Chapter 170 Then You Go Find Her!
Matilda had learned pregnancy diagnosis as part of her medical training. After a quick examination, she looked up with certainty. "Zoey, you're pregnant."
"Really?" Zoey's eyes went wide.
"Congratulations." Matilda managed a genuine smile despite everything.
Zoey touched her stomach, a dazed expression crossing her face. She still felt like a kid herself. How was she supposed to be a mother? Though Charles was old enough—more than old enough, really—to be a father.
"You should tell Charles right away," Matilda said. "He'll be thrilled."
Zoey started toward the door, riding a wave of excitement, then stopped and turned back. "Actually... maybe I'll wait until we're home. He's so worried about his brother right now. A baby probably won't register as good news when his mind's somewhere else."
"He's not that old. Plenty of people don't get married until their thirties, don't have kids until their forties."
But Zoey held firm. "Let's find Wentworth first. I don't want to distract him."
Matilda nodded slowly. "Just promise me you'll take it easy. Don't overdo anything."
"I promise."
---
Charles was drowning in work. Company decisions that required his approval kept piling up, and the search for Wentworth had become a second full-time job. He caught himself resenting his mother—at her age, she should know better than to cause this much chaos. Wentworth was married, for God's sake. Why was she so determined to tear them apart?
Frustration simmered under his skin as he returned to the bedroom. Zoey lay stretched across the bed with a tablet, watching some movie, a plate of crackers beside her.
His exhaustion deepened. They weren't even on the same wavelength anymore. He was out there running himself ragged, and she was having a lazy movie marathon.
But then reality check hit him. Isn't this what being a man means? Carrying the weight so she doesn't have to?
No matter how tired he was, he shouldn't dump his stress on his wife.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. Zoey brightened immediately when she saw him, offering a cracker.
"Want one?"
Charles shook his head. "No thanks."
"You didn't come back for lunch. Did you eat anything?"
"Yeah, I grabbed something."
He lay back without asking if she'd eaten.
Zoey had been nauseated for days, fighting the urge to vomit with every meal. Matilda had suggested saltine crackers to settle her stomach. Getting up made her dizzy, so she'd been lying down as much as possible. The movies kept her from dwelling on how miserable she felt.
Noticing Charles's mood, she paused the film. "Matilda taught me this amazing massage technique. Let me try it on you—it's supposed to be super relaxing."
"You know how to do that?"
"Of course. I'm a quick study. Now lie down and let me work my magic."
Charles stretched out, and Zoey's fingers found his temples, applying gentle pressure. It actually felt incredible. Within minutes, he'd drifted off to sleep.
---
Wentworth's vision had improved again today. Before, people had looked like ghosts drifting past. Now he could make out actual shapes, distinguish features.
His hearing was coming back too. The silence that had swallowed his world was breaking up—replaced by a constant buzzing, punctuated by the crash of waves and fragments of conversation. Like his ears were working independently, taking turns. It left him feeling disoriented.
But clearer vision brought suspicion. The person caring for him wasn't Matilda.
Matilda was tall and statuesque. Her proportions were striking—especially after she'd started training in self-defense with him. She'd kept practicing on her own, developing this fluid, athletic grace.
The woman in front of him had a similar build, but something was off. The curve of her wasn't quite right.
Matilda had a naturally full figure—generous curves, narrow waist, perfect proportions. This woman was... smaller. Less of everything.
And when his hearing kicked in, he never caught Matilda's voice. Just his mother and some unfamiliar woman chatting. He'd heard that voice before somewhere, but couldn't place it. If someone wasn't important to him, he never bothered memorizing details.
Was she a caregiver his mother had hired?
Then why hadn't she pulled away when he'd been holding her hand all this time? He seriously doubted modern healthcare included hand-holding in the service package.
So when that gardenia-scented figure approached him, taking his hand and pressing pills into his palm, he withdrew.
She froze, clearly startled.
His ears buzzed with white noise again.
Then Amelia took his hand, signaling firmly that he needed to take his medication.
He didn't accept the pills. Instead, he spoke one word: "Matty."
He couldn't hear his own voice, wasn't sure if she'd heard him. So he dipped his finger in water and traced the letters on the table surface. M-A-T-T-Y.
Amelia stared at his face, then turned toward Juliana.
Juliana stood frozen in place.
He knows.
No matter how well she'd disguised herself, in the end, the only person he wanted was Matilda.
She turned and walked out.
---
Everyone gathered for breakfast at the villa—Charles, Zoey, Matilda, and Nason all present for once.
Mid-meal, Charles's phone buzzed with a voice message. From Amelia. He hit the speaker button, and her voice filled the room.
"Wentworth is safe. Juliana and I are taking care of him. You need to take everyone home. Now."
Charles jumped in immediately. "Mom, where are you? We're not leaving without seeing Wentworth."
"Somewhere safe. Tell Matilda that Juliana is the one caring for Wentworth now. If she has any dignity, she'll step aside. She can keep the villa. Juliana keeps the man."
Charles passed his phone to Matilda.
"Mom," Matilda said steadily, "I'm not giving up on Wentworth. And I know he won't give up on me either."
"Let me ask you something." Amelia's voice turned sharp. "Wentworth is deaf and blind now. He can't even take care of himself. You still want him?"
Matilda didn't hesitate. "Of course I do."
Silence answered her from the other end.
---
Wentworth had refused medication for days. Refused food too.
His vision kept sharpening. A few days ago, he'd only managed outlines. Now he could see objects up close clearly—his own hands, and the hand that had been guiding him everywhere.
Juliana's hand.
She'd been the one taking care of him this whole time during his recovery.
He'd mistaken her for someone else.
Guilt crashed over him in waves. He couldn't let this misunderstanding continue.
His hearing was getting clearer too, sound filtering through the fog.
"Wentworth, please. I'm begging you, eat something. You're not eating, not drinking, refusing your medication. You're breaking my heart." Amelia's voice cracked.
Wentworth showed no reaction. He only kept asking the same question over and over.
"Where's Matty?"
He wanted his Matty.
Amelia's composure shattered. "You're going to eat right now!"
She tried forcing food into his mouth, but he clenched his jaw shut. The food slid down his chest. Amelia slammed the bowl down and burst into tears, shoulders shaking.
But in the end, she couldn't win this battle. Not against his stubborn will.
After her anger burned itself out and the tears dried up, Amelia finally gave in.
"Fine. You want to find her that badly? Go find her then. I'm done trying to protect you from yourself!"