Chapter 32
After saying that, James pulled me back to the room without giving me a chance to resist.
The door closed heavily behind us, shutting out everything outside. Only James and I remained in the room.
The air seemed to freeze, oppressively suffocating.
James stood with his back to me by the window, his broad shoulders tensed tight.
After a long while, he slowly turned around. His eyes churned with emotions I couldn't understand—lingering anger, and even more, a deep, painful questioning.
"Why?" His voice was unbearably hoarse. "Why did you specifically call Robert here?"
In the past, I would only hide away. I never disturbed him and Amelia, let alone bring an outsider like this time.
I smiled calmly. "Fine, I'll tell you why."
My voice was soft, yet every word was clear, striking the silent air like ice picks. "I did it on purpose. I wanted Robert to come, wanted him to tell everyone personally that Amelia is perfectly fine!"
I watched his face change suddenly and continued, enunciating each word. "As for the reason, have you forgotten? Not long ago, this same highly respected Robert confidently told you that I wasn't pregnant."
I laughed mockingly, as if telling the biggest joke. "An expert who has served the Smith family for over ten years, whom even your grandfather specifically requested by his side before he passed—would he make such a basic mistake? James, do you believe that?"
At the mention of our child, James's eyes clearly wavered.
I saw clearly that the usual coldness in his eyes cracked, and a rare, almost painful tenderness flashed through them.
He opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something.
But it was too late.
All of this was too late.
"What's with that expression now? Who are you putting on that show for?" My voice was icy. "The child is already gone. Actually, I think this is for the best."
"For the best?" James seemed stung by my words. He suddenly grabbed my slender wrist that could snap with one squeeze.
His grip was so strong it seemed like he wanted to crush my bones. His eyes were bloodshot, frighteningly red. "That was my first child! Sophia, how can you be so heartless? How can you say... for the best?"
Those words were like a dagger, stabbing viciously into my heart, then cruelly twisting.
My tears finally broke free uncontrollably, sliding down my cheeks.
But my voice was unusually calm, frighteningly calm, each sentence like it was pulled from an ice cellar. "I'm heartless?"
"Wasn't it you who said we always used protection, that I couldn't possibly be pregnant?"
"It was you who took that so-called 'evidence' and confidently told me I was lying to you, that I was using a non-existent child to manipulate you."
"It was you who refused to acknowledge this child! It was you who allowed Amelia and Isabella to provoke and hurt me again and again, even indirectly causing the child's death!"
I forcefully shook off his hand, pointing at my empty belly, my voice trembling like bleeding. "What right do you have to question my heartlessness? The truly heartless person has never been me!"
After saying this last sentence, I felt as if all my strength had been drained. I didn't even have the energy to stand.
Tears blurred my vision, but I stubbornly held my head high, refusing to show weakness in front of him.
James froze in place, his bloodshot eyes filled with shock, panic, and helplessness from being hit by my words.
He opened his mouth but couldn't make a sound, only staring at me intently, as if truly seeing me for the first time.
The room was left with only my restrained sobbing and his heavy, chaotic breathing.
Finally, James left.
The door made a deafening bang, and the entire room seemed to shake with it.
I stood in place, my back to the closed door, my body trembling from the intense confrontation just now.
The tears pooling in my eyes finally couldn't bear their weight and rolled down, landing on the back of my hand, ice cold.
He said I was heartless.
He said it was his first child.
How ironic!
When I needed him to acknowledge it most, when I needed his protection most, what he gave me was cold doubt and merciless mockery.
Now, when everything is beyond repair, he shows this belated, cheap tenderness?
I raised my hand and wiped the tears from my face.
My tears shouldn't be shed for unworthy people anymore.
That night, I slept very restlessly.
My dreams were bizarre and chaotic, finally settling on a time long, long ago—those deliberately buried memories from the orphanage.
In the dream, sunlight streamed through the shabby window frame, dust dancing in the beams of light.
In the corner crouched an exceptionally beautiful little boy with long eyelashes, but those eyes that should have been bright were filled with timidity and unease.
Other children from the orphanage were snatching the only cookie from his hand. He clutched it tightly, lips pressed together, neither crying nor making a fuss, just stubbornly keeping his head down.
I couldn't stand it and rushed over to chase away those bullying older kids.
I stuffed my own half cookie, which was more intact, into his hand.
He looked up at me, those eyes...
The boy who seemed familiar in the dream, now that I was awake and thinking back, vaguely resembled James, especially the color and shape of his pupils.
However, that boy's gaze was too fragile, like brittle glass, completely different from James's current cold hardness that looked down on everything.
That boy was very introverted then, barely speaking.
I was the one who played with him and protected him from being bullied by others.
Then one day, he suddenly grabbed the corner of my clothes and said in a small but firm voice, "Sophia, when I grow up, I'll definitely protect you."
Those words were childishly earnest, yet in that cold orphanage, they gave me a tiny bit of warmth.
Unfortunately, not long after, he was adopted by a couple who looked very refined.
Or he might have died, because I never saw him again.
Children at the orphanage—whether they were there or not made little difference.
Later, I was also taken back to the Smith family by Indigo.
This dream came out of nowhere.
James was born into wealth, the heir of the Smith family. He grew up in luxury, the center of attention. How could he have possibly stayed in a place like an orphanage?
And been bullied?
It was simply absurd.
Probably because I mentioned the child last night and went through that intense conflict with James, my subconscious forcibly connected some vague childhood memories with him.
I shook my head, dispelling that ridiculous dream.
Reality was already troublesome enough. There was no need to worry about meaningless dreams.