Chapter 274 Must Leave
Sinclair clutched the medical report as she walked out of the hospital, the doctor's words ringing in her ears like a bad dream. "Ms. Cross, due to the severe impact from the car accident, you had a miscarriage. Your uterus is severely damaged, and you may never be able to conceive again. Even if you do, the chances of miscarriage are extremely high. Do you still plan to have children in the future?"
Pale as a ghost, she got into her car, slammed the door, and clutched the report with red, tear-filled eyes.
Her phone rang. It was Michael.
She answered but didn't say a word, waiting for him to speak first.
Michael was quiet for a few seconds, like he was struggling to find the right words, before he finally asked, "Sinclair, where are you?"
"At the hospital," she replied.
Michael's voice got all tense. "Are you okay? Which hospital? I'll come over right now."
"I'm fine. I just came to pick up my medical report," she said, trying hard to keep her sobs in check, but her voice was already breaking.
He could tell something was up.
Just as he was about to say something, Sinclair cut in, "If I hadn't gone for the check-up myself, how long were you planning to keep this from me?"
There was a long pause on the other end.
His voice was choked, "At the time, you were really hurt from the car accident and hadn't recovered. I didn't dare tell you. I thought I'd wait until you were better."
"Are you afraid of me being upset, or are you afraid I'll hold Patricia accountable?" Sinclair asked.
"At the time, I really didn't know the car accident was related to Patricia."
Sinclair laughed bitterly. "Now you know. Patricia caused my miscarriage, and I may never be able to have my own children again. Michael, how could you let Patricia, the culprit, go even after knowing this?"
Michael replied, "I had people investigate, but we haven't found any records of Patricia leaving the country yet. I promise you, as soon as we find her, I'll bring her to you to apologize. I'll take her to turn herself in if you want to press charges..."
Sinclair interrupted him, crying, "It's too late, Michael. If you had done this earlier, I could have convinced myself that this had nothing to do with you. But now, how can I forgive you?"
Everything Patricia did, Sinclair discovered on her own. Michael had never been honest with her from the start.
She couldn't even imagine if she hadn't received that call from Deborah, if she had never regained her memory, would she have been deceived by them for the rest of her life?
"Michael, do you see me as a fool?" Sinclair sneered.
He didn't love her, and that was fine. But why did he have to hurt her so much?
Then again, she was the one who handed him the knife, the one who gave him the power to hurt her.
There was a long silence on the other end.
Michael finally pleaded hoarsely, "Sinclair, let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I'll give you anything you want, except a divorce. I really can't just leave you like this."
Sinclair laughed bitterly. "Do you think you're being noble? Patricia hurt me so badly, and you want to make it up to me for the rest of my life in her place? Michael, save your ridiculous sympathy. Patricia hurt me so much, and now are you sacrificing yourself to make it up to me?"
"That's not what I mean," Michael tried to explain.
"That's exactly what you mean. I might have been foolish before, but not anymore. Michael, thank you for teaching me a harsh lesson." Although the price she paid was severe, it didn't matter. At least she was still alive.
"Sinclair, what if I don't want a divorce?" Michael's voice was tired, like he hadn't slept all night. He sounded helpless and humble.
If this was before, she might have softened. But now, she had nothing left—no child, no health, and her husband was helping the person who ruined her life get away. She wasn't a saint; she couldn't help but hate.
She bit her lip, tears streaming down, and said firmly, "If you really didn't want a divorce, you wouldn't have helped Patricia hide the truth in the first place. The fact is, you don't care about my life, or maybe you think I love you so much that no matter what you do, I'll forgive you unconditionally. Michael, I hate you, but I hate myself even more for loving you so much. I regret meeting you, and I regret even more coming back to the Imperial Capital with you from Oakvale County."
If she hadn't softened back then, they would have been over long ago. She should have listened to her mother: gotten rid of the child, taken the civil service exam, pursued her dream of becoming an interpreter—anything but this self-inflicted hardship of being his wife.
She thought marrying Michael was the luckiest and happiest thing in her life. But now it seemed that marrying him was the beginning of her descent into the abyss.
All he could say was, "Sinclair, which hospital are you at? Can I come to see you? Let's talk."
Sinclair shook her head, crying, and resisted, "I won't see you again until we get divorced. Michael, find some time, and let's get the divorce done. I won't return the two million dollars. Patricia caused my miscarriage and my inability to have children. I'll consider that money as compensation for medical expenses and emotional distress."
"Is divorce the only option?" Michael asked desperately.
"When you helped Patricia escape, you should have known this day would come. Michael, since you don't love me, let me go. I'm begging you." She cried.
The phone call ended in a long silence. Sinclair hung up first.
On the other end, Michael held his phone, listening to the busy signal, and laughed bitterly. Not love? But he couldn't let her go anymore.
He leaned back on the sofa, his eyes bloodshot. On the coffee table, there was still a wedding photo they had taken recently. Sinclair was holding a bouquet of roses, smiling sweetly with her head tilted, standing next to him.
He didn't know when it started, but the house was filled with Sinclair's presence. She made porridge for his drinking-induced stomachaches, called him when he was out late, and picked him up in the middle of the night. Despite loving spicy food, she kept every meal mild for him. It all seemed so natural.
By the time he realized it, Sinclair had been standing in the wind for a long time. Michael never felt like such a jerk for a moment. He had actually allowed Patricia to harm her.
After hanging up Michael's call, Sinclair sat in the car, calming her emotions for a long time. She brushed away her tears, thinking that reporting Patricia seemed far too lenient. Maybe it was the depth of her hatred.
A dark thought suddenly emerged in her mind. She didn't know Magnus well. Although she had only met him two or three times, her intuition told her that Magnus was a ruthless person who always sought revenge. If Magnus knew that Patricia had caused Juniper's mother's death and pinned the blame on his mother, what would he do?
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