Chapter 203
"No need, Grandma," I interrupted Violet, my voice slightly hoarse.
"Milly needs rest and can't eat anything too greasy. I'll take good care of her here. No need to trouble you, and certainly no need to trouble Mr. Smith."
I emphasized the words "Mr. Smith" with a particular clarity.
Violet's smile completely froze on her face, her eyes filled with embarrassment and an even deeper sense of helplessness.
She looked at me, opened her mouth, but in the end couldn't say anything.
But in her eyes, besides awkwardness, there was more heartache.
She understood me.
She knew what kind of person I was.
I loved and hated openly, was sensible, understood the bigger picture, and was even a bit too considerate of others.
But it was precisely because I was too sensible, too patient, that Sarah could bully and scheme against me so recklessly.
That's why George felt my devotion and presence were so taken for granted, so insignificant.
Violet had always hoped we could work things out, hoped this family could stay intact.
She might have tried, scolded George, warned Sarah.
Unfortunately, George's heart had never stayed with me from the very beginning.
He might have even viewed this marriage that Violet arranged as a burden or obligation.
That's why, shortly after the wedding, he tacitly allowed or even encouraged Sarah's presence, until finally, Sarah could so brazenly enter our home, trample my dignity, and hurt my child.
Violet, carrying exhaustion and disappointment all over her, was half-supported, half-persuaded by George to leave.
The hospital room returned to a quiet state, leaving only Milly's gradually subsiding sobs and my heavy heartbeat.
Perhaps tired from crying, or perhaps from the aftereffects of the medication and shock, Milly slowly fell asleep again in my arms.
But her little hand still unconsciously clutched the clothes on my chest, her brow slightly furrowed, sleeping restlessly.
I gently placed her back on the bed, tucked her in, and sat by the bedside, staring blankly at her pale little face, feeling empty yet suffocated inside.
A hollow, twisting pain came from my stomach, reminding me I hadn't eaten in a long time.
I checked the time—it was late at night, and the hospital cafeteria had long since closed.
I got up, quietly closed the door, and went downstairs to the hospital's 24-hour convenience store.
I bought a cup of instant noodles and a bottle of water.
As I came out, I instinctively glanced toward the parking lot.
Under the dim yellow streetlights, that familiar black sedan was still parked there.
George stood by the car, slightly bent over, saying something to someone inside through the lowered window.
Inside the car sat Violet, who hadn't left yet.
The night wind carried Violet's agitated voice over in fragments. Though I couldn't hear clearly, I could feel the anger of disappointment in her tone, "Have a good talk with her, George. I'm telling you, you can't treat Grace like this."
"She's a good woman—sensible, kind, smart, and most importantly, her whole heart is with you. You need to cherish that."
"And Milly, that's your daughter. Did you see how pitifully she cried today? As a father, can't you be less cold?"
"Don't pick up your father's old habit of favoring sons over daughters. The Smith family doesn't have that tradition. You..."
Violet's voice rose with anger, particularly clear in the quiet night.
George just listened quietly, his figure upright, his profile half-bright, half-dark under the streetlight, showing no expression.
After Violet finished her tirade in one breath, her chest still heaving, he finally spoke.
From this distance, I couldn't hear exactly what he said. I only saw his lips move briefly, as if saying just a few short words.
Then Violet's car window rolled up, carrying a sense of anger.
George stood there for a few seconds, then opened his car door and got in. The black sedan soon merged into the night and disappeared.
I stood there, the night wind making me feel cold.
I withdrew my gaze, turned around expressionlessly, and walked toward the inpatient building's hot water room.
I tore open the instant noodles package, poured in boiling water, and the familiar cheap fragrance spread.
I leaned against the cold wall, waiting for the noodles to cook.
In my mind, I couldn't help replaying the scene of George standing by the car, indifferently listening to Violet's scolding.
I had thought George would give up everything for Sarah, but I never expected he would take the initiative to propose divorce.
He probably thought that threatening me with divorce was his final trump card, that it would force me to give in, force me to bow down to Sarah.
But he didn't know this was exactly the outcome I had been hoping for.
I looked at my slightly reddened palm, a mocking smile curving my lips.
If I had known that slapping Sarah once would make George so readily agree to divorce, I should have done it earlier.
This thought was absurd yet satisfying.
Sarah, this mistress, had schemed to steal my husband, hurt my child, full of calculations.
The only good thing she accomplished was accelerating the complete end of my marriage with George.
From this perspective, she was somewhat useful.
Good.
Really, that's good.
The steam from the instant noodles rose, blurring my vision.
I lowered my head and ate in big mouthfuls.
With food in my stomach, my body seemed to warm up a bit.
Tomorrow, there would be many things to do.
But at least, regarding the divorce, I could finally see a glimmer of hope.
After eating the instant noodles, there was some warmth in my stomach, but my heart still felt heavy.
I returned to the hospital room and sat on the small sofa by Milly's bed, quietly watching over her.
My phone vibrated—it was Mom calling.
"Grace, why didn't Milly call me today? Usually at this time, she video calls me to tell stories." Mom's voice carried concern.
My heart tightened. I quickly steadied my tone, trying to sound natural, "Mom, I took Milly to an amusement park today. She played a bit too hard and fell asleep on the way back. She was sleeping so soundly that I didn't wake her. When she wakes up, I'll have her call you."
"Oh, you went to an amusement park? That's nice, children should play more." Mom didn't suspect anything and gave a few more reminders for me to rest before hanging up.
I breathed a sigh of relief, holding my phone, but feeling even more bitter inside.
To Mom, I could only share good news, not bad.
She had already worried too much about me. I couldn't let her be frightened and anxious again.
After thinking, I sent William a message, briefly explaining Milly's situation—that she needed to stay in the hospital for observation for two days, and that I would handle work on my laptop at the hospital without delaying the project.
William quickly replied: [Got it. Don't push yourself too hard with work. Taking care of Milly is what matters. Emily and I will come by later to see her.]
I replied with a thank you, warmth rising in my heart.
Fortunately, I wasn't alone.
Milly woke up once in the middle of the night. She drowsily opened her eyes, and seeing me keeping watch beside her, a soft smile appeared on her little face as she gently called out, "Mommy."
But soon, she began unconsciously searching the hospital room, from the door to the window, then back to me. It seemed she didn't find the figure she wanted to see. That bit of smile slowly faded, and a shallow layer of disappointment floated in her eyes.
She didn't ask where Daddy was. She just curled up further into the blanket and said softly, "Mommy, my head still feels a bit dizzy."
My heart felt like it was being pricked by fine needles—painful and bitter.
I closed the laptop that was open on my lap, set it aside, leaned over, and gently held her little hand that was outside the blanket.
"Milly," my voice was soft but carried an unprecedented solemnity, "Mommy wants to tell you something."
Milly looked up at me, her long lashes trembling like butterfly wings.
I took a deep breath, looked directly into her eyes, and said clearly and calmly, word by word, "Milly, Daddy and Mommy might be separating for good."