Thirteen hours had passed since Clara was rushed to the hospital.
The VIP treatnt room was still filled with the pungent sll of antiseptic. The white lights on the ceiling shone rcilessly, illuminating Clara’s weak body lying on the bed. Her face was pale, almost bloodless. Blue bruises were still clearly visible on her cheeks and jaw. Her lips were cracked, covered with thin bandages. An IV tube hung on the side of the bed, dripping clear fluid into her fragile veins.
Her eyelids moved slowly.
Mrs. Diana, who had been sitting beside the bed, imdiately sat up straight. Her hands trembled as she held her daughter’s hand.
"Clara...?" her voice was almost a whisper, afraid to be too loud and startle her daughter.
Slowly, Clara’s eyes opened.
Her gaze was empty. No tears. No screams. No panic. Just a blank stare that made Mrs. Diana’s chest feel like it was being squeezed tightly.
"Mom..." Clara’s voice was hoarse, almost inaudible.
Mrs. Diana quickly lowered her head, pressing her forehead against the back of her daughter’s hand. Tears fell silently.
"Mom is here, dear. Mom is here..."
Clara took a slow breath. Her chest rose and fell with difficulty. Her lips trembled, but not from crying. She only turned her head toward the bedroom door.
"Don’t let... anyone in," she said softly. "I... just want to talk to you."
Mrs. Diana held her breath. Her chest felt tight, but she nodded firmly.
"I promise."
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Outside the room, the atmosphere was far from calm.
However, not for Mr. Smith’s feelings. He was furious. He stood with his fists clenched at his sides. His face was hard, his jaw tight with emotion.
In front of him, Sean stood stiffly. The man’s face was pale, his eyes sunken, the expensive suit he wore wrinkled and stained with dried blood that he hadn’t had ti to clean.
"You go in," Mr. Smith ordered coldly, without compromise.
Sean swallowed hard.
"Dad..." his voice trembled.
"Now."
Mrs. Weasley stood beside her husband, her face tense. She wanted to say sothing, to stop him, but Mr. Smith’s gaze silenced her.
With heavy steps, Sean pushed open the door to the treatnt room.
As soon as his eyes caught sight of Clara on the bed, his chest felt like it had been hit by a hard object. His breath caught. The face that used to be beautiful and warm was now covered in wounds. Bruises, bandages, and IV tubes—all were clear evidence of what she had done.
Sean stepped closer, his feet feeling like they were planted to the floor.
Mrs. Diana tried to send him away, but he refused and begged to be given ti to talk to Clara.
"Clara..." his voice broke.
Clara turned her head. Her gaze fell directly on Sean, cold, empty, emotionless. That look was far more painful than any slap or scream.
"I... I’m sorry," Sean said quickly, as if afraid of running out of ti. "I made a mistake. I lost control. I—"
"Get out."
The word ca out of Clara’s mouth, soft but firm.
Sean froze.
"Clara, hear out. I—"
"I said get out," Clara repeated, this ti louder, though her voice was still weak. Her eyes began to glisten, not with tears, but with suppressed anger. "I don’t want to talk to you."
Sean turned to Mrs. Diana. He hoped for rcy. But the woman just stared at him with a cold gaze he had never seen before.
"Get out," Mrs. Diana said firmly. "You’ve hurt her enough."
Sean took a step back. His chest felt tight. He wanted to say so many things, to defend himself, to explain, but for the first ti..., he truly had no power.
With unsteady steps, he left the room.
As soon as the door closed, Clara closed her eyes. Tears finally escaped, flowing slowly down her temples.
"Mom..." her voice trembled. "I’m tired..."
Mrs. Diana gently stroked her daughter’s hair, even though her own hands were shaking.
"Sleep, Dear. Mommy is here. Everything will be okay."
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A few hours later, the situation beca even more chaotic.
Outside the hospital, the sound of footsteps and whispers grew louder. Reporters began to arrive. Caras and microphones filled the area in front of the hospital. Sean Smith’s na was ntioned in a sensational tone.
"We have information that Mr. Sean Smith committed dostic violence against his wife!"
"Is it true that Mrs. Clara is being treated for abuse?"
"We heard there was a miscarriage, is that true?"
Mr. Smith stood frozen at the end of the hallway. His face was pale. His hands trembled as he watched the chaos.
And after that, another ss awaited him. He received a call from one of his trusted staff mbers.
"Our stock has fallen two percent since this morning, sir," the man reported quietly. "Many partners are following suit and withdrawing."
"How did this leak?" Mr. Smith whispered angrily.
"We’ll investigate, sir!"
"Investigate thoroughly! Silence all dia! Set everything up neatly!"
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Smith hung up the phone with an angry sigh.
Mrs. Weasley approached her husband quickly, her face panicked.
"Honey, we have to close this case imdiately. Don’t involve the police. If this case goes to court, everything will be ruined," she said pleadingly. "Sean was wrong, but... he’s our son."
"Our son almost killed his wife! And you’re still going to defend him?" Mr. Smith snapped.
"But if the police get involved, the reporters will go crazy. The company, the family na—everything will be over," Mrs. Weasley’s voice weakened.
There was real fear in her eyes, but also an undeniable ego. "We can settle this internally."
Mr. Smith rubbed his face roughly. For the first ti in his life, he had completely lost control.
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That afternoon, Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Smith finally stood before Mrs. Diana.
No expensive suits. No conglorate authority. Just two parents whose faces were filled with guilt and failure.
"We’re sorry," Mr. Smith said heavily. "We failed to raise Sean."
Mrs. Weasley bowed her head. Her eyes were red, her voice trembling. "Whatever happened to Clara... it’s our fault too. We beg... forgive us."
Mrs. Diana stood silently for a few seconds. Her gaze fell alternately on their faces—two parents who had always stood at the top, now looking small in her eyes.
"Sorry?" she repeated softly.
She laughed briefly. Not because it was funny, but because it was bitter.
"My daughter almost died, and you easily ask for forgiveness?" she continued, her voice cold. "And my grandchild, whom I didn’t even get to see... is now gone."
Mrs. Weasley gasped. Tears fell from her eyes.
Mrs. Diana took a deep breath, then looked straight at them.
"Let them get divorced."
The words fell like a sledgehamr.
Mr. Smith fell silent. Mrs. Weasley froze. "What?" They both said at the sa ti.
"Yes! Let them get divorced! Clara won’t go back to that hellhole agai," Mrs. Diana continued firmly.
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