Chapter 106 #106
Chapter 106
~Shailyn's POV~
I looked at Hannah. At the hope in her eyes. At the fear in Dante's. At the tension in Dwayne's shoulders.
"No," I said quietly. "I don't remember anything."
The collective exhale was almost audible.
Dante's grip on my hand loosened slightly. Relief washing over his features.
"That's okay, baby," he said quickly. "The doctor said it might take time. Or it might never come back. Either way, we'll get through this together."
I nodded. Slowly. Like I was still processing.
"Actually," I said, looking around at all of them. "I think I'm ready to stop trying so hard to remember."
"What do you mean?" Hannah asked carefully.
"I mean I'm tired. I'm exhausted from constantly trying to piece together a past that might never come back. It's affecting me. It's affecting the babies." I placed my hand on my stomach. "And I can't keep living like this."
"Shailyn—" Hannah started.
"I need to move forward," I interrupted gently. "Not backward. The stress of trying to remember, of feeling like I'm missing pieces of myself, it's not healthy. The doctor said my blood pressure is dangerous. That the babies are at risk."
"So what are you saying?" Tyler asked.
"I'm saying I'm done chasing memories that don't want to be found. I'm going to focus on my family. On my husband. On these babies." I squeezed Dante's hand. "On building a future instead of mourning a past I can't access."
Dante's smile was blinding. Triumphant. "That's very mature of you, Shay."
"I just want peace," I said softly. "For me and for my children."
Hannah looked like she wanted to argue. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"If that's what you want," she said finally, though her voice was tight.
"It is."
Dwayne was watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. Like he was trying to read something beneath my words. But he said nothing.
Before anyone could respond further, the door opened.
The doctor stepped in, clipboard in hand, eyes scanning the crowded room with mild disapproval.
"Mrs. Belmar," he said warmly. "Good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"
"Tired. A bit sore."
"That's completely normal." He turned to the room full of people. "I'm going to need everyone to step out for a bit. I need to examine my patient and discuss her care plan."
"I'm staying," Dante said immediately.
"Mr. Belmar, I appreciate your concern, but patient privacy is important. You can come back shortly."
"She's my wife—"
"Which is why I'll be sure to brief you on everything once I'm done. But right now, she needs rest and quiet. All of you." He gestured to the door. "Please."
Tyler stood first. "Of course, doctor. We'll be right outside."
Hannah squeezed my hand one more time. "I'll be right outside if you need me."
"Thank you."
Dante leaned down and kissed my forehead. Long. Possessive. "I'll be right back, baby. I love you."
"I love you too," I said.
The words tasted like ash.
He left reluctantly, shooting the doctor an annoyed look before stepping into the corridor.
Dwayne was the last to move. He stood there for a long moment, just looking at me. Really looking at me.
His eyes held questions I couldn't answer. Not here. Not now.
"Dwayne?" Tyler called from the hallway.
He turned slowly, breaking eye contact, and walked out without a word.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Dr. Martins smiled kindly. "How are you really feeling, Mrs. Belmar?"
"Honestly? Overwhelmed."
"That's understandable. You've been through quite an ordeal." He checked my vitals, making notes on his clipboard. "Your blood pressure is still elevated, but it's coming down. That's good."
"And the babies?"
"Both heartbeats are strong. But I want to keep you here overnight for observation. Just to be safe."
"Okay."
"I also want to talk to you about stress management. Whatever triggered this panic attack, we need to make sure it doesn't happen again."
"I understand."
"Do you know what triggered it?"
I hesitated. "I think I was just overwhelmed. Everything's been a lot lately."
"Memory loss can be incredibly stressful," he said gently. "Have you been seeing the therapist your friend mentioned?"
"Yes. Dr. Susan. I've only had one session."
"Good. Keep going. And Mrs. Belmar?" He looked at me seriously. "If you're experiencing any other symptoms, anxiety, depression, intrusive thoughts, you need to tell someone. Your mental health is just as important as your physical health."
"I will. Thank you, doctor."
"I'll check on you in a few hours. Try to rest." He patted my hand gently and left.
The door closed again.
And finally, I was alone.
Completely, utterly alone.
The mask I'd been wearing since I opened my eyes cracked.
Then shattered.
The sob came first. Raw. Broken. Ripping out of my chest like something alive trying to escape.
I pressed both hands to my mouth, trying to muffle the sound, but it didn't matter. The tears came anyway. Hot and fast and relentless.
The letter.
My mother's letter.
Every word was burned into my memory now. Every revelation. Every truth she'd been holding for twenty-eight years.
To my dear daughter, Shailyn
Your father didn't die in an accident, Shailyn. He was murdered. Tyler Belmar killed him. Shot him in his own office over ownership of SentientIQ, the company your father created. He made it seem like it was from a rival company but I know better. Tyler wanted it all. And he took it. He took everything from us.
I cried for the father I never met. The brilliant man whose notebooks I'd studied. Whose code I'd learned. Whose genius I'd inherited.
The father who was murdered the day I was born.
Murdered by my father-in-law.
"Dad," I whispered through my tears. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't know."
My body shook with sobs.
I cried for my mother. For the stroke she suffered giving birth to me. For the years she spent trapped in her own body, unable to speak, unable to tell me the truth.
I cried for the amnesia. For the months of lies. For believing Dante. For trusting him.
For loving him.
"God, I'm so stupid," I choked out. "So stupid."
I cried for the technology he stole. For H-GPT. For my father's legacy that Dante claimed as his own.
For the five years of cheating. The humiliation. The STIs. The emotional abuse masked as love.
For every time I convinced myself I deserved it.
And then—
The realization hit me like a train.
The babies.
I was carrying Dwayne's baby.
What was I supposed to do? How was I supposed to—
Knock. Knock.
I froze.
My hands flew to my face, wiping frantically at the tears, trying to compose myself even though my eyes were swollen and my cheeks were soaked.
"J-just a minute," I called out, my voice cracking.
I grabbed tissues from the bedside table, dabbing at my face, trying to erase the evidence of my breakdown.
Another knock. More insistent this time.
"Come in," I said, forcing my voice to steady.
The door opened slowly.
And my breath caught in my throat.