chapter 2 Someone else’s wife

The entire bun shop fell into silence, with everyone looking at Baqir with strange eyes.
The yellow-haired hoodlum admired Baqir in his heart, thinking how incredible it was that Baqir could have such a beautiful wife and yet disown her so easily.
Baqir was initially surprised, then puzzled. This young man named Laszlo Harris looked quite ordinary, so how did he manage to marry such a beautiful wife?
Seeing the BMW X5 outside, Baqir immediately guessed something. It seemed that Laszlo Harris was a rich second generation. This made it easier to handle the debt of tens or hundreds of thousands.
"Wi…wife, I just woke up. I was just joking with you."
Baqir smiled awkwardly, feeling uncomfortable calling someone his wife for the first time. He then said, "I owe these people some money. Give me my bank card so I can withdraw money and pay them back."
"Bank card? Do you even have a penny in your bank account?" the long-dressed beauty coldly asked.
"Huh? Where are my savings then, are you keeping them for me? Help me withdraw some to pay them back," Baqir said, puzzled, thinking that this rich second generation seemed to be henpecked.
"Savings?"
The long-dressed beauty sneered, somewhat angrily saying, "When have you ever had savings? For over twenty years, you've been living off our family. When have you ever earned a penny?"
The bun shop grew even quieter, and the looks people gave Baqir became even more bizarre.
The yellow-haired hoodlum admired Baqir even more. What an idol! Not only did he marry such a beautiful wife, but he also lived off her!
Baqir felt indescribably awkward. Now he understood that this man was not a rich second generation, but a freeloader married into the woman's family.
"Young man, thank you for your kindness, but I can handle this debt myself," Baqir's mother hurriedly tried to defuse the situation.
"Auntie, I'm Baqir's good brother. I will definitely help you pay this back. Please give me some time," Baqir said, forcing himself.
He felt obliged to help since he had eaten at Laszlo's place. Since Laszlo was a freeloader, Baqir felt uncomfortable asking the long-dressed beauty for money and had to find another way to help his mother repay the debt.
Baqir then wrote an IOU, stamped it with his fingerprint, and handed it to the yellow-haired hoodlum.
The yellow-haired hoodlum, seeing that Baqir's wife drove such a nice car, was not worried about him being unable to repay the money. He and his followers left, not forgetting to greedily glance at the long-dressed beauty's fair legs.
"I won't help you pay this debt," the long-dressed beauty coldly said. She didn't understand when this useless man had become so righteous, rushing to pay back his friends as soon as he woke up.
"Don't worry, I can pay it back myself."
Baqir was slightly annoyed. The woman indeed looked pretty, but her attitude towards her husband was too poor, openly criticizing him in front of others.
"Young man, why bother with this? I can pay these debts myself," Baqir's mother said with red and moist eyes, not recalling her son ever mentioning such a good friend.
"This is what I should do, Auntie. Baqir is gone now, and from now on, I will be your son and take care of you in your old age."
Baqir's eyes also became moist. His mother was right in front of him, yet he couldn't acknowledge her, making her suffer this pain, which was extremely unfilial.
"Auntie, I will come to see you again tomorrow."
Before his tears could fall, Baqir quickly left the bun shop. As he reached the door, he suddenly choked up, and said, "Auntie, if Baqir knows this in the afterlife, he would not want you to give up on life. You should cherish life and live well, living his part too."
After saying this, Baqir didn't hesitate and left the bun shop.
Baqir's mother was stunned, staring blankly at Baqir's departing figure.
The long-dressed beauty glanced at Baqir's mother, didn't say a word, and followed out.
After getting into the car, the long-dressed beauty said somewhat displeasedly, "If you want to play the good guy, I won't object, but you just woke up. You should at least tell me, do you know how much effort I spent looking for you?"
"Sorry, it won't happen again," Baqir said coldly, his mind preoccupied with his mother.
Seeing his indifferent expression, the long-dressed beauty couldn't bring herself to say anything more. She glared at Baqir, angrily shifted gears, and drove back to the care center.
The doctor conducted a thorough physical examination for Baqir, showing everything was normal. Then, Baqir was discharged from the hospital.
On the way back, Baqir looked at the long-dressed beauty's delicate profile, feeling somewhat dreamy. Suddenly having such a beautiful wife was hard to adapt to.
He also felt guilty for occupying someone else's body and now their wife. Was this really okay?
Thinking about sharing a bed with the long-dressed beauty that night made his heart race.
He wanted to ask her about her and Laszlo, as he didn't even know her name, but feared being detected as abnormal, so he didn't ask.
In fact, Baqir wanted to pretend to have amnesia, but she was already so harsh on him even when he hadn't lost his memory. If he became amnesiac, who knew how she might mistreat him.
At this moment, the long-dressed beauty's phone rang. She answered with a few hums and then hung up. She then parked the car on the side of the road, took out a hundred yuan from her wallet, and handed it to Baqir, saying, "There's an emergency at the clinic, I have to rush back. You can take a taxi home by yourself. My parents are at home."
"I'll go with you to the clinic and see if I can help," Baqir hesitated before speaking. He didn't even know what her parents looked like; it would be so awkward when he got back.
Help?
The long-dressed beauty gave him a cold glance. The idea of him helping, coming from a hoodlum, was ridiculous.
The car stopped in front of a community clinic with a sign that read "Hoene Clinic." The clinic wasn't large, with only about a dozen staff members, but it seemed quite formal.
As soon as she entered, a bespectacled male doctor hurried over and anxiously said, "Director Jackson, please come and see. The child's fever isn't subsiding even after two doses of fever-reducing injections. She's crying so much her voice is hoarse."
The long-dressed beauty quickly put on a white coat and hurried to the examination room.
Granada Jackson.
Baqir caught her name from the badge on her chest and couldn't help but admire her. She had a refined air, and even her name was elegant.
In the examination room, a young couple was anxiously comforting a crying little girl about three or four years old. Her face was as red as fire, struggling forcefully in the young woman's arms, looking extremely agitated. Her voice was sharp and piercing, occasionally accompanied by dry heaves.
Baqir's brows furrowed instantly at this scene. Unsure if it was a visual illusion, he seemed to notice a faint black aura entwined around the child.
What surprised him even more was the child's crying. It wasn't just the sharpness that was strange, there was something else about it that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Director Jackson, you're here!" The young couple saw Granada as if seeing a savior.
Granada touched the child's forehead, then checked her pulse, and said, "It's okay, she's just been scared. A few acupuncture needles will do the trick."
She then instructed the bespectacled doctor to bring her needle bag and asked a nurse to prepare a sedative injection.
"How come the child is crying so severely today, and why is she dry heaving? She wasn't like this a few days ago," the young woman asked, sweating profusely while trying to soothe the child in her arms.
"Did you drive here?" Granada asked.
The young couple nodded.
"It must be because you drove too fast. The child is carsick, so she's reacting so strongly," said Granada.
"Yes, yes, she has been severely carsick since she was little. I was in such a hurry that I drove very fast," the young man said guiltily.
"It's fine. She'll be better soon after a sedative injection," Granada confidently said. Her medical skills were always something she took great pride in.
The Hoene Clinic, as a community clinic, owed its reputation almost entirely to her. A minor problem like this was nothing to her.
"Don't administer the sedative. This is not a simple case of fever and agitation. If you inject the sedative carelessly, the condition may worsen."
The nurse had already brought the needle bag and the sedative. Just as she was about to administer the injection, Baqir suddenly stepped forward to stop her.
Baqir was an outstanding medical graduate in his past life and had now inherited his family's medical techniques. His medical skills had reached a pinnacle.
He felt that the child's illness was not simple and should not be treated with a casual sedative injection.
"I'm working, please leave!" Granada said coldly, glaring angrily at Baqir.
When she was working, it was not his place to interrupt.
"If I'm not mistaken, this child had a hidden illness before, right?" Baqir ignored Granada Jackson and turned to ask the young couple.
The young couple was stunned, not expecting Baqir to see at a glance that their child had suffered from a hidden illness before.
But seeing Granada's angry face, the young woman didn't dare to respond directly and cautiously asked, "Director Jackson, is he also a doctor?"
"A doctor? Then I'm the director of Hospital of Queanmond City!"
Before Granada could speak, the bespectacled doctor sneered and looked at Baqir with contempt, saying, "This is our Director Jackson's husband. He graduated from Queanmond Vocational School and has been unemployed ever since. He's a classic case of an idle wanderer, completely dependent on Director Jackson..."
"Enough, stop it. Laszlo Harris, please leave," Granada interrupted coldly, embarrassed to have such a useless husband.
The young couple looked at Baqir with scorn, wondering what misfortune in her past life had led Granada Jackson to marry such a loser.
Baqir was also speechless, even he was starting to look down on this Laszlo Harris a bit. It was bad enough to be looked down upon by his own wife, but to be spoken to like that by his wife's subordinate was too much.
"Director Jackson has asked you to leave!"
Seeing Baqir standing still, the bespectacled doctor gestured for him to leave.
Baqir, not being someone who couldn't take a hint. Seeing how unwelcome he was, he didn't say anything further and just turned and left.
At this point, Granada had already administered the sedative to the child, who quieted down immediately. The young couple breathed a sigh of relief, convinced that Baqir was just a fool pretending to know better.
Granada took a fine needle from her bag and pricked the joints of the child's little finger, squeezing out some transparent fluid. Then she touched the child's forehead and said, "She'll cool down in a bit."
Baqir, standing outside the clinic, felt depressed and regretted taking over this young man's body. He had come back to life, but it was such a humiliating existence.
Remembering the child's crying, Baqir was puzzled. Why would a child's crying give him such a strange feeling?
Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he clapped his hands, exclaiming, "That wasn't a human cry at all!"