The Billionaire's Forgotten Wife Chapter 42: A Second Chance, Perhaps

Zeke’s voice was rushed. "Which airport are you at right now?"

"JFK," Margaret replied.

"Which terminal?"

"Terminal 1."

"Did you talk to her?" he asked, already putting on the suit jacket that had been draped over his chair.

"Yes, we spoke," Margaret said, clearly amused by her son’s urgency.

Still moving, Zeke held the phone between his shoulder and ear. "Did she say where she was going?"

Margaret sounded confused. "What do you an?"

"Is she flying sowhere?" Zeke clarified, reaching for his keys on the desk. "Did she tell you if she’s leaving again?"

From across the office, Andrew watched Zeke move quickly, concern flashing in his eyes. There was an important board eting in minutes, and Zeke looked like he was about to disappear.

Margaret frowned on the other end of the line. "Did I say she was leaving? Hmm... I don’t rember saying that."

Zeke stopped cold in the hallway. His hand ca up, rubbing his face with frustration. He couldn’t believe himself.

Margaret added gently, "She told she was picking soone up."

Zeke didn’t say another word. He hung up and muttered a curse under his breath, angry at himself for spiraling, for jumping to conclusions.

Andrew walked up to him, brow slightly furrowed. "What’s going on? Where are you going?"

Zeke exhaled, shaking his head once. "It’s nothing."

Andrew didn’t press. "Alright. Just letting you know, the directors are already in the conference room. The eting’s about to start."

Zeke gave a short nod, composed himself, and turned around. "Let’s go."

With a tight jaw and a thousand thoughts behind his eyes, he headed toward the eting room. Andrew followed quietly behind him, still wondering what had just shaken the usually unflappable Ezekiel Salvador.

anwhile, Margaret stood in place, staring at her phone, the call having ended without a proper goodbye. Still, a slow, satisfied smile curled on her lips.

Typical Zeke, cutting the line when he didn’t know how to handle his own emotions. But that reaction? That was all she needed to see.

She might not see her son often, but Margaret always kept an eye on him from a distance. And during those first two years after the divorce, Zeke had practically lost his mind trying to find Cassidy—like she’d vanished off the face of the earth.

And then—it happened.

***

Flashback

Margaret had just co back from a business trip. It had been a while since she last saw Zeke, and she thought it’d be nice to have dinner together. But when she tried calling him, he didn’t pick up. Her ssages were left on read.

Annoyed but also a little worried, she decided to drop by his apartnt.

She rang the doorbell—no answer.

Figuring he was out, she entered the passcode she knew by heart and let herself in.

But the mont she stepped inside, her heart dropped.

Zeke was lying on the floor.

"Zeke!" she gasped, running to him.

His face was pale, lips tinted blue, and the strong sll of alcohol hit her instantly.

She pulled out her phone with trembling hands and called an ambulance. They said they’d be there as soon as possible. She then called her driver, Adrian, and told him to co up right away.

"Zeke, wake up. Please, wake up," she said, slapping his cheek gently, her voice shaking. But he didn’t respond.

A minute later, Adrian rushed in. "Madam, what happened?"

"I think it’s alcohol poisoning," she said, near panic. "I can sll it from here."

Looking at Zeke’s lifeless body, Margaret couldn’t wait any longer.

"Adrian, carry him. We’re taking him to the hospital now."

They rushed down and drove to the nearest ER.

Margaret ran inside and shouted, "Help! Please, soone help!"

Adrian burst through the sliding doors of the ergency room, his arms trembling as he carried Zeke’s limp body against his chest.

A young doctor ca toward her. "What happened?"

"My son... he’s unconscious. Please do sothing!"

Within seconds, the trauma team sprang into action. A nurse rushed forward with a stretcher, and Adrian imdiately let go, allowing them to wheel Zeke straight to the resuscitation bay.

"Get oxygen on him, non-rebreather mask, 15 liters!" barked the attending physician. "Two large-bore IVs, start Ringer’s Lactate. What’s his blood pressure?"

"Seventy over forty and dropping!" a nurse called out.

The heart monitor began to beep erratically. Zeke’s oxygen saturation had fallen to 81%. A junior doctor checked his pupils with a penlight.

"Pupils are equal, sluggish. GCS is 5. He’s unresponsive. We need to intubate and prep for a head CT, rule out trauma."

Tears welled in Margaret’s eyes. Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the doorway, watching her son surrounded by machines and urgency. The sterile white lights above only made the sight colder, emptier. A mother wasn’t supposed to see her child like this. Not like this. Her breath caught in her throat as a silent prayer slipped from her lips.

"BAC levels are dangerously high," a technician reported minutes later. "He’s in acute alcohol toxicity. If he’d gotten here any later..."

"We’re moving him to the ICU," the physician said grimly. "He’s in a tabolic coma. Critical but stable, for now. He’ll need round-the-clock monitoring for the next 72 hours."

In the ICU, Zeke lay still, machines hissing softly beside him. Monitors tracked every breath, every heartbeat. His chest rose and fell with chanical precision.

Outside the room, Margaret leaned against the glass wall, shoulders heavy.

"He’s alive," the nurse said gently. "But we won’t know the extent of the damage until—if he wakes up."

Margaret’s tears fell instantly. She could’ve lost him. The thought alone made her stomach twist. She didn’t even want to imagine what might’ve happened if she’d been a minute too late.

It took nearly two full months for Zeke to recover physically. His strength returned. On the outside, he looked fine.

But when Margaret spoke to the doctor, the words hit differently.

"His body’s healing well," the doctor had said. "But emotionally? That’s a different story. So wounds don’t show up on scans."

Margaret didn’t need a dical degree to understand what that ant.

Zeke might be walking again, back to work, putting on the sa cold, composed face he always wore but deep down, sothing was still broken. Sothing Cassidy’s absence had left behind.

After speaking with Andrew, Zeke’s personal assistant, Margaret finally understood. Zeke had started drinking more after Cassidy disappeared.

That’s when Margaret realized sothing important: Cassidy wasn’t just an ex-wife. She held a place in Zeke’s life that no one else did. Whether Zeke admitted it or not, he hadn’t been the sa since she left.

***

"Madam... Madam..."

Harry’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

Margaret turned toward him. "What is it?"

"Your car’s waiting. You still have that site visit downtown."

She nodded once. "Right. Let’s not be late." With that, Margaret turned and strode away from the terminal.

Margaret settled into her seat, the soft hum of the engine accompanying her silence. Her thoughts drifted back to the terminal, and a quiet sense of regret began to surface.

"I should’ve asked for her number. I can’t believe I let that slip."

Margaret knew she hadn’t been the kind of mother Zeke needed. Her work kept her busy, and sowhere along the way, she stopped making ti for him. Without realizing it, Zeke had grown up, learned to be independent and stopped needing her.

All she ever wanted was what was best for him. And if Cassidy was truly ant to be part of his life, then maybe... this ti, they’d find their way back to each other.

Margaret exhaled softly, her gaze fixed on the road ahead as the city rolled past.

She whispered, "You’ve walked through so much alone. I just hope, this ti, you get to stand with soone you love and who loves you back."