Chapter 117 Don't Tell Him About My Health Condition
Raymond frowned. "Yeah, that's right."
The doctor hesitated. "She..."
He wanted to blurt out that she didn't have much time left and that she was pregnant. She needed an abortion ASAP.
Just as he was about to speak, a cough came from the hospital bed.
Raymond and the doctor turned to see Margaret lying there, eyes open, looking frail.
"Raymond, can you get me some water?" Margaret asked, her voice barely a whisper as she licked her cracked lips.
Raymond, in his black trench coat, white shirt, and black tie, stared at her intently.
He glanced away from her gaunt face, showing no emotion. The doctor mentioned there were disposable cups at the water dispenser outside.
Raymond turned and left the room.
Margaret waited until he was completely gone before looking at the doctor. "Don't tell him about my condition."
"But he's your husband. He seemed really worried when he brought you in," the doctor said, confused.
She sneered. He probably just hadn't finished tormenting her yet.
Even if he knew, what could he do? He'd just be cold and harsh.
She didn't want to die just yet. She wanted to live a bit longer, get the gift from Ashley, and see Marlon wake up.
"We're already divorced. I don't want to bother him too much."
"I understand. The cancer is spreading again. This fainting is related to your pregnancy. For your health, you need an abortion as soon as possible."
The doctor looked at Margaret seriously, his eyes full of sympathy. How could someone so young be in the late stages of liver cancer?
Margaret gave a blank smile. "I get it. Thanks. I've already scheduled the abortion for the day after tomorrow."
Just then, Raymond walked in with a disposable cup and handed it to Margaret.
Margaret held it, feeling the warmth spread through her palms. She took a sip of water.
"Doc, can you step outside? I need to ask you something," Raymond said, glancing at the doctor before striding out of the room.
Margaret looked at the doctor pleadingly.
The doctor nodded, signaling her not to worry.
In the hallway, Raymond asked again about Margaret's condition.
The doctor smiled. "Margaret's fine, just a bit of low blood sugar. Everyone has minor issues these days. No need to worry."
"Is it really just low blood sugar?"
Raymond leaned against the railing, squinting with a half-smile.
That smile sent a chill down the doctor's spine.
"It's really just low blood sugar. Do you want your wife to be sick?" the doctor asked, forcing a smile.
Raymond snorted. "What a shame. I thought she had some incurable disease. What a waste of the urn I got for her."
"You..."
The doctor's smile froze. He began to understand why Margaret wanted to hide her condition from Raymond and why she wanted a divorce.
After the doctor left, Raymond headed back to the room.
He saw Margaret clutching an IV pole with one hand and gripping the bed rail with the other.
She stared at him, clearly having heard what he just said.
Margaret wasn't shocked by his response. He'd always wished for her death. But hearing it still stung.
"Why aren't you in bed? What are you doing?" Raymond snapped impatiently.
She was used to his disdainful tone. 'Margaret, it's okay. You'll get used to it,' she thought.
She looked away from him and pushed open the bathroom door.
Holding the IV pole, she walked unsteadily.
She almost fell, but he quickly grabbed her arm.
Margaret, however, didn't appreciate it. She pulled away and looked down at her toes. "I don't need your fake concern."
Then she entered the bathroom and closed the door.
Raymond touched his nose and sneered.
'Fake concern?' he thought.
She was really ungrateful. He was the one who brought her to the hospital!
Why did she smile so sweetly and look so grateful when Daniel gave her a piece of chocolate?
He was still her husband, her so-called first love, the one she was supposed to love for life, yet she treated him like this.
She was really over the line.
Raymond, fuming, left the room but reconsidered at the elevator. She was alone in the hospital at night without even a nurse.
He turned back. The bathroom light had been on for ten minutes, but the door was tightly closed.
Sensing something was wrong, he knocked. No response. He pushed the door open and saw Margaret, weakly struggling to pull up her pants while holding the IV pole.
Margaret's face turned both embarrassed and angry when she saw him come in. "Who let you in?"
"You can't even pull up your pants, Margaret. You're really useless." Raymond strode over, his words still harsh, his tone cold enough to make one's hair stand on end.
Margaret didn't want his help, but he still grabbed her slender waist and helped her pull up her pants.
"Besides your tough-talking, what else can you do?"
After mocking her, he carried her out of the bathroom and put her back on the bed.
Margaret felt like a doll, a soulless one, manipulated by him however he wanted.
He despised her to the core, yet he still tucked her in with the white blanket.
Raymond said, "I'll give you a day off tomorrow. Get well soon and come back to work."
Margaret thought, 'Oh, so giving me a day off is just to let be get back to work soon and better torment me.'
Margaret felt a deep bitterness in her heart. She lifted her eyelids and smiled at him. "No need. I'll go back to work tomorrow. Mr. Howard, you don't need to pretend to care about me. I don't need it."
"Margaret, who gave you the guts to talk to me like that?"
Raymond's anger flared up. He grabbed her chin and glared at her.
Margaret tried to shake off his hand, but his grip was like an iron wall, unbreakable.
Finally, she gave up struggling and smiled. "Shouldn't you fulfill your promise and send money to my dad?"
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