Chapter 84 Twenty-eight Years Ago
They stayed like that for a while, each of them trying to get used to the fact that they just confessed their feelings for each other.
Rebecca’s breathing was shallow, uneven, her fingers trembling slightly where they rested against the sheets.
Then, suddenly, her hand drifted downward and her heart skipped. Her baby. Their baby.
Her palm pressed lightly against her stomach, as though she expected to feel something, movement, warmth, life. Her eyes widened, panic flickering across her face like a spark catching dry grass.
"My baby," she whispered hoarsely.
Derek stiffened instantly.
She turned her head toward him, fear flooding her expression. "Derek," she said again, louder now, her voice breaking. "What about the baby?"
His heart dropped straight into his chest.
This was the moment he had been dreading since the doctor had spoken to him in the hallway. Since the words had been delivered in careful, clinical tones that did nothing to soften their cruelty. He had known this moment would come, had rehearsed a hundred ways to say it, but none of them felt right. None of them felt kind enough.
He couldn’t do it.
Not like this. Not when she was still so fragile, so raw.
"I’ll get the doctor," he said gently, forcing calm into his voice as he reached out to brush her hair back from her face. His fingers lingered, as if memorizing the feel of her. "Let them explain everything, okay?"
She searched his eyes, as though trying to read what he wasn’t saying, but exhaustion dulled her reactions. Slowly, she nodded.
"Okay," she whispered.
He squeezed her hand once more, just once, afraid that if he held on longer, he might break then stood and walked out of the room.
The hallway felt too bright, too loud. Derek dragged in a breath, steadying himself before calling for the doctor in charge of Rebecca’s case.
Every step felt heavy, as though guilt clung to him like a glove. He kept telling himself that none of this was his fault, but the thought rang hollow. At the end of the day, his actions got her kidnapped.
By the time he returned with the doctor, his jaw ached from clenching it too tightly.
Rebecca watched them enter, her eyes sharp despite her weakness. She searched their faces before either of them spoke, reading the tension in Derek’s posture, the solemn set of the doctor’s expression.
Derek moved to her side immediately, slipping an arm carefully around her shoulders, as if to comfort her.
The doctor cleared his throat softly before speaking. "Mrs. Hemsworth,"he said gently, his tone slow and deliberate. "You experienced significant trauma, both physical and emotional. Unfortunately…"
He paused, giving her just enough time to sense what was coming.
"…the baby didn’t survive."
The words landed like a blow to her chest.
For a moment, Rebecca didn’t react. It was as if her mind refused to accept the sentence, as if it simply slid past her without meaning. Then her breath hitched violently, a strangled sound tearing from her throat.
"No," she whispered.
Tears spilled over, hot and unstoppable. She turned her face away, her body shaking as sobs wracked through her, silent but devastating.
Derek pulled her against him immediately, holding her tightly as if he could shield her from the pain, as if his arms could somehow make this untrue.
"I.." Rebecca gasped, her voice breaking completely. "I didn’t even… I didn’t even get to say goodbye."
Derek’s own vision blurred.
"Rebecca…" he whispered, his voice cracking as he pressed his forehead gently against her temple. He brushed her tears away with trembling fingers, but they kept coming, relentless.
She turned her face slightly toward him, grief etched into every line of her expression. "I was starting to believe," she said softly, brokenly. "That maybe… maybe everything would be okay this time."
Derek swallowed hard, pain clawing up his throat. "I’m so sorry," he murmured, over and over again, though the words felt useless.
The doctor cleared his throat quietly, giving them a moment before continuing. "The smoke inhalation caused damage to your lungs, but the good news is that it’s starting to clear. You’ll remain under close monitoring for now. Rest is important. If you feel any discomfort or shortness of breath, press the call button immediately."
Rebecca nodded faintly, too shattered to respond with words.
Once the doctor left, the room fell into a heavy silence.
Rebecca turned inward, her sobs quieting into something far more painful, silent tears sliding down her cheeks as she stared blankly at the wall. Images flooded her mind unbidden. Tiny clothes she had imagined. A future she had quietly built in her heart. A presence she had clung to after losing her parents, something that had made the loneliness bearable.
She had wanted a friend. Someone who would never leave. Someone who belonged only to her.
And now… it was gone.
Derek stayed beside her, one hand resting over hers, offering comfort without words, giving her space to grieve while silently grieving himself. He didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t try to distract her. He just stayed.
After a long while, the door creaked open again.
Richard stepped inside, his movements hesitant, his expression grave. He stopped short when he saw Rebecca awake, pain flickering across his face before he masked it.
"You’re awake," he said quietly, walking closer to the bed.
Rebecca turned toward him. Her eyes were red, swollen, but sharp. "Yes, Uncle," she said softly, then her voice hardened. "Vanessa." She had been too busy reconciling with Derek to ask him about her.
Richard exhaled slowly, already knowing what she was going to ask. "She’s been arrested," he said. "The police took her and her men into custody."
Rebecca closed her eyes briefly. Relief washed through her relief, and something darker.
"Good," she whispered.
The silence stretched again.
Then Rebecca opened her eyes and looked directly at him. "Do you know about her father?" she asked suddenly.
Richard froze.
She remembered Vanessa’s words in the warehouse. The hatred in her eyes. The bitterness that had spilled from her like poison. Rebecca needed the truth now, every ugly piece of it.
"Is he really dead?" she asked when Richard didn’t answer.
Slowly, painfully, Richard shook his head. "No."
Anger surged through her, sharp and immediate. "Then why?" she demanded weakly. "Why lie about something like that? He’s the reason she turned out this way. He corrupted her."
Richard looked away, shame carving deep lines into his face. "We never thought Vanessa would become this," he said quietly. "If we had… we wouldn’t have hidden the truth."
He turned back to her, eyes heavy with regret. "We thought we were protecting her. We believed that if she thought her father was dead, she’d be spared knowing how cruel and wicked he truly was."
Rebecca shook her head slowly, tears slipping free again. "Or maybe if she’d known," she whispered, "she would’ve tried not to become like him."
Richard’s shoulders sagged. "Maybe," he said hoarsely. "That’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life."
The room felt smaller, heavier.
Rebecca swallowed hard. "What happened?" she asked. "With him?"
Richard hesitated, then pulled a chair closer and sat down. His movements were slow, burdened. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, thick with memory.
"It was twenty-eight years ago…"