Chapter 28 Preparing the Divorce Agreement
Sloane's POV
But when I thought about him leaving again for Keira, when I thought about how this cold hospital room would be left with just me alone in the dead of night, I couldn't control the panic and loneliness surging up from the bottom of my heart.
The moment he turned around, I reached out with my uninjured left hand and gently grabbed the corner of his clothes.
He paused mid-step, turned his head, and looked at me with surprise.
I looked up at him. In the dim light, I couldn't make out the expression on his face. I bit my lip and used all my strength to produce a weak voice tinged with pleading.
"Wait until daybreak, okay?"
His tall figure froze in place, looking down at me. In those dark eyes, unfathomable in the dimness, emotions were complex and hard to read. I couldn't understand them, and didn't want to anymore.
"What's wrong?" he finally spoke, his voice hoarse, carrying a hint of irritation at having his rhythm disrupted by my sudden show of weakness.
My fingers gripping his clothes tightened slightly, my fingertips turning white, like I was grasping at a last lifeline. I repeated that humble request, my voice as light as a feather, "Wait until daybreak."
Those words hit like a match to gasoline. He pulled back sharply, jerking his clothes away from my reach. I grabbed at nothing but air.
"Sloane, have you made enough of a scene?" He looked down at me from above, his tone full of disappointment and accusation. "Keira has fractures in both hands, and her shoulder bone is shattered. You want me to wait until daybreak? You're a doctor too—how can you say something like that?"
Right, I'm a doctor too.
I'm a doctor whose right hand might never hold a scalpel again.
My heart, in that moment, was like the fingers he had pried open—one by one, with flesh and blood, coldly broken.
All my pleading, vulnerability, and the courage I had barely mustered became one big joke.
He probably felt his words were too harsh, or maybe he saw the instant deadness in my eyes. His tone softened slightly, but the impatience was still clearly detectable. "I'll be back soon. Rest well."
With that, he turned without looking back and strode out of the room.
The door closed with a dull sound, like a death knell for my pitiful marriage.
I stared at the ceiling, my eyes dry and aching, but not a single tear would fall.
So it's true—the greatest sorrow is a dead heart.
I picked up my phone. The cold metal shell pressed against my palm, that chill seeming to drill into my bones.
Without a moment's hesitation, I dialed my lawyer's number.
"Mr. Smith, it's me." My voice was terrifyingly calm. "The divorce papers—you can prepare them now. As we discussed before, I don't want anything. I'm voluntarily giving up all property."
Divorce was the best choice for me, for him, for the child.
The lawyer on the other end seemed somewhat surprised by my decisiveness, but professionally agreed.
After hanging up, I opened my contacts, found that familiar name, long-pressed it, and blocked it.
The world became quiet.
After doing all this, I sent Lila a message: [Help me change rooms. Don't tell anyone my new room number, especially not Jared.]
Early the next morning, Lila came to change my dressing.
Looking at my calm, expressionless face, she asked nothing, just sighed and gently unwrapped the bandages.
"It's healing well, no signs of infection." As she disinfected the wound, she said softly, "David's suturing technique really is top-notch. You don't need to worry too much."
I made a sound of acknowledgment, my gaze falling on my tightly wrapped hand, my eyes empty.
Just then, the hospital room door was suddenly pushed open from outside.
Jared rushed in.
He hadn't come back all night. He was still wearing yesterday's suit, all wrinkled, with dark stubble on his chin and heavy dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted and disheveled, but those eyes were still sharp, locked onto me like a hawk.
"How's your hand?" He strode to the bedside in a few steps, his voice terribly hoarse, his gaze falling on my wound with the bandages removed. His pupils suddenly contracted.
Lila straightened up and positioned herself between me and him, her tone official and cold. "Mr. Montclair, the patient's wound is in recovery. She needs rest. Please keep quiet."
After saying this, she efficiently rebandaged my wound, gave a few more instructions, then turned and left with the tray.
Before leaving, she gave me a reassuring look.
Once again, only the two of us remained in the room.
Jared walked around the foot of the bed to stand in front of me, those bloodshot eyes staring at me intently. "Why did you change rooms? Why did you block my number?"
His questions came at me rapid-fire.
I couldn't be bothered to look at him. I just turned my gaze to the gray sky outside the window and spoke calmly, "Jared, let's get divorced soon."
All his questions got stuck in his throat.
The hospital room fell into a deathly silence. I could even hear his breathing suddenly become heavy.
"What did you say?" He seemed unable to believe his ears, leaning down, trying to find some trace of joking on my face.
But there was none. My face showed only numb calm.
"I said, let's get divorced soon." I repeated clearly, word by word. "My lawyer is already preparing the papers. Find a time to..."
"Are you hungry?" He suddenly interrupted me, his voice stretched tight.
I was caught off guard by this random question.
But he acted like he'd found the perfect excuse, straightened up, and said to himself, "You haven't eaten anything since yesterday. I'll go get you some food."
With that, he turned and fled the room, as if he could outrun the word "divorce."
Watching his panicked retreating figure, I suddenly found it somewhat funny.
He was always like this—only choosing what he wanted to hear, avoiding everything he didn't want to face.
Before long, there was a gentle knock on the door.
Thinking it was a nurse, I casually said, "Come in."
The door opened, and an unfamiliar young man walked in.
He looked to be in his early twenties, wearing trendy brands, with a sunny smile, carrying an elegantly packaged fruit basket and a bouquet of sunflowers.
"Excuse me, are you Sloane?" He poked his head in, asking somewhat uncertainly.Seeing I didn't deny it, the man smiled and walked in, placing the fruit basket and flowers on the bedside table, then extended his hand toward me and introduced himself.
"Hello, I'm Christian. I'm your aunt's son. My mom heard you were injured and specially asked me to come see you."