Chapter 285 Regretting Falling in Love with You
Michael stood outside the door, feeling a dull ache in his chest.
"Sinclair, the kid's gone. It's on me. I shouldn't have let Patricia get away with everything and failed to protect you. Can you give me another chance to make it up to you? I'll do anything to avoid a divorce," he said, his voice heavy with regret.
Sinclair leaned against the door, a faint smile playing on her lips in the dim light. "Michael, I gave you a chance back in Oakvale County. How can I trust you again? You had feelings for Juniper, and that was fine as long as you made room for me. But now, you knew Patricia planned the car accident, you knew she killed our child, and you still hid it from me and let her go. I can't trust you anymore."
His credit with her was beyond repair.
Sinclair asked him to let her go.
If she hadn't been with him, she wouldn't have suffered so much.
Guilt surged in his heart like a tidal wave, threatening to swallow him whole.
Michael had drunk a lot, and under the numbness of alcohol, his voice sounded hoarse and desolate. "You asked me before if I married you out of guilt or because I loved you. Sinclair, whether you believe it or not, at first, I was with you because you reminded me of Juniper. But later, it wasn't like that. Now, when I look back, all I see is you."
He paused, his voice cracking. "Actually, you and Juniper are nothing alike. Before, I was lying to myself. It was my fault. But now I know clearly, you are different. Marrying you wasn't because of Juniper, it was simply because I wanted to start anew with someone named Sinclair. Sinclair, I..."
Sinclair closed her eyes, tears spilling from the corners, and mockingly interrupted him, "What's the point of saying this now? The child is gone. You don't have to be responsible for me anymore. Looking back, our marriage was just a joke."
She had been lost in a beautiful dream, but it ended in a nightmare. When she woke up, everything was in ruins.
Maybe it was because Michael never belonged to her. He was like the high-hanging moon, bending down for her once, making her naively believe that the moon belonged to her.
Michael touched the door, never leaving.
He said, "Sinclair, I was really happy to marry you. When I went to Oakvale County to find you, I realized that, at some point, you had filled my life. The house was decorated by you, the clothes I wore were matched by you, and when I closed my eyes, I couldn't help but think of you. You asked if I loved you. Honestly, I don't know. But I know clearly that I don't want to lose you."
Love at first sight was thrilling and captivating.
But what about love that grew over time? It was like a pot of wine. At first, it didn't seem addictive, just occasionally tasting it and finding it pleasant.
But when you realized it, you were already hooked, savoring the taste.
In relationships, people were often unaware. They didn't care much when they had it, but once they lost it, they panic completely.
Sinclair slid down the door slowly, hugging herself, and smiled bitterly. "I don't want to talk about this now. If you really want to make it up to me, sign the divorce papers. I can't forgive you for the child's death."
That was a living life.
In the dead of night, she always dreamed of the child crying, calling for her to save him over and over.
In her dreams, she witnessed Patricia killing her child again and again, while Michael stood by coldly, without any sadness or compassion.
She screamed for him to save the child.
But Patricia smiled sinisterly at her, holding Michael's arm, disappearing into the darkness together.
Maybe the hurt of that car accident was too great.
Since moving out, she hadn't had a good night's sleep.
Her feelings for Michael had become even more complicated.
He was the child's biological father, but now he had become an accomplice in the child's death.
Facing him again, Sinclair couldn't remain indifferent. The hatred in her heart grew like countless vines, spreading fiercely.
Michael refused to leave, and Sinclair wouldn't open the door.
One outside, one inside, they remained in a stalemate all night.
The next morning, the door opened.
Michael's dull eyes instantly cleared, and he hugged Sinclair tightly. "Sinclair, come home with me, please?"
Sinclair stood there motionless, her arms hanging down, letting him hold her. Her haggard face showed no emotion.
She spoke woodenly, "Even if you stay here, I won't change my mind. What's done is done, unless..."
"What?"
If he could do it, he would.
Sinclair looked at him calmly, smiling faintly, the smile not reaching her eyes. "Unless you can bring our dead child back to life."
Maybe then, she could consider forgiving him.
Michael visibly trembled, clutching her shoulders in self-deception. "If you want a child, we can have another one. Medical technology is very advanced now. If it can't be treated here, we can go abroad. If it still can't be treated, and you want a child, we can try IVF."
Sinclair coldly interrupted him, "Even if we have another child, it won't be that child. Michael, stop being delusional. You don't love Juniper or me. You just needed me at the right time when you were lonely. Being with me made you feel relaxed and happy because I was giving. You got used to my kindness, my tolerance of Patricia. You can never tell the difference. But I'm too tired. I don't want to love you anymore. Let me go."
He held her cold hand, his eyes lowered, hiding the redness in them, ignoring her words, and said to himself, "You asked me to burn Juniper's photos, and now I have, Sinclair. I just beg you, don't divorce me, okay?"
Sinclair's smile was pale. "When you helped Patricia hide the truth about the accident, when you let her go, if you had cared about me, felt sorry for me... if you really loved me, you wouldn't have become her accomplice. To you, our child and I are not important. Michael, I regret loving you."
She coldly pushed his hand away.
Every word felt like a heavy, unbearable blow to his chest.
He looked at her in a daze, his lips moving, realizing too late that nothing he said would matter.
She really wanted a divorce, and she was truly disappointed in him.
The child killed by Patricia had become an insurmountable chasm between them. The person who waited for him at night, cooked porridge, and took care of him meticulously was completely lost to him.
Michael stood there with his head down, momentarily lost, his Adam's apple moving violently.
In an instant, his eyes blurred, and his whole body stiffened.
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