Tears the size of pearls streamed down Briony’s cheeks as she sobbed uncontrollably.
Worried she might collapse from overwhelming grief, the nurse murmured a few words of comfort before gently leading her out.
The moment Briony left the ICU, Gwendolyn White hurried over to support her.
“Bryn, you’ve seen the baby. Let’s go back to your room, okay?”
But Briony brushed Gwendolyn’s hand aside and, with slow, deliberate steps, walked straight toward Stewart.
Each movement was heavy and labored–her stomach still throbbed from the surgery, and the hospital gown hung limply on her gaunt frame, swallowing her up.
Stewart stood a few yards away, watching as Briony approached. Strangely, despite the shrinking distance, he felt as if she was drifting further and further from him.,
James made a move to follow, but Gwendolyn quickly caught his arm.
“Leave her,” she whispered. “Bryn has something she needs to say to Stewart.”
James raked a frustrated hand through his hair, clenching his jaw.
Briony stopped in front of Stewart. Her face was drained of color, her eyes red–rimmed and utterly devoid of light. She stared at him as if she were looking straight through him–at something cold and lifeless.
“Stewart,” she rasped, her voice hoarse, “I didn’t even get to see my son one last time. Are you satisfied now?”
Stewart’s expression faltered.
He frowned. “I only brought him home so he could be laid to rest as soon as possible. I never meant to hurt you.”
“And what?” Briony’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Am I supposed to thank you? Thank you–the heir to the Wentworth family–for acknowledging my child, for allowing him to be buried in your precious family crypt? Should I get down on my knees and bow my head in gratitude?”
“Briony.” Stewart’s brow creased. “He was my son, too. Do you think this is what I wanted?”
“Wasn’t Irwin always your only son?” Briony’s gaze was icy, her words bleeding with pain. “Do you really believe that burying him somehow erases the fact that he died because of you?”
Stewart was stunned.
“You don’t deserve to be his father!”
Briony raised her hand and slapped Stewart hard across the face–the sound cracked through the corridor.
“You’re a hypocrite! If it weren’t for you and Rosita, none of this would’ve happened to him. That was for my
son!”
Smack. She struck him again.
“That one’s for my mother!”
Smack. A third slap followed.
“And this one’s for me!”
Stewart stood there, head bowed, fists clenched at his sides–enduring each blow in silence, his usual pride stripped away.
Briony’s chest heaved as her breath came in ragged bursts. If she’d had a knife at that moment, she wouldn’t have hesitated to plunge it straight into Stewart’s heart.
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Chapter 276
She hated him–hated him so fiercely she wished he’d vanish from the world altogether.
“Stewart, you took my son from me. Fine. But you have no right to take my daughter, too. After tonight, there’s nothing left between us. My daughter and I are done with you–forever.”
Without another glance, Briony turned and walked away.
Someone called after her, but the voices sounded distant, muffled, as if she were wading through fog. Her legs felt as if they were made of cotton, and the hallway blurred before her eyes
“Bryn!”
“Briony!”
Stewart lunged forward and caught Briony just as she crumpled toward the floor.
She lost consciousness, and in an instant, crimson blood soaked through her hospital gown.
“Get a doctor–now!”
Stewart swept her into his arms and rushed toward the emergency room, leaving a trail of bright red on the polished floor in his wake.
Cedric Clarke and Stella had barely stepped off their flight when they saw dozens of missed calls–all from Carl and Stewart.
Cedric’s stomach dropped. Something was wrong.
He grabbed Stella’s hand, led her to a cab, and dialed Stewart’s number. No answer.
He tried Carl next, and the call connected immediately.
“Dr. Clarke.”
“I just landed. Where’s Stewart?”
“He’s at the hospital,” Carl replied, his tone heavy. “Ms. Kensington found out about the little boy–she broke down, and the hemorrhage started again. She’s in surgery right now.”
Cedric’s breath caught.
He ended the call and instinctively looked at Stella.
She clutched her chest, wincing. “Cedric, my heart’s hurting again.”
He squeezed her hand and sighed deeply.
She shot him a look. “What’s with the sighing? You’re making me wonder if I really have some terminal illness!” Stella gave his arm a light punch. “I told you to take me to the hospital for a checkup, but you insisted on dragging me to Silveridge. What is it about Silveridge that has you so tied up in knots?”
Cedric ruffled her hair. “Do you remember Ms. Kensington–the woman we visited at the hospital?”
“Of course! She’s so beautiful–I couldn’t forget her if I tried.”
“She went into early labor. Lost her son. The baby girl’s not doing well, either.”
Stella’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh no… she must be devastated.”
Cedric nodded. “She’s not doing well herself. The hospital just called–she’s bleeding again. They’re fighting to
save her.”
Suddenly, tears welled in Stella’s eyes. Her chest ached with sympathy. “That’s so awful, Cedric… She must feel
so alone.”
པ་པ་་་
Cedric pulled her into his arms. “That’s why, as her friends, I think we should be there for her. She needs us now.”
“Yes,” Stella said fiercely, nodding. “We’ll be there for her. I’m not great with babies, but I can tell jokes–I’ll do whatever it takes to make her smile again.”
Cedric smiled, earnest and reassuring. “She likes you, too. Seeing you–well, I think
