Chapter 11
When I regained consciousness, the first thing I sensed was that familiar, cold smell of disinfectant filling my nostrils.
Then came the pain from deep within my body—that hollow, dense yet sharp pain, especially concentrated in my lower abdomen. Wave after wave of empty, dragging pain reminded me of that heart-wrenching scene before I passed out.
I jerked my eyes open, the blinding white light making me squint uncomfortably. "The baby... how's my baby?"
My voice was dry and hoarse, like a worn-out bellows, trembling uncontrollably.
I didn't even dare look down at my own belly. I just looked urgently at the person by my bedside, clinging to one last shred of desperate hope.
I had already guessed it wouldn't be James, but when I clearly saw it was Andrew, my heart still couldn't help but ache.
He looked terrible, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and something evasive that made my heart race with panic.
He held my cold hand, trying to calm me down. "Sophia, you're awake? How do you feel? Are you uncomfortable anywhere? The doctor said you can't get too worked up."
He was avoiding the main issue, refusing to answer the question I cared about most.
An extreme panic, like ice water, instantly drenched my entire body.
I yanked my hand back and grabbed his arm tightly, my nails nearly digging into his flesh, my voice sharp with absolute terror.
"I'm asking you where my baby is! Andrew! Tell me! What happened to my baby? Is he still here or not? Say something!" My eyes were locked on him, not missing any subtle expression on his face.
I saw his Adam's apple move, his eyes flicker painfully, his lips move wordlessly, before he finally turned his face away.
That gesture was like a heavy hammer, brutally shattering my last bit of hope.
"No... it can't be." I shook my head, tears flooding out without warning, instantly blurring my vision.
"You're lying to me, right? He's just not doing well, he's still here, he must still be here!"
Like a madwoman, I struggled to sit up, wanting to throw off the covers to check, but my body's weakness and the sharp pain in my abdomen made me fall heavily back down.
"Sophia, don't do this, calm down!" Andrew hurriedly held me down, his voice also choking up.
Finally, under my broken, nearly desperate gaze, he spoke with difficulty the truth that would send me straight to hell. "Your baby... couldn't be saved."
He closed his eyes, his voice as light as a sigh, yet heavy as a thousand pounds.
"When you were brought to the hospital, you were hemorrhaging badly. The doctors did everything they could. I'm sorry, Sophia. You're still young, you'll definitely have your own children in the future."
These words were like poisoned ice picks, piercing precisely into my heart one by one, then exploding.
I opened my mouth wide, but couldn't make a sound. All the strength in my body seemed to drain away, leaving only endless cold and emptiness.
My baby.
The baby I tried so hard to protect.
I hadn't even had time to feel his movements, hadn't had time to tell him how much I loved him.
And he lost his right to see this world because of the evil actions of that woman and her child—the ones his biological father protected.
I didn't cry out anymore. I just bit my lower lip hard until I tasted blood, my body trembling violently from the extreme grief, beyond my control.
The pain in my lower abdomen became incredibly clear at this moment, as if using slow torture to remind me again and again of what I had lost.
Andrew, his eyes red, held me tightly, saying "I'm sorry" over and over, but any comfort at this moment seemed ridiculously pale.
That bone-deep grief was gradually replaced by something deeper and colder—a deathly silence.
I pushed Andrew away, roughly wiped the tears from my face with the back of my hand, stared blankly at the ceiling, my voice terrifyingly calm, without a ripple.
"Andrew, do me a favor."
"What?"
"That divorce agreement I asked you to draft—is it ready?"
Andrew looked at me in shock. "Sophia, right now you..."
"Give it to me!" I looked at him, my eyes showing unprecedented determination and coldness. "Now. Immediately!"
He looked at me, and finally, without saying anything, nodded heavily and left the ward.
When he handed me those few pages of paper, still warm from the printer, thin and light, I felt no weight at all, yet also felt they weighed a thousand pounds.
I pulled out the IV needle from the back of my hand and, ignoring Andrew's attempts to stop me and my body's weakness and pain, forced myself out of bed.
With every step I took, my lower abdomen sent tearing pain, and warm liquid seemed to be seeping out below, but I didn't care.
I needed to personally put an end to all of this.
When I pushed open the heavy door of the Smith Mansion, what came from inside was warm laughter and cheerful voices—the complete opposite of the cold despair surrounding me, and piercingly cozy.
In the Smith Mansion's dining room, the lights glowed warm yellow.
James sat at the head of the table, with Amelia and Isabella on either side of him.
The table was set with fine dishes. Isabella was holding up a spoon, asking James in a sweet childlike voice to try something from her plate, while Amelia smiled gently beside them, occasionally wiping the corners of Isabella's mouth with a napkin.
And I—the legitimate wife of James, who had just lost her child and struggled back from the hospital—was like an awkward, unwelcome intruder.
My appearance interrupted this cozy atmosphere.
James looked up and saw me, his brow immediately furrowing with displeasure, his tone carrying its usual coldness and accusation. "Sophia? You finally decided to come back? Coming home this late for dinner without even a phone call—where are your manners and courtesy?"
When I had just experienced the pain of losing my child, he was having dinner with the murderer who killed my baby, and now he was questioning my manners?
How ridiculous!
I ignored his questioning and didn't even bother to look at Amelia's face, which had instantly become both nervous and smug.
Step by step, dragging my heavy and painful body, I walked to the dining table.
The sound of my heels on the floor, in the suddenly quiet space, seemed particularly clear and particularly heavy.
James seemed to notice something unusual about me. His gaze lingered for a moment on my paper-white, bloodless face, his frown deepening, but his words were still cold. "What are you trying to pull now?"
I stopped in front of him and slowly pulled out the divorce agreement from my bag.
Then, using all my strength, I slammed those few pages down hard on the table.
A sharp sound shook the tableware slightly and completely shattered this false warmth before our eyes.
I raised my eyes and looked directly into James's shocked and disbelieving gaze, my voice hoarse but carrying an iron-cold calmness. "James, let's get divorced."