Chapter 347
At that moment, I saw Henty’s face filled with regret, Regret for not listening to me.
The smug superiority he had displayed minutes ago when ordering extra dessert had completely vanished from his face, replaced by heartbreaking guilt as he watched our son suffering.
I didn’t bother looking at Henry, I leaned across and took Billy into my arms, letting the little one rest against me. I skillfully placed my hand on his swollen belly and began to gently massage it in circular motions.
“Billy, I asked softly, ‘what does Mommy always tell you about eating too much?”
The little one guiltily lowered his eyes, his voice small and remorseful: “I know I was wrong, Mommy. I promise I won’t be greedy anymore.”
I continued to massage his stomach with gentle techniques, using the method that had always worked unfailingly before.
But today, for some reason, my usually foolproof technique wasn’t working. Billy’s face remained contorted with discomfort, his small hands clutching his bloated stomach tightly.
I began to panic. “Take him to the hospital!” I commanded, my tone leaving no room for argument.
At the hospital, after a series of examinations, the pediatrician gave his diagnosis: Billy had eaten too much and needed an IV drip.
Henry arranged for a private room where Billy could receive treatment comfortably. I could feel his pain as he watched our son lying in the hospital bed with an IV in his small arm.
He didn’t even dare look at me.
The medication contained a mild sedative, and soon our little one fell asleep. He looked peaceful now, his round belly still protruding, traces of tears still on his face–both adorable and pitiful.
I silently wiped away the tears from my son’s face and tossed the used tissue into the trash bin. Throughout the entire process, I didn’t say a word.
I could sense Henry’s self–reproach. He wanted to say something but could only manage a feeble “I’m sorry.”
Hearing his apology, I didn’t even raise my eyelids. Any possibility of reconciliation between Henry and me had long disappeared. If I owe him a favor, I wouldn’t have any interaction with him at all.
discom
dn’t
During our six years of marriage, I had become accustomed to doing everything alone–taking my child to the hospital alone, completing all household chores alone, waiting for Henry to come home alone.
When had I stopped caring about Henry? Perhaps it was the day Billy got sick and wanted his father, only to find him unavailable? Or maybe it was the moment I saw Henry holding Isabella in his arms? Or was it the night he simply stopped coming home altogether?
When I first married him, my passion was all–consuming; I would have cut out my own heart for him if he’d asked.
Now, I couldn’t even stand, to look at him. What had brought me to this point? Endless disappointment? Waiting for someone who would never truly be there?
Seeing my silence, Henry became increasingly flustered.
“Sophia, I had no idea this would happen I’m truly sorry,” he hesitated before adding, “You can yell at me, hit me, or ask for compensation- whatever you want.*
That last word–compensation–ignited my fury. “Compensation?” I said coldly, “What kind of compensation are you offering?”
1/2
Chapter 347
Henry, relieved that I was finally speaking to him, replied earnestly, “Any compensation you want. Even if you asked for all my assets, I’d give them to you without hesitation,
I suddenly laughed. Henry, seeing my smile, thought I had forgiven him and smiled back. “How much do you want? Just name a figure.
Aty smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, my eyes reddening with anger. I glared at him furiously. “Henry, in your world, is there anything money can’t buy? My voice trembled slightly. “You think you can use money to heal broken hearts, to make up for making someone sick–do you really believe everything has a price tag?”
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Chapter 347
At that moment, I saw Henty’s face filled with regret, Regret for not listening to me.
The smug superiority he had displayed minutes ago when ordering extra dessert had completely vanished from his face, replaced by heartbreaking guilt as he watched our son suffering.
I didn’t bother looking at Henry, I leaned across and took Billy into my arms, letting the little one rest against me. I skillfully placed my hand on his swollen belly and began to gently massage it in circular motions.
“Billy, I asked softly, ‘what does Mommy always tell you about eating too much?”
The little one guiltily lowered his eyes, his voice small and remorseful: “I know I was wrong, Mommy. I promise I won’t be greedy anymore.”
I continued to massage his stomach with gentle techniques, using the method that had always worked unfailingly before.
But today, for some reason, my usually foolproof technique wasn’t working. Billy’s face remained contorted with discomfort, his small hands clutching his bloated stomach tightly.
I began to panic. “Take him to the hospital!” I commanded, my tone leaving no room for argument.
At the hospital, after a series of examinations, the pediatrician gave his diagnosis: Billy had eaten too much and needed an IV drip.
Henry arranged for a private room where Billy could receive treatment comfortably. I could feel his pain as he watched our son lying in the hospital bed with an IV in his small arm.
He didn’t even dare look at me.
The medication contained a mild sedative, and soon our little one fell asleep. He looked peaceful now, his round belly still protruding, traces of tears still on his face–both adorable and pitiful.
I silently wiped away the tears from my son’s face and tossed the used tissue into the trash bin. Throughout the entire process, I didn’t say a word.
I could sense Henry’s self–reproach. He wanted to say something but could only manage a feeble “I’m sorry.”
Hearing his apology, I didn’t even raise my eyelids. Any possibility of reconciliation between Henry and me had long disappeared. If I owe him a favor, I wouldn’t have any interaction with him at all.
discom
dn’t
During our six years of marriage, I had become accustomed to doing everything alone–taking my child to the hospital alone, completing all household chores alone, waiting for Henry to come home alone.
When had I stopped caring about Henry? Perhaps it was the day Billy got sick and wanted his father, only to find him unavailable? Or maybe it was the moment I saw Henry holding Isabella in his arms? Or was it the night he simply stopped coming home altogether?
When I first married him, my passion was all–consuming; I would have cut out my own heart for him if he’d asked.
Now, I couldn’t even stand, to look at him. What had brought me to this point? Endless disappointment? Waiting for someone who would never truly be there?
Seeing my silence, Henry became increasingly flustered.
“Sophia, I had no idea this would happen I’m truly sorry,” he hesitated before adding, “You can yell at me, hit me, or ask for compensation- whatever you want.*
That last word–compensation–ignited my fury. “Compensation?” I said coldly, “What kind of compensation are you offering?”
1/2
Chapter 347
Henry, relieved that I was finally speaking to him, replied earnestly, “Any compensation you want. Even if you asked for all my assets, I’d give them to you without hesitation,
I suddenly laughed. Henry, seeing my smile, thought I had forgiven him and smiled back. “How much do you want? Just name a figure.
Aty smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, my eyes reddening with anger. I glared at him furiously. “Henry, in your world, is there anything money can’t buy? My voice trembled slightly. “You think you can use money to heal broken hearts, to make up for making someone sick–do you really believe everything has a price tag?”
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