Chapter 289:Any Other Choice
\[Sarah\]
I saw the tears glistening in Theodore's eyes, and my heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. Each breath became painful, like inhaling shards of glass.
I wanted to speak, to tell him it wasn't what he thought, that I wasn't blaming him. But the words caught in my throat, trapped behind a wall of fear and grief. After everything we'd been through, the fracture between us seemed irreparable—a shattered vase with too many missing pieces.
He abruptly pulled away from me, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitching. He slammed the car door with such force that I flinched, the sound piercing my eardrums and stabbing at my already wounded heart.
Theodore didn't go to the driver's seat. Instead, he stood outside the car, shoulders rigid with tension as he pulled out his phone to make a call. His tall figure cast a long shadow in the setting sun, and for a moment, he looked utterly alone—just as I felt.
I watched him silently, my fingertips pressed against the cold window glass. We were separated by only a car door, yet it felt like an unbridgeable chasm stretched between us, growing wider with each passing second.
He said that in my heart, our child meant more to him. The accusation burned like acid. How could these two loves even be compared? They were different parts of the same heart—my heart—that was now breaking in two.
Shortly after, Mike came jogging over. They spoke outside the car, Theodore's back to me, his posture unnaturally stiff. Though I couldn't see his face, I could read the anguish in every line of his body.
Mike took the car keys and returned to the driver's seat. As the car started, I hastily looked away, blinking rapidly to hold back the flood of tears threatening to spill.
"He said he's returning to America tomorrow. Was it you who told him to leave?" Mike asked, his eyes briefly meeting mine in the rearview mirror.
"Yes," I answered shortly, my voice barely a whisper. Unable to stop myself, I looked out the window again. Theodore's figure grew smaller and smaller until, just as he was about to disappear from view, he turned around. In that moment, I almost wanted to ask Mike to stop the car, my hand actually reaching for the door handle before I forced it back to my lap, fingers curling into a painful fist.
"Why are you both doing this?" Mike sighed deeply as we stopped at a red light, running his hand through his hair in frustration. "Will leaving Theodore make you happier?"
"My head hurts," I closed my eyes, pressing my temples between thumb and forefinger. I couldn't bear to continue this conversation. Just thinking about Theodore made my head throb as if it might explode, each pulse a reminder of what I'd lost—what we'd lost.
"You need to rest properly," Mike's voice softened, laced with genuine concern. "Your body hasn't fully recovered yet—I shouldn't have let you out."
Back in my room, I lay on the bed, the gunshot wound on my arm still aching dully, but my heart ached with an intensity that made the physical pain seem trivial. This time, I was the one who pushed Theodore away. The thought hollowed me out, leaving me empty.
Night descended, bringing no peace. I tossed and turned in bed, sheets tangling around my legs like restraints. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Theodore's face—the hurt in his eyes, the tears he tried to hide. My mind replayed our conversation on an endless loop, each word cutting deeper with every repetition.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to block out the images, the memories. The digital clock on my nightstand cast an eerie blue glow over the room as the hours crept by: 1:17 AM... 2:34 AM... 3:05 AM.
Was I making the right choice? The question haunted me like a ghost. Our child—possibly damaged by the medications—deserved a father who would love them without reservation, without conditions. But did I truly believe Theodore would reject our baby? Or was I projecting my own fears onto him?
It was nearly dawn when exhaustion finally claimed me, tears still damp on my cheeks.
Early the next morning, Lily gently pushed open my door and carefully walked to my bedside. I woke up immediately when Lily came in. I knew Theodore must have come too, but I didn't want to face him. I pretended to be asleep, lying there with my eyes shut so tightly it hurt, desperately fighting back tears that gathered at the corners.
"Sarah, I'm going back to Boston," she said softly, her fingertips brushing my blanket hesitantly. "Take care of yourself and heal well. When you recover, please come back to America, okay? We're all waiting for you."
After Lily spoke, afraid of waking me, she left the room without lingering. Only then did I finally allow my tears to fall freely, hot tracks running down my temples to soak my pillow. The sobs I'd been suppressing escaped in painful, silent gasps that shook my entire body.
\[Theodore\]
At eight in the morning, my private jet took off from Europe, destination New York. The cabin was completely silent except for the soft hum of the engines. I stared out the window, seeing nothing but Sarah's face reflected in the glass—pale, hurt, pushing me away.
After more than ten hours of flight, the plane finally landed at New York International Airport. It was six in the morning, New York time. My body felt leaden, disconnected, as if I'd left essential parts of myself back in Europe. Back with her.
Daniel had returned with us. His arm was still wrapped in thick bandages, the finger he'd lost could never be replaced. Every time I looked at his injury, I was reminded of what Sarah had risked to save him.
"Mr. Pierce, thank you for arranging this return trip," Daniel's mother said to me sincerely, her eyes still holding a trace of resentment.
"No need for thanks," I answered briefly, my voice rougher than intended.
"Then we'll be going now," she said quietly, gathering her belongings.
My throat constricted painfully as I hesitated, then forced the words out: "Daniel's injuries aren't Sarah's fault. She never even told me about being that medical professor's student. Daniel was kidnapped because he was once the professor's assistant, not because Sarah put him in danger."
Daniel's mother froze, her expression shifting from surprise to confusion. Having said what I needed to say, I strode away, each step heavier than the last. Behind me, I could hear Daniel arguing with his mother, his voice raised in defense of Sarah, but I didn't look back.
News of my return spread quickly. Back at Pierce Technologies headquarters, I rapidly dealt with the backlog of work, mechanically signing documents, my mind elsewhere. I hadn't eaten, hadn't slept, but physical discomfort was nothing compared to the hollow ache in my chest where Sarah should be.
"Theodore, after the meeting ends, let me drive you home to rest," Alex suggested, his brow furrowed with concern as he took in my disheveled appearance. "Your apartment is very close to here."
"I'm not tired," I responded curtly. Alex's expression turned awkward, his fingers fidgeting with his tie. "This afternoon the company has organized a two-day company trip. It would be perfect for you to go home and get some proper rest. Or you can come with us if you like...?"
My eyes darkened as a wave of emptiness washed over me. The thought of returning to my empty apartment, with its cold silence and memories of Sarah, was unbearable.
"Is there any other choice?"