Chapter 18
Just as he was about to speak, Amelia pounced forward like a startled cat.
Somehow, she had grabbed her stiletto heels and was clutching them tightly, smashing them hard against Robert's shoulders and arms.
"Robert, you quack, you bastard!" she cursed shrilly while hitting him.
"Why did you do this? How could you not tell she was pregnant? You almost killed Sophia and made James misunderstand everything. What the hell were you trying to do?" Her movements were quick and vicious.
But I could see that between swings of her heels, the look she shot at Robert was full of threats and warnings.
Robert yelped in pain, covering his head and dodging. Where was any trace of his usual dignity and respect?
Sure enough, under Amelia's violent interrogation and threatening glares, Robert caved.
Holding his head, he stammered and changed his story. "Mr. Smith, I'm sorry. It's all my fault. The equipment suddenly malfunctioned that day, and I was careless and didn't double-check properly, which led to the misdiagnosis. I deserve to die, I was so stupid!"
He turned to me, bowing repeatedly. "Mrs. Smith, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, I wasn't skilled enough, I was negligent..."
Amelia put down her shoe, breathing heavily. Her face switched to an expression of heartbreak and pleading as she grabbed James's arm.
"James, look, Robert knows he was wrong. He just made a careless mistake. Equipment malfunctions—no one can predict those things. Besides, he just saved Grandma. Even if there's no credit, there's effort."
Her words sounded like she was pleading for Robert, but she was actually reminding James.
Telling him to let it go.
At the same time, making Robert owe her a favor and keep his mouth shut.
James's face was terrifyingly dark, his presence impossible to ignore.
He didn't respond to Amelia right away, nor did he look at the tearful Robert again.
His gaze slowly moved to the miscarriage report on the floor.
He stared at that report for a long time, so long that everyone around didn't dare breathe loudly.
Finally, he said nothing, only forcefully crumpling the report in his hand into a ball. The paper made a sound of unbearable wrinkling.
In that action was anger with nowhere to go, the humiliation of being fooled, and a trace of regret that even he hadn't noticed.
He looked up at me, his eyes flickering between light and dark.
Too many emotions churned there that I couldn't decode, and didn't want to decode anymore.
He opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something to me.
But I didn't give him that chance.
Before he could speak, I cut him off directly, my tone distant and detached, like I was addressing an insignificant stranger.
"If you want to apologize, don't bother."
"James, the things you've done to wrong me are too many."
I paused, looking at him one last time.
"Tomorrow, don't be late."
After speaking, I didn't linger. I straightened my back, and though my lower abdomen still sent waves of dull pain, every step I took was firm and composed.
James said to Robert, "From now on, I don't want to see you again."
As I stepped out of the ward, James's cold words to Robert reached my ears.
I smiled slightly, feeling little emotion inside.
The next day, I appeared at the courthouse entrance right at eight o'clock.
I wasn't wearing somber black as one might imagine.
Instead, I chose a simple white satin knee-length dress with clean lines. The fabric gleamed with a soft, pearl-like luster in the morning light.
Over it, I wore a light beige long trench coat with the belt loosely tied, outlining my waist.
My hair was pinned up, and I wore delicate light makeup, deliberately using some blush to hide the exhaustion and pallor from recent days.
I wanted to say goodbye to James clean and fresh.
The morning light was dim, and the early autumn breeze carried a refreshing coolness, stirring up a few early-fallen plane tree leaves from the ground.
There were already some people at the courthouse entrance, mostly in pairs, though with varying expressions.
I spotted James immediately.
He was leaning against the door of a sleek, jet-black Rolls-Royce Phantom.
The car was understated yet impossible to hide its imposing presence, quite fitting for him.
He wore an impeccably pressed dark gray bespoke suit that made his figure appear even taller and upright—broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs.
Just his casual leaning posture created a scene; his stern features and the detachment he radiated drew frequent glances from passersby, though none dared approach too closely.
He held a cigarette between his fingers, its red ember flickering in the cool air.
Through the curling smoke, he frowned slightly, his gaze fixed on some point in empty space, looking distracted, as if troubled by something.
From a distance, he seemed to sense my gaze and suddenly turned his head.
The moment he saw me, he instinctively threw the cigarette—barely half-smoked—to the ground and crushed it forcefully with his shoe.
I walked over expressionlessly and stopped in front of him.
A faint scent of premium tobacco still lingered in the air, mixed with his familiar cold woody fragrance.
I used to like it very much.
Now I just felt nauseated.
"Let's go in." I spoke first.
We walked into the courthouse one after the other.
We sat down on a row of metal waiting chairs by the window, deliberately leaving an empty seat between us, like drawing an invisible boundary.
He suddenly spoke, his voice low, mixed with the hoarseness of a sleepless night and a kind of forced gentleness squeezed from his throat. "Are you feeling better?"
This question, coming from his mouth, had an unprecedented stiffness and awkwardness.
It didn't sound like genuine concern, but more like an embarrassing pleasantry that had to be completed in a specific situation.
My heart felt like it was pricked by the finest ice needle, stirring up a trace of insignificant sourness, then covered by a heavier coldness.
After I lost my child, after he repeatedly chose to believe others and doubt me—wasn't it too hypocritical, too late to ask now?
What could it salvage?
"It's none of your business." I didn't look at him, my tone as indifferent as if replying to a stranger's courtesy.
My coldness completely shut out his stiff attempt at reconciliation.
From James's Perspective:
My Adam's apple bobbed several times, my jawline tensed even tighter. I wanted to say something more, my lips parted slightly, but finally I swallowed back those unspoken words.
I wronged Sophia.
I owed her.
Now whatever I said was too late.
Looking at her bloodless lips and increasingly thin body, I frowned, suddenly stood up, and said softly, "I'm going out for a bit!"
After speaking, I walked straight toward the main hall entrance.