life will depend on how important my kid is to me right now.

When a knock on the door signals that I have been distracted, I blink and grab a book to start reading.

I scowl as I jerk my head back and frown hard.

Who is that, exactly?

I get no visitors. Apart from the landlady, the only person who knocks on my door is the neighbor next door.

Could it be the flower, perhaps? Did the admirer or lover discover he left it in the incorrect location?

I conclude to myself as I get out of the chair that this must be it.

My next-door neighbor, whose name I am not even familiar with, left for work.

Where does she work, I wonder.

I mosey slowly to the door, but before I can open it, the knock sounds again.

I approach and turn the doorknob to let myself in.

A lady is wearing a hat and has her head dropped.

She raises her head, and before I can respond, our eyes lock.

"Grandma!" My whole body is violently trembling as I scream, my legs going to jelly.

While I am thinking she would hug me, her lovely eyes change into something I am unable to decipher.

Instead, she closely scrutinizes me, focusing her attention on my large tummy while I do the same to her pricey attire.

She has a furious expression on her face and raises her fist to smack my face when I glance up again.

"Grandma!" She quits holding my hand midway and starts crying as I scream once more.