Chapter 33 Lover
Sloane's POV
My crazy plan ultimately fell through due to David's firm opposition.
I didn't insist anymore.
Because I knew every word he said was right.
I couldn't gamble with my life and my child's life for such a slim chance of success.
After Jared stormed out, he never came back.
The hospital room was quieter than ever, and I actually found some peace.
Over the next few days, besides Lila and the nurses, only David came to visit every day. He would bring professional rehabilitation equipment and patiently guide me through the most basic finger function recovery exercises.
My body was getting better day by day. The wound on my left hand had scabbed over, and the dragging pain in my lower abdomen had completely disappeared.
But the hole in my heart remained empty, with cold wind howling through it.
That afternoon, after David finished guiding me through rehabilitation exercises again, I looked at the rare sunny day outside the window and finally couldn't help but speak up.
"David, I want to go out for a bit."
His movements paused as he was packing up the equipment. He turned to look at me, his brow furrowing instinctively. "Your body..."
"I just want to visit a place, a place I haven't been back to in a long time." I interrupted him, my voice carrying a hint of pleading that even I didn't notice. "The group home where I used to stay."
Seeing his silence, I softened my voice and continued, "I promise, just a quick look, and I'll come right back. I just feel... so suffocated inside, I need some air."
David looked at my pale face and the exhaustion in my eyes, and finally softened.
He thought for a moment and nodded. "Okay, I'll go with you, but you have to promise me you won't get emotional."
For my safety, he even called two plainclothes bodyguards, tall and imposing, who protected us from front and back.
The car left the city center and headed toward the suburbs.
The rundown group home from my memory had been renovated, painted in bright yellow that looked warm and cheerful in the sunlight.
Director Aria had silver hair, and time had carved kind lines into her face.
When she saw me, she opened her arms in delight and gave me a warm hug.
"Oh, my dear Sloane, you've finally come back to see this old lady." She held my hand, and when she saw the cast on my right hand, she frowned with concern. "What happened?"
"Just a small accident, almost healed now." I smiled, not wanting to worry her. "Director Aria, I just came back to look around and visit an old friend."
Director Aria nodded knowingly and led me through the yard full of flowers and plants, back to the small attic room where I used to live.
The room wasn't big, with just two single beds. The window faced the lush honey locust tree in the yard.
Everything was exactly as I remembered.
David followed behind me, looking at this cramped and simple environment, then thinking of the cold, luxurious cage I was trapped in now, his eyes filled with deep sympathy.
I walked to the bed by the window and gently ran my left hand over the slightly peeling headboard rail, my voice soft. "This was my brother's bed."
I turned around, meeting David's inquiring gaze, and began calmly telling the story I had kept locked away for so long.
"His name was Grayson. We grew up here together. He always said I was a crybaby, but he'd always save the only piece of candy for me."
"When I was ten, there was a huge flood here. We were trapped on the roof. He pushed me onto a piece of wood that floated by, but he got swept into the rapids. I never saw him again."
My voice was calm, as if I were telling someone else's story, but my heart ached with fine, dense pain.
I looked up at David's face, where shock and sorrow were mixed, and suddenly pulled a deeply ironic smile.
"He's the man in that painting, David. The 'lover' Jared suspected—a brother who died saving me, whose body was never even found."
"He actually thinks a dead person would crawl out of his grave to avenge me and go after Keira."
Even saying it myself, I found it absurd and laughable.
David clenched his fists tightly, veins bulging on the back of his hands. He looked at me, his eyes filled with suppressed rage and heartache.
He said nothing, just took off his jacket and gently draped it over my shoulders.
Behind the group home was a small cemetery where some orphans with no family were buried.
Grayson had no tombstone. I had just placed a small stone marker under the honey locust tree with only his name carved on it.
I brought David to the tree and placed a bouquet of freshly bought daisies in front of the marker.
Wind blew through the treetops, making a rustling sound, as if whispering something.
"He would be proud of you, Sloane." David stood beside me, his voice gentle and firm.
I smiled but said nothing.
The sun was already setting, its remaining light shining through the mottled tree shadows.
"What are your plans with Jared going forward?" David suddenly spoke, breaking the silence.
"Divorce." My tone was completely flat.
He didn't seem surprised by this answer, just nodded. "Need help? I can introduce you to the best divorce lawyer, help you fight for everything you deserve."
I shook my head and turned to face him with a sincere smile. "Thank you, David. Thank you for being willing to come here with me today."
I paused.
"But the divorce—I want to handle it myself."
This was my own battle. I wanted to end it with my own hands.
David suggested buying flowers to give to Grayson.
I didn't refuse.
We chose a small flower shop on the corner, run by a kind woman.
David picked a bouquet of white chamomile—the flower meaning strength in adversity. He said it suited me well.
Holding that fresh bouquet, it felt like a small, pure white flower had bloomed on the barren wasteland in my heart.
Coming out of the flower shop, there were a few steps. I was lost in thought and didn't watch my footing, and my body suddenly swayed.
"Careful." David quickly caught my arm, his grip steady and restrained.
I had just regained my balance and hadn't had time to thank him when I felt an icy stare drilling into my back.
I instinctively looked up, following the source of that gaze.
Across the street, by a black Bentley, stood a tall figure.
It was Jared.
I didn't know how long he'd been standing there. He was still wearing the suit from when I'd made him storm out, now wrinkled beyond recognition.