Chapter 413: Margaret, What If I Am Really Dying
Dying like this wouldn't be so bad, a way to atone to her parents.
Margaret closed her eyes. She had wanted to die for a long time, hoping that death would take her away.
No one knew how much she longed for death, how much she yearned for it.
The pain she expected didn't come.
Instead, a splash of muddy water hit her face and clothes.
"Which asylum did you escape from, you lunatic! If you want to die, don't drag me into it! Why not jump into a river?" The curses pierced through the rain and cold wind, stabbing into her ears.
She opened her eyes to see the car speeding away, disappearing from view.
Margaret broke down, dry sobs wracking her body. Her tears had long dried up, her eyes felt gritty and uncomfortable. Her heart felt like a heavy stone, making it hard to breathe.
Why was dying so difficult?
Why did those who wanted to live, like her parents, end up dead?
And those who deserved to die, like her and Raymond, couldn't?
Dragging her exhausted body, she returned to the apartment.
Raindrops slid from her pale cheeks and dirty clothes, dripping from her fingertips to the floor.
She saw the lights in the apartment were on.
Clearly, Raymond was back.
She walked to the kitchen door and saw him wearing an apron, cooking.
The dim light cast a golden glow on his broad back, reminiscent of the early days of their relationship, adding a touch of warmth.
It was like the powerful CEO had come down to earth.
In the beginning, she had the privilege of tasting his cooking. It was delicious, and he had won her heart through her stomach.
She used to hope he would cook for her, but he was always too busy. Ever since he joined The Hughes Group, he was out early and back late.
Sometimes, she wouldn't see him for days.
Margaret walked quietly. Maybe he was too absorbed in cooking to notice her return.
She went to the bathroom to take a shower. The hot water pouring over her head made her feel suffocated.
After the shower, she changed into a bathrobe and came out to find the food already on the table, prepared by Raymond.
She glanced coldly at the dishes, all her favorites.
Margaret reached for the hairdryer, but Raymond got to it first. "Let me dry your hair."
Without looking at him, she took it from his hand and started drying her hair.
Raymond felt ignored, a sense of frustration building inside him.
But remembering Rufus's words, he knew he didn't have much time left. He didn't want to waste it on arguments.
Margaret finished drying her hair, put the dryer away, and heard Raymond calling her to eat.
She saw him politely pulling out a chair for her, serving her food, and placing it on the table.
"Come eat," Raymond urged when she didn't move.
Margaret walked over slowly, not even glancing at the food. If only her parents hadn't died, if only Raymond had stopped seeking revenge when he knew it was misplaced, how different things could have been.
Why did he have to keep making mistakes?
Just because Marlon hit Gilbert with his car?
But Marlon wanted to make amends too.
Margaret saw Raymond's eyes turn cold and unfamiliar, as if he was restraining his anger. But she was filled with resentment.
"Margaret, why are you looking at me like that?" Raymond asked, lips pressed together.
Margaret sneered. "How should I look at you?"
Her parents were dead. How could she look at him with the same warmth as before?
"What did you do to feel guilty? Cooking for me? I remember Mr. Howard is always busy, a workaholic."
"What did I do to feel guilty?" Raymond was hurt by her words, staring at her intensely.
They were married. Why did they have to hurt each other with such cold words?
He hadn't done anything wrong, not a single thing.
Marlon had killed his parents, and he had paid all the medical bills, helped manage The Hughes Group. Even now, he hadn't renamed it The Howard Group.
He had a clear conscience.
"You know what you did," Margaret said coldly, turning to leave.
Raymond grabbed her wrist, pulling her back. "Explain yourself. What did I do?"
"Raymond, did my dad really order Percy to start that fire?"
"The culprit was Percy. Percy was your dad's subordinate, his driver. That's a fact," Raymond said firmly.
Margaret scoffed. "Is that so?"
"Isn't it?" Raymond retorted.
Margaret's behavior was unusual today.
Ever since she regained her memory, she had been acting strangely.
Seeing his innocent, self-righteous look, Margaret found it laughable.
Bad people never admit they're bad. He was just defending himself.
She couldn't reveal the truth, or Percy would be in danger.
"If you say so," Margaret said mockingly, her tone harsh. "But Raymond, you've done so many bad things. Your retribution is coming soon. My parents won't let you off."
Retribution...
Raymond took a deep breath, his body stiffening.
Was his leukemia, in its final stage, the retribution she spoke of?
Raymond didn't want to argue or get angry. He didn't have much time left. He wanted to spend the remaining days peacefully with her.
Suppressing his anger, he tried to reason with her. "Margaret, at this point, arguing and fighting won't change anything. Can we just live peacefully?"
His tone was pleading.
"My parents are dead. Do you think we can live peacefully?" Margaret shook off his hand, laughing contemptuously.
The mockery in her eyes was like a knife, stabbing into Raymond's heart, leaving him in agony.
Margaret headed to the bedroom, but Raymond grabbed her wrist again. "Margaret, I need to talk to you."
"I don't want to listen," Margaret said, pulling away.
She used so much force that his hand hit the corner of the table, making him wince in pain. "Margaret, I really have something important to tell you."
I don't have much time left.
I have leukemia, in its final stage.
I only have three to six months left.
Margaret turned back, mocking him. "Raymond, I said I don't want to listen. I'm only interested in when you'll go to hell, when you'll die!"
"Margaret, you're cursing me to die again," Raymond's eyes reddened.
Margaret didn't even look at him. "Yes, didn't you curse me before? We're just returning the favor."
With that, she turned and walked to the bedroom.
"Margaret, what if I really am dying?!"
"Then hurry up and die. Playing the victim won't work on me."
Raymond watched her back, hearing her words, his hands clenching tightly. She thought he was playing the victim.
His throat felt tight, like it was stuffed with cotton, making it hard to breathe.
Maybe to make himself give up completely, he asked again, "If I die, will you be happy?"
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
