Chapter 8
When Esme opened her eyes again, Liam was right there by her bedside, his eyes frighteningly red from crying.
He grabbed her hand, his voice shaking so badly he could barely get the words out. “Esme, I swear I had no idea there’d be an avalanche… I’m so sorry. I really am, I’m
sorry…”
His fingertips were freezing, but his palm was damp with sweat, as if he was terrified she might disappear if he let go.
“You can hit me, yell at me, whatever you want…”
The hospital door suddenly banged open. Joy rushed in, her eyes so swollen it looked like she’d been crying for days. “Mrs. Mitchell, it’s all my fault, please don’t blame Mr.
Mitchell…”
She was crying so prettily, like she was the heroine in some tragic romance. “You don’t know how worried Mr. Mitchell was. The moment he heard about the avalanche, he completely lost it and ran in after you, didn’t care about his own safety. He’s covered in cuts and bruises…”
“That’s enough!” Liam cut her off, turning to wrap Joy gently in his arms. “It’s not your fault. The doctor said you can’t cry, it’s bad for the baby.”
Esme watched the whole scene, and suddenly, she laughed.
What a joke. She’d just clawed her way back from death, and all Liam could do was worry about whether another woman was crying.
“Get out,” she croaked. “Both of you. Out.”
Liam froze. “Esme…”
“I said get out!”
She grabbed the water glass from her nightstand and hurled it to the floor. It shattered, glass spraying everywhere.
Finally, Liam led Joy out, still glancing back at Esme with every step as he closed the door behind them.
After that, Liam tried everything to win her back.
He had flowers flown in, bought her limited–edition purses, sent message after message to check up on her. But Esme said nothing.
She wasn’t angry anymore. But she didn’t smile at him either.
Now, when she looked at him, it was like looking at a stranger.
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Chapter 8
On the day she left the hospital, Liam was there waiting for her.
She dragged her suitcase straight toward a taxi.
He was waiting by the hospital door, already there.
She didn’t want to get in his car, so she turned away.
Then, out of nowhere, he pulled a riding crop from the trunk and held it out to her. “Esme,
hit me.”
She stopped, surprised.
“If hitting me will make you feel better, if it means you’ll forgive me… just do it,” he said, his voice rough and low. “Today’s the family dinner. Please, don’t fight with me, okay?”
She looked at him and almost laughed.
Did he really think everything was still the same? That he could mess up, she’d get mad, he’d coax her, and she’d just forgive him like before?
e couldn’t have been more wrong.
She didn’t take the riding crop. She just turned and got into his car.
She hadn’t forgiven him. She just didn’t care anymore.
On the drive, Liam kept talking, desperate to fill the silence.
He brought up the company, told childhood stories, even mentioned the time on their first. date when she fell into a fountain–something that used to make her blush and cover his mouth, begging him not to embarrass her.
Now, she just stared out the window, silent.
The Mitchell family’s old house was lit up, glowing from every window.
As soon as Esme walked in, she saw Joy sitting on the sofa, with Grandma Mitchell holding Joy’s hand and chatting warmly.
Liam instantly grabbed Esme’s wrist. “Grandma insisted on seeing her. I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d be upset…”
She gently pulled her hand away. “It’s fine.”
And she meant it. She really just didn’t care anymore.
Grandma Mitchell’s face was all smiles for Joy, but as soon as she looked at Esme, her expression turned cold. “You’ve been married so long and still no child! Not like Joy–so sweet, so thoughtful. You must come visit Grandma more often, dear…”
Esme’s hand paused for a second. There was a time when Grandma Mitchell treated her like her own granddaughter.
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Chapter 8
When did that change? Probably the moment Esme said she didn’t want kids.
But it was never just her decision.
She remembered that rainy night after Liam proposed. She’d hidden at her best friend’s place, panicking about the wedding and too scared to see him.
He’d searched the city in the rain and finally, at three in the morning, banged on her friend’s door, soaked to the bone, then dropped to his knees in front of her. “Esme, what did I do wrong?”
She’d sobbed so hard she could barely breathe. “I’m scared… scared of the pain… scared. to get married… even more scared to have a baby…”
What had Liam said back then?
He’d held her face in his hands and promised, every word slow and steady, “Then we won’t have kids. If my family asks, I’ll say it’s because of me. I’ll tell them I can’t.”
But now, the same man who once swore he “couldn’t have children” was fussing over Joy in the kitchen, mixing her prenatal formula with careful hands.
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