Chapter 73 Don't Hate Me
Her fingers shook as she held the small glass bottle, the faint rattle of the pills louder than her own breath. The sound seemed to echo in the stillness between them.
"Rufus... I will ask you this once." Cecilia drew in a slow breath, trying to steady the storm inside her. "Tell me the truth. Did you make sure our child never lived?"
She didn't look away. "I want honesty this time. You know me—about Soren, I will find out no matter what."
Soren. The name she had whispered in the quiet hours, imagining the warmth of a tiny heartbeat, picturing a future she thought was certain. He had never been born. And now, she believed he had been killed by the man who should have protected him.
There was no word big enough for what she felt. Despair fell short.
Rufus couldn't meet her eyes. He turned his head, his voice flat. "Why bring this up now?"
"You only need to answer me. Was it you?" Her voice was sharp, but her eyes begged for the truth.
He avoided the question. "It's over. What matters now is your health. Stop thinking about it. There will be other children."
The way he said it—like that small life had been nothing more than a passing inconvenience—made her stomach twist. Her breath came shallow.
She knew him well enough to understand: if he hadn't done it, he would have denied it instantly, without hesitation. But he hadn't. And that silence was an answer.
Brad had been telling the truth. Their child had died by Rufus's hand.
It was almost laughable. Almost.
"Do you realize," she said quietly, "that if I had known the truth sooner, I would have left with Soren? I wouldn't have stayed alive long enough for you and Blair to keep hurting me."
Her tone was flat, detached, as if she were telling someone else's story. But inside, she knew her heart had been torn apart long ago.
"You should have told me," she added, her lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smile. "At least then I wouldn't have wasted all this time believing in you."
"I'm sorry, Soren…" The words were barely audible, but they carried the weight of everything she had failed to protect. If she could trade her life for his, she would.
Soren had been so small. He had never even opened his eyes to see the world before Rufus had taken that chance away.
Rufus's chest tightened. A flicker of something—fear—rose in him, stronger than he'd ever felt before. He had the sudden, irrational sense that he was losing her, that she was slipping beyond his reach.
He crossed the space in three strides and pulled her into his arms. She fought him, her fists striking his chest, but he didn't let go.
"Let me go." Her voice was calm, but there was no life in it.
He shook his head, holding tighter. "No. You're not yourself right now. Stop thinking like this. It will pass."
"Pass?" She let out a short, bitter laugh. How could anyone speak of a child's death as if it were a storm that would blow over?
"I'll say it again. Let go."
"I said no." His voice was low, firm.
He rested his chin against her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. "If you take care of yourself, we can have another child. Okay?"
He added, softer, "Don't be so stubborn, Cecilia. I don't like you this way."
She didn't care what he liked. Her heart was ice. She looked at his profile and felt nothing familiar. Once, she had loved that view—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his eyes caught the light. Now it was just a stranger's face, one she could barely stand to look at.
She said nothing. There was nothing left to say. Long ago, their lives had stopped touching — no shared joy, no shared grief.
Maybe, on the nights she had cried herself to sleep over Soren, Rufus had been holding Blair, drifting into peaceful dreams. Maybe, every time her tears had soaked the pillow, he had been laughing with her.
"You told Blair about Soren, didn't you? Used him to win her favor." Her voice was a question, but her tone made it a statement.
His jaw tightened. "Is that what you think of me?"
She laughed suddenly, the sound sharp and brittle. Her eyes burned, but she wiped them quickly. It wasn't funny. It was cruel.
"You're worse than I imagined. And you don't need to act wounded now."
He opened his mouth to speak, but she sagged against him, her strength gone.
"Forget it, Rufus."
It wasn't forgiveness. She couldn't forgive. It was surrender—the knowledge that she no longer had the will to fight him, or to care.
Her detachment unsettled him. Panic gnawed at his chest. He held her tighter, as if his grip alone could keep her from slipping away.
In the days that followed, Rufus abandoned everything at the Chapman Group, leaving Louis to handle it all. Even when Blair had been gravely ill, Rufus had split his time between the hospital and the company without fail. But now, he didn't go in at all. He stayed by Cecilia's side.
He even cooked for her himself—hands that had never known the sting of hot oil or the weight of a kitchen knife now chopping vegetables and stirring pots. If this had been the past, Cecilia might have felt a rush of joy at the sight.
Now, she felt nothing. She moved through the days like a shadow, her gaze often fixed on the window. She had once loved walking in the garden, wandering among the flowers. Since that day, she hadn't stepped outside. She kept herself locked in her room, staring at the world beyond the glass.
More than once, Rufus had watched her like that and felt a sharp pain in his chest. She looked like she was waiting for something. He couldn't name it. Maybe she was waiting to die.
She spent those days thinking. Mostly about their past. Mostly about the joy she had felt when she first carried Soren.
"Don't hate me," she whispered one afternoon. And then, realizing how hollow the words were, she wondered if she even had the right to say them.
All she could hope was that Soren had found peace somewhere beyond this life. That when his soul was called to its next home, it would be to a family who cherished him, in a world where fear could never reach.
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