Chapter 727

Henry was leaning on his seat, his body covered under a blanket.

He was skinny and withered. The wrinkles on his neck were distinct and his eyes were sunken and dull, while his face was covered in irregular patches of liver spots.

A man like him should be surrounded by his children and grandchildren, reveling in familial joy, but Henry appeared desolate and miserable.

Even so, Irene still felt no sympathy because it was all Henry's own fault, and he could not blame anyone else.

"I know you want me to talk to Isaac. After all, you're old and need family now more than ever, don't you?"

"Would you help me?" Henry would certainly admit that he was old and needed company.

"Don't you have Ian Jefferson already?" Irene pointed out icily.

"You're still blaming me for that?" Henry rasped feebly—even his voice seemed old.

"The past is the past. I won't pursue it any further," she said, holding his gaze. "You had me marry Isaac as my father requested, because you had your agenda. You wan