Emma Carter had just learned about her daughter’s true illness. Her heart already ached unbearable, and now, after being chastised by her son, she felt life was bitter and cruel. She almost wished she could die to end it all.
"Wendy... it’s because your dad and I are useless; we can’t cure your illness. Your brother is like that—I can’t count on him for the future. If you were to... What would your mom do in the days ahead..."
Wendy Hart hugged Emma Carter tightly, mother and daughter crying together. "Mom, don’t be like this. My brother is just confused for now. I believe he’ll co around. You and Dad, don’t worry. I’ll talk to him myself. Look at —I’m already in this state; he surely won’t be so cruel as to deny my final wish..."
"You’re such a thoughtful girl, only you understand your mom’s feelings. It’s a pity Heaven..."
Emma Carter sobbed uncontrollably, her grief consuming her, yet she never took the ti to reflect deeply on who had caused the present situation.
If they hadn’t spoiled their daughter, indulging her recklessness, her arrogance, her jealousy, she might not have sched to fra Alia Garcia.
If they hadn’t selfishly shielded her and muddied the distinction between right and wrong after she made mistakes, their son wouldn’t have been caught in the middle, wouldn’t have hurt Alia’s feelings, resulting in their breakup and triggering a chain of subsequent tragedies that ultimately backfired on themselves.
"Mom... I’ve been unfilial. You brought into this world, raised , yet I’ve never properly stayed by your side. I’ve always had you worrying about , running around for my illness." Wendy Hart wept bitterly as if speaking from the bottom of her heart—but she didn’t reflect on her own faults one bit.
She only hated Heaven’s partiality.
Why did Heaven make her born with a severe illness, torturing her for over twenty painful years?
Why did it take away even the brother who once loved her the most?
Unfair, it was too unfair!
Now she was about to die, while there were so others... Not only blessed with perfect children but living in luxury without any effort, surrounded by a man’s unwavering devotion and care.
Why is it...?
"Silly girl, why are you saying such things? It’s Mom’s fault, not giving you a healthy body; it’s Mom who has wronged you."
"Mom... let’s not talk like this anymore. I don’t bla you and Dad."
"Alright, no more talking... When your brother returns, no matter what, he has to co see you. You’re still siblings; now that you’re like this, he... he can’t remain coldhearted, not co to accompany you."
"Okay, when the ti cos... I’ll have a good talk with him."
"Alright. But focus on your own health—it’s the most important. If he remains stubborn, don’t get angry. Stay well—if you’re okay, Mom will want nothing else."
"Mm..."
Mother and daughter embraced tightly again.
Wendy Hart leaned against her mother’s shoulder, her tear-stained crimson eyes filled with hatred and jealousy.
In this world, there are always people who, no matter how outrageously wrong they are, never introspect, but instead feel like the entire world owes them.
The darkness of human nature often stems from: "Why do you have what I lack?"
————
Christopher Hart finished his call, turned his wheelchair, and looked toward the room where Alia Garcia stayed.
His heart was restless, unsure if he even had the courage to enter. He feared she might still be too angry to talk to him, eager to sever ties again.
Benny Palr knocked and entered. Seeing him sitting in the living room, with a grave expression, Benny raised an eyebrow slightly and approached. "Why aren’t you keeping her company? Is she asleep?"
Christopher Hart shook his head wordlessly.
Benny Palr noticed sothing amiss, glanced toward the room, and asked, "Did you argue? Or... are you worried her condition won’t improve? Didn’t the doctor say it’s nothing serious with dication and psychological therapy?"
Christopher Hart sighed, his gaze fixed on the room door. After a pause, he said, "I was trying to cheer her up earlier, sending a video to the kids, but found out... my parents went to Imperial Garden yesterday, trying to forcibly take Noah and Ethan. Hope blocked them but bit my mom. They then hit her. Her little face is swollen, and she has bruises on her body..."
"What?!" Benny Palr was shocked, his face changing color. "Uncle and Aunt... How could they... Even if they don’t like Hope, they can’t hit her! What kind of grandparents don’t spoil their grandchildren? Why are they so stubborn? Regardless of their issues with Alia, the kids are innocent!"
"It’s easy to understand in theory, but who knows... when they’ll ever figure it out." Christopher Hart, typically confident, felt powerless in this matter.
Benny Palr sighed heavily, his expression sympathetic as he looked at him. "I’m afraid... they’re still waiting for you to co to your senses and stop ’hanging from this one tree.’"
Christopher Hart didn’t respond, his expression sinking further into solemnity.
Benny Palr understood him too well and, after a quiet mont, asked, "Are you afraid? Afraid that, after finally moving her a little closer to you, your parents’ actions will push her back into her shell, severing ties again?"
In the past, Christopher Hart would have never consulted anyone about such matters.
But now, at this point, he truly was at his wit’s end and turned to his close friend in uncertainty, his eyebrows knitted: "What would you do if you were ?"
Benny Palr rubbed his chin thoughtfully before shaking his head, resigned. "I really don’t know... One side is your parents and family, the other is your woman and biological kids—this is a dilemma, like choosing between flesh from your palm and back of the hand; they weigh equally!"
Seeing Benny Palr unable to offer any advice, Christopher Hart waved a hand, signaling him to leave.
Benny Palr pursed his lips. Before retreating, he asked, "When are you planning to leave? Alia is in no shape to fly anyti soon. Are you staying here with her for now? It’s fine for you to linger here, but I have to go back to manage the company—a heap of work awaits!"
He and Lucas King had been tied up here too. One or two days were doable, but ten days or more were impossible.
Christopher Hart thought for a mont and replied, "You two head back if necessary; I’ll stay with her for a few more days."
"No need," a voice interrupted. Before Christopher Hart could finish speaking, the door to the room opened, and Alia Garcia stepped out.
Christopher Hart looked at her, his expression imdiately tensing up.
He feared that in her frustration, she might once again sever ties, refusing even to et him.
"Alia..."
"I’m going back to the country. Tomorrow, first thing. Please make the arrangents." Alia Garcia t his gaze, her expression colder and more resolute than it had been in days.
Back to the country tomorrow?
Benny Palr glanced at the man in the wheelchair, who stared blankly at the woman, montarily speechless. Benny intervened quickly, "The psychologist said you’re not fit to fly given your condition—how can you risk it?"
Alia Garcia’s expression remained indifferent, though her eyes briefly revealed fear and repulsion. Yet she insisted firmly, "No matter how hard, I have to go back. At worst, I’ll take sleeping pills to knock myself out."
She had to return to her children as soon as possible to protect her precious ones.
She couldn’t let Emma Carter approach them again, couldn’t let her harm them any further.
Christopher Hart felt a pang deep within as he tried to reason, "That’s bad for your health. I just made arrangents over the phone—they won’t return to Imperial Garden. Even if they do, Fuller won’t let them inside. The kids will be fine."
"The kids have already been hurt! You said this before too, but you didn’t protect them! Those are your parents—what can Fuller do to stop them?"
Her sudden agitation left Christopher Hart with a tightened expression, unsure how to console her.
Benny Palr looked around awkwardly before interjecting, "Don’t start fighting now—you’ve only just made up these few days... How did it co to this again?"
"Who got along with him..." Alia Garcia turned her face away.
Christopher Hart’s gaze darkened abruptly as he stared at her, his voice slow yet weighted: "Alia, what do you an by that?"
Alia Garcia avoided answering directly, instead reiterating, "Anyway, I’m returning to the country, as soon as possible."
She spoke without waiting for his reply, turned, and went back into the room, closing the door behind her.
Sitting in his wheelchair, Christopher Hart stared at the door, his face clouded with irresolvable frustration.
Benny Palr looked at him inquisitively, "So... how are you going to arrange this? Should we head back together tomorrow?"
"For now, let it be. I’ll talk to her later—if she can change her mind, so much the better."
"Alright... You two keep at it. Truly a pair of star-crossed lovers!"
————
Alia Garcia returned to her room. Her head throbbed, her mood turbulent. She wanted to sleep for a while, but after tossing and turning, she grew more restless and unsettled.
By evening, Christopher Hart knocked and entered again, accompanied by hotel staff carrying a lavish dinner.
"Alia, let’s eat." The man’s voice was calm and gentle.
Alia Garcia got out of bed and walked over, asking directly, "Have the flights been arranged? Can I leave tomorrow?"
All her docunts and belongings hadn’t been sent over yet—it wasn’t even clear if they could be located.
But she knew Christopher Hart was resourceful enough that even without paperwork, he could make it happen.
Realizing her first words were about this, the man instantly understood she likely wouldn’t be persuaded.
"Alia... Even if you can overco your ntal barrier to fly, what about Shaw? Her injuries haven’t healed; she can’t endure long-distance travel." Christopher Hart turned his wheelchair to face her, holding her hand. His strikingly handso face tilted upward, pleading earnestly, "Alia, please listen to ..."
Alia Garcia frowned, troubled.
True, there was Shaw.
If Shaw couldn’t leave with them, remaining alone would be unwise in an unfamiliar place.
Seeing her hesitation, Christopher Hart rushed to persuade further, "Just wait a few more days. By then, your condition will stabilize, and Shaw can be discharged—then you can travel together."
"No... I can’t wait. Even one more night pushes my limits."
"Alia..."
"If you won’t make arrangents, I’ll contact the embassy myself—they can handle it, I’m sure." Alia Garcia pulled her hand from his grip and turned away, her tone now laced with detachnt. "Or... just have Fuller bring the kids here. Then I’ll take them back to Zurich with —that way your parents won’t bother them anymore."
"You’re leaving again?!" Christopher Hart’s face darkened, his voice swelling with anger, "I thought... in these past days, you’d co to a decision to stay with . I never imagined your thoughts would change so quickly."
"Say whatever you want. To protect my children, I’m willing to give up anything." Her commitnt extended to sacrificing her career, relationships—even him.
Christopher Hart grasped her underlying intent but asked sorrowfully, "Why won’t you trust ? I can protect you and the kids."
"How will you protect them? They’re your parents—they brought you into this world, raised you. As Benny Palr said, ’flesh from your palm and back of the hand weighs equally.’"
"A..."
She suddenly turned to face him, her delicate features laden with struggle and resignation. Interrupting him, she stated, "Christopher Hart, I know you truly regret everything now. Your feelings for ... Your devotion is genuine. Before, if you’d treated this way, I’d have already..."
Long ago, had his efforts mirrored what they were now, she would have been utterly devoted, bound to him for life.
But now, with three children, the stakes had shifted drastically.
All their conflicts couldn’t be masked by romantic gestures alone.
The injustices she endured—the pain, tears, and betrayal—paled beside her responsibility to her children’s wellbeing.
Simply put, what value did love have compared to her children’s safety, happiness, and security? None.
"Already what?" Seeing she had cut herself short mid-sentence, her expression torn, Christopher Hart pressed, "What were you going to say?"
"Nothing—there’s no point in saying it." She remained stubborn.
"Alia... I know deep down you haven’t completely let go of . After all, we shared years of love and three years of marriage—you aren’t heartless or unfeeling. Your refusal to forgive is just an act, isn’t it? The truth is... you’ve forgiven inside but can’t swallow your pride because of how my family treated you."
Alia Garcia didn’t reply. But at so point, tears had welled in her eyes, an unspoken fire burning through her chest.
Did she still love Christopher Hart?
Why was he so sure when even she couldn’t decide for herself?
A man who professed love but couldn’t offer basic trust—what was the point of loving him?
"No, you’re overthinking it." She took a deep breath and suppressed the turmoil in her chest, speaking calmly, "I only think it’s nice having soone devoted to after everything. Given what I’ve been through, why would I trust in ridiculous feelings like love anymore?"
"Alia..." He gazed at her with disbelief, his voice heavy and strained.
"Stop. Go out—I don’t want to see you. You’re killing my appetite." Alia Garcia quickly composed herself, pulled out a chair, and prepared to eat.
Christopher Hart stayed put, watching her silently for a mont, then clenched a hand into a fist, finally making up his mind: "Fine... Tomorrow we’ll go back. I’ll arrange everything."
Alia Garcia had just picked up her chopsticks but stopped at his words. Her heart finally eased, and she continued eating without comnt.
His wheelchair moved slowly toward the table and halted.
Alia Garcia noticed his intention to eat, tempted to ask him to leave but avoided confrontation. Ignoring him, she hastily swallowed a few bites of food before rising.
But as she stood up, the man caught her wrist.
Christopher Hart looked at her bowl, frowning: "You’ve barely eaten—have more."
"I’m full."
"Eat more."
"Christopher Hart, can you stop ddling? You’re even controlling my als. Facing you takes away my appetite!" She deliberately said hurtful things to drive him away.
Those words hit Christopher Hart hard; he visibly winced with pain.
The tension hung for a few seconds before the man spoke, his tone low and hoarse: "Fine... I’ll leave. Finish your al—your health matters. If you ruin it, the kids will worry when we return."
With that, he released her wrist, turned his wheelchair around, and exited the room.
Alia Garcia watched him leave, her lips pressed tightly together, her emotions tangled in a state of conflict she couldn’t untangle.
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