Nathaniel Gallagher paused in his steps, glanced back at his son on the hospital bed, and spoke in a hoarse voice, "She’s in the VIP ward on the top floor, don’t disturb her, she just had surgery."
Mrs. Gallagher’s expression changed, "Why did she have surgery? What happened?"
Nathaniel Gallagher closed his eyes briefly, his Adam’s apple bobbing twice, "She... injured her neck."
Mrs. Gallagher’s face turned pale instantly, staggering back a step, "Was it you... did you do it? Did you hurt Josephine again?"
"No." Nathaniel turned his face away, unwilling to elaborate, "Mom, please don’t ask. I’m really troubled right now and need so quiet."
"Henny’s fine, you should get so rest too!"
With that.
He turned and left, wanting to calm down alone.
In the elevator.
The mirror reflected his utterly exhausted face.
The bandage on his neck faintly soaking with blood, intertwining with the red veins in his eyes, illustrating a dreadful despair.
He went outside the hospital, smoked a few cigarettes, and stood in the cold wind for half an hour.
Then.
He collected his emotions and returned to Josephine Thompson’s ward.
"Click!"
He pushed open the door to Josephine Thompson’s hospital room.
"Beep -- Beep --"
The beeping of the machines was particularly clear in the quiet night.
Josephine lay lifelessly on the cold bed, without a sound.
"Has she woken up?"
The caregiver saw him co in and reported softly, "President Gallagher, Madam just woke up once, had a bit of water, and fell asleep again."
Nathaniel Gallagher nodded, walking silently to the bedside.
Moonlight spilled through the window, highlighting the slender neck exposed outside the bandage.
He reached out, wanting to gently touch her cheek as he did during the day.
However, his hand stopped in mid-air.
He always seed to ss things up, his presence only bringing her harm.
He truly never intended to hurt her.
"Bzzz-- Bzzz--"
The phone vibrated again in his pocket.
It was already three-thirty in the morning, and Evelyn Thorne sent another ssage: [Mr. Gallagher, I can’t sleep, I’m drunk again, I really want to hear your voice...]
Nathaniel frowned at the text, suddenly feeling repulsed.
He wanted to block the number directly.
But after thinking it over, he decided she might still be useful in the future.
"Enough!"
He set her number to Do Not Disturb mode.
The ward returned to its tranquility, with only the sounds of the machines and her faint breathing.
Nathaniel pulled a chair to the bedside, quietly watching her.
He rembered when they first got married, Josephine loved cuddling in his arms to watch movies.
At touching monts, she’d tear up emotionally, then look up at him and ask, "Honey, will we always be this happy?"
Back then, he would indulgently pinch her cheek and smile, "Of course."
But now.
He had turned "of course" into "never again."
He couldn’t even rember when he stopped wanting to divorce.
"Josephine..."
His voice cracked and hoarse, gently caressing her cheek, "If we could start over, I don’t think it should end this way..."
But where in the world is there a chance to start over?
Even if there was a chance to start over.
What about Eleanor Churchill?
Before this, he really never thought she’d wake up one day.
...
A little after eight in the morning.
Josephine’s eyelashes fluttered, gradually opening her eyes.
Nathaniel, who hadn’t slept all night keeping vigil, saw her awake and imdiately soothed her gently, "Josephine, you’re awake?"
She didn’t look at him.
rely stared blankly at the ceiling, her eyes empty like a frozen lake.
"Are you thirsty?" Nathaniel quickly stood up, about to fetch so water.
"...Get out, I don’t want to see you." Josephine’s voice was weak and indistinct, her damaged vocal cords laced with bone-chilling coldness.
Nathaniel’s expression stiffened, as if plunged into an ice cellar.
Josephine turned her head, unwilling to spare him even another glance.
"Josephine..." Nathaniel opened his mouth, wanting to say sothing, but found his throat choked as if by knives, unable to utter a single word.
"Then get so rest! Henny has a fever, I’ll go check on him."
Nathaniel stood in a desolate state, his steps heavy as he walked out of the room.
Heart...
Why does it hurt so much?
He used to be such a cold and unfeeling man, almost emotionally detached. Even when his father passed away, he didn’t shed a single tear.
And Eleanor Churchill managed to touch his heart.
Simply because she was willing to risk everything for him, fight tooth and nail by his side, taking over thirty stabs for him.
Again and again, she risked her life for him, repeatedly brushing against death.
She achieved what other won couldn’t, slowly warming his cold, hard heart.
Naturally...
A man like him, once moved, is the most sentintal. Thus, he cannot defy his conscience, and certainly cannot betray Eleanor Churchill.
...
Later.
He went to the pediatric ward again.
"How is Henny? Is he feeling better?"
The caregiver had been cautiously taking care of Henry Gallagher, "President Gallagher, the young master’s fever has finally gone down a bit."
Nathaniel Gallagher felt slightly comforted hearing this.
He walked to the bedside, "Son, are you still feeling unwell?"
Henry Gallagher’s high fever had decreased a bit, with a cooling patch on his forehead, his little face still lacked energy.
"Daddy..."
Nathaniel Gallagher sat by the bed, gently touching his son’s forehead, "Good boy, are you still feeling uncomfortable?"
Henry Gallagher whimpered, whining, "Daddy, I miss Mommy, does Mommy know I’m sick? Why isn’t she coming to see ?"
After speaking,
He couldn’t help but pout and cry.
In the past, Mrs. Dixon had always incited him, constantly speaking ill of Mommy, making him reluctant to be close to her.
Children are just children.
Once they fall ill, the instinct to seek out their mother becos irresistible.
"Henny, do you miss Mommy? Daddy will call Mommy right now, ask her to co to the hospital and stay with you." Nathaniel Gallagher said this while hurriedly taking out his phone to call Eleanor Churchill.
Henry Gallagher pouted even more, tearfully asking, "Daddy, which Mommy are you going to call?"
"..." Nathaniel Gallagher froze, staring blankly at his son.
"I don’t want a new Mommy, I want my old Mommy. Daddy, I’ll be obedient from now on, can we not switch to a new Mommy?" Henry said, unable to hold back his sadness, bursting into tears.
Now that he has completely lost his Mommy,
he realized how wonderful having Mommy was.
Every ti there was a parent-teacher eting at kindergarten, other kids had both Daddy and Mommy accompanying them. Only he had no Mommy.
Besides, his old Mommy was beautiful and gentle. When she attended the kindergarten etings, other kids would envy him for having such a pretty Mommy.
Nathaniel Gallagher’s heart ached, patiently coaxing him, "Listen, Henny, the new Mommy is your Mommy."
Henry Gallagher sobbed out loud, "I don’t want, I don’t want, I really miss my old Mommy. Is it true she doesn’t want anymore?"
"...Good boy, don’t cry."
"Boohoo~ cough cough... cough... I want Mommy, boohoo..." Henry Gallagher cried until he was breathless.
Because of the high fever, there was inflammation in his lungs.
Once he started crying, his asthma also acted up.
"Good boy, don’t cry, don’t cry!" Nathaniel Gallagher stood there at a loss, not knowing how to comfort his son at all.
"I miss Mommy, I just want Mommy, boohoo..."
"Don’t cry anymore, Daddy will take you to see Mommy."
"Really?"
Nathaniel Gallagher frowned tightly, "But you have to be good and behave. Mommy is not feeling well, when you see her, you must be good."
"Mm~" Henry Gallagher nodded obediently for once.
Nathaniel Gallagher hesitated for a few seconds, yet still picked up the sobbing Henry Gallagher.
Then, he headed towards Josephine Thompson’s ward.
...
Five minutes later,
Nathaniel Gallagher carried his son to the door of the ward.
He paused his steps, took a deep breath, and gently pushed open the door.
"Click!"
Josephine Thompson lay lifelessly still.
The caregiver hurriedly stood up, "President Gallagher."
"You all step out first."
"Alright."
"Mommy..."
Henry Gallagher saw Josephine Thompson and tearfully called out to her.
Boom!
Josephine Thompson’s mind went blank upon hearing Henry Gallagher’s voice, tugging painfully at her heart.
Henry Gallagher’s voice was tinged with sobbing, his voice hoarse just recovering from a fever, "Mommy, I’m sick..."
Josephine Thompson’s body trembled even without opening her eyes.
But her breath hitched, heartache increasing, like a temperatureless statue.
Even though Henry Gallagher was not her biological son.
But...
She had gone through the whole process of pregnancy for ten months.
Therefore, she couldn’t remain indifferent.
Nathaniel Gallagher’s heart also twisted with pain, he gently placed his son on the chair by the bed, whispering, "Henny is sick, he kept wanting to see you, so I had no choice but to bring him here."
Josephine Thompson’s eyelashes quivered, ultimately still closing tighter. Her long lashes cast a shadow beneath her eyes, hiding the surging emotions underneath.
Henry Gallagher’s little hand clutched the edge of the bed, tilting his small face up to look at her, "Mommy, are you mad at ? I won’t say bad things about you with Mrs. Dixon anymore, please look at , okay?"
He reached out his small hand to touch her sleeve, but then timidly pulled back, "Mommy, my head still hurts, like before, could you touch ?"
The child’s soft plea and sobbing voice pierced Josephine Thompson’s heart like a needle.
She bit her lower lip hard, tasting a hint of blood to resist crying out loud.
It felt like a hand was gripping her heart tightly, making it hard to breathe.
That was the child she bore for ten months, the baby she once held in the palm of her hand. Yet now, she didn’t even have the courage to look back at him.
She was afraid if she opened her eyes, seeing the child’s face resembling Nathaniel and Eleanor, she would break down.
She feared if she reached out and touched the child’s warm skin, she’d no longer have the heart to push away everything.
"Boohoo, Mommy, I’m feeling awful, hug , please!"
Nathaniel Gallagher stood aside, heart shattered.
Looking at Josephine Thompson’s rigid back, then glancing at his son’s reddened eyes. His throat bobbed with dryness twice, wanting to say sothing, but ultimately only let out a suppressed sigh.
The ward was frighteningly quiet.
"Does Mommy really not want anymore?" Henry Gallagher climbed onto the bed, cautiously lying in her arms and cried.
Josephine Thompson’s nose stung, tears uncontrollably slipping from her tightly closed eyes.
Yet she still kept her eyes shut tightly, unwilling to look at this father and son more.
This was a common tactic of theirs.
A show of self-pity, pretending to be pitiful.
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