Chapter 193

Chapter 193

Henry looked up, his eyes red, and reached out to take her hand.

Gloria pulled her hand back before he could touch it, so smoothly it was almost invisible. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her voice still gentle.

"The doctor should be out soon. Let me go check."

She stood up and walked down the hallway, her pace steady and unhurried. Under the harsh white lights, her silhouette looked painfully thin.

Henry watched her go, and a strange panic rose in his chest, one he couldn't quite name.

She was right there in front of him. She was still smiling at him. She was still speaking to him in that soft, reassuring voice. And yet he couldn't shake the feeling that she was drifting further and further away.

It wasn't physical distance. It was something deeper, something slipping through his fingers like water he couldn't hold, like wind he couldn't catch.

Gloria turned the corner and stopped. She leaned against the cold wall and closed her eyes.

She placed one hand gently over her lower abdomen, feeling through the thin fabric the faint, quiet movement that only she could sense.

Soon.

Just a little longer.

She took a slow breath, opened her eyes, and put the mask back on — that warm, composed expression she wore so well. Then she turned and walked back to the waiting area.

Just then, footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway.

The doctor appeared. His mask was pulled down and hanging from one ear. He was holding a folder.

"Mr. Tudor. The results are in."

Every eye in the room snapped to him.

Henry shot to his feet, moving so fast that the baby in his arms stirred and whimpered.

Marlowe stood up too, her fingers tightening around the strap of her handbag without thinking.

From her quiet corner, Gloria lifted her gaze — steady, precise — and fixed it on the folder in the doctor's hand.

The doctor walked to the center of the waiting area, pushed his glasses up, and spoke in an even tone. "Based on the DNA comparison, there is no biological parent-child relationship between Mr. Tudor and the infant born to Miss Collins."

Henry's arms locked around the baby. His knuckles went white. The baby let out a small sound of protest, her little face scrunching up, her mouth quivering on the edge of a cry.

He looked down at her, as if seeing her clearly for the very first time.

There was no anger in that look. No resentment. Just a hollow, gutted blankness.

Marlowe moved faster than Henry.

She crossed the room in three quick strides — fast for a pregnant woman — grabbed Bianca by the hair, and yanked her up out of her chair.

Bianca's scalp screamed with pain. She let out a choked grunt.

"You disgusting little—"

The slap rang through the entire hallway.

Sharp. Loud. Loaded with every bit of rage and hatred she'd been holding back.

Bianca was knocked sideways, her head hitting the wall with a dull thud. Blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. Her ears were ringing.

She didn't stop to feel the pain. Didn't wipe the blood. Didn't even notice the strands of hair scattered on the floor. She threw herself at Henry's feet and wrapped both arms around his legs.

"Henry, it's wrong, they made a mistake!"

Her voice cracked into something almost unrecognizable, her face soaked with tears and smeared with blood.

"You have to believe me. This baby is yours. She's been with you since before she was born. You know that. You watched her grow. How can you just turn your back on her?"

She was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe, clinging to his legs like a drowning woman holding onto the last piece of wreckage.

"The hospital messed up. That's what happened. We can go somewhere else. We can run the test again. Henry, please. Just one more time."

Henry looked down at her. His eyes held nothing but exhaustion.

"Messed up? You're telling me they messed up?"

He crouched down and gripped her jaw, forcing her face up toward his.

His fingers were cold. His grip was hard enough to bruise. He stared straight into her eyes as if he could see through them, as if he could count every lie she'd ever buried there.

"You told me the baby was mine. You asked me to trust you, and I did. You asked me to bring Gloria back, and I did. You asked my mother to take your side, and she did."

He let go and stood up, stepping back like her touch had left something on him.

"And what did I get? You tell me. What did I get?"

Bianca crumpled to the floor, her shoulders heaving, her crying worn down to a raw, broken rasp.

"It's not true… it's not true…"

Over and over. Like those were the only words she had left.

Marlowe stood nearby, her chest rising and falling hard, one hand pressed to her stomach, her face dark with fury.

"Not true? The report is right there. And you're telling me it's not true?"

She drew a sharp breath, her voice trembling with barely controlled anger. "You were sleeping with Joseph. You got pregnant with his child. You let Henry raise that baby. You made a fool out of me for all this time. Bianca — what kind of person are you?"

Bianca lay on the floor, shaking. She couldn't even cry anymore.

She knew nothing she said would matter now. But she couldn't admit it. If she admitted it, she'd have nothing left.

Then Gloria spoke.

She rose from her chair and walked over to Bianca. Her voice was gentle — the kind of gentle that cuts.

"Bianca, there's no point in arguing anymore. You said the baby was Henry's, but the report says otherwise. You said the report was wrong, but then how do you explain the photos?"

"You've told so many stories that even you can't keep track of which ones were true. Can you."

Bianca's face had gone completely white. Her lips trembled violently. She couldn't get a single word out.

Marlowe watched, let out a cold laugh, and didn't bother hiding her contempt.

"Forget it. You won't get anything out of her. There hasn't been one honest word out of that mouth from the very beginning."

She turned to Henry. "What are you going to do?"

Henry was quiet for a long time.

He looked down at the baby in his arms. She had settled again, her small face still damp with tears, her eyes closed, her lashes barely moving, lost in whatever dream she was having.

This child was innocent. But her very existence was a splinter lodged deep in his chest.

"Take the baby home first. Everything else can wait."

Marlowe looked like she wanted to say more. She opened her mouth, then didn't.

Instead, she shot one last look at Bianca on the floor — cold enough to kill whatever hope she had left — then turned and walked slowly toward the exit, one hand on her lower back.

Gloria followed them out. As she stepped out of the waiting area, her phone buzzed in her pocket. The screen lit up, casting a faint glow across her calm, still face.

Leopold: [Good show?]