Chapter 606 Selfish
"Yeah, selfish." Michael stared at her, emphasizing each word. "You keep saying you love me, but you weren't even willing to keep our baby. What are you scared of? That I'd stick around just because of the kid? Or do you not love me at all?"
Tears instantly streamed down Celeste's cheeks.
"Michael," her voice trembled, "How can you say that?"
"Then what do you want me to say?" He suddenly moved closer, trapping her between his arms on either side of the hospital bed, his eyes filled with suppressed anger. "That you did the right thing, that the baby deserved to die!?"
Celeste's tears fell onto his hand, burning him like fire.
"Michael, it's already gone," she choked out, "It couldn't be saved."
"You didn't want to save it!" Michael roared, his voice filled with restrained pain, "You didn't even try, you just decided its fate on your own!"
Celeste's tears flowed even more fiercely. She shook her head, wanting to explain, but her throat felt blocked, and she couldn't get a word out.
Watching her cry, Michael felt his heart being squeezed by an invisible hand, the pain almost suffocating him.
"Do you know?" he said hoarsely, a self-mocking smile tugging at his lips, "I always thought at least you loved me."
Celeste looked up sharply, disbelief in her eyes.
"But now I understand," he sneered, "You only love the Michael you imagined."
"No," Celeste reached out with a trembling hand, trying to grasp him, "Michael, let me explain..."
"Enough." He stepped back abruptly, avoiding her touch, "I don't want to hear it."
Celeste's hand froze in mid-air, her tears falling silently.
Michael looked at her suspended hand and suddenly let out a cold laugh, the warmth in his eyes completely gone. He slowly adjusted his cuff, his voice frighteningly calm, "Actually, you did the right thing."
Celeste's eyelashes fluttered, tears hanging in her eyes.
"There was never any love between us, we shouldn't have had this child," he looked down at her, a mocking smile on his lips, "You're more clear-headed than I thought."
Celeste trembled all over, her nails digging into her palms. She opened her mouth, wanting to tell Michael that it was his violent outburst that caused the miscarriage, that the doctor said her uterus was damaged and she might never have children again, but looking at his cold eyes, all the words stuck in her throat.
"What? Are you putting on this pitiful act for someone?" Michael leaned down, his long fingers gripping her chin, "Since you decided to get rid of the baby, you should have thought of the consequences."
Celeste's tears finally fell, splashing onto his hand.
"Why are you crying?" He flung his hand away as if touching something dirty, "Weren't you decisive?"
The smell of disinfectant in the room suddenly became overwhelming, making it hard for Celeste to breathe. She looked at this stranger in front of her, remembering how he used to gently stroke her hair and say, "Celeste, don't be afraid," how he used to protect her and say, "Who dares to touch her," and her heart felt like it was being cut open with a dull knife.
"I'm sorry," her voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.
"No need," Michael turned and walked towards the door, his back straight and cold, "I only want Emma's child, I don't care about anyone else's."
Celeste's head snapped up, her face pale.
He stopped at the door, his profile sharp under the light, "Remember your place from now on."
As the door closed, Celeste finally collapsed, curling up on the bed. She bit her hand hard to keep from crying out, but her tears still soaked the entire bed. The pain in her abdomen felt like the unborn child was saying its final goodbye.
As the night deepened, the door to Celeste's hospital room opened again.
Zachary came in with a bowl of hot porridge. Seeing her staring blankly at the ceiling, his heart clenched. He gently set down the food, squatting by the bed to hold her cold hand. "Celeste, you need to eat something."
Celeste slowly turned her head, her empty eyes finally focusing. "Zachary, the baby... it was really my fault..."
"I know," Zachary wiped away her tears, his heart aching. "It's not your fault."
"But he'll never know," she closed her eyes, tears soaking into her hair.
Outside the window, a lonely crescent moon hung in the night sky. Zachary looked towards the distant Russell Group building, its lights never dimming, his gaze growing cold. Michael, you will regret what you did today.
In the hallway of Golden Birch Hospital, a nurse carefully pushed Emma in a wheelchair, escorting her out. Her gunshot wound had mostly healed, but it still hurt when she walked.
"Ms. Stuart, are you sure you don't need to stay for a few more days?" the nurse asked worriedly.
"No," Emma smiled faintly, "I want to go home."
The "home" she referred to was not the Russell family mansion, but the Stuart Villa.
At the hospital entrance, a black car was quietly parked. The window was slightly lowered, revealing a pair of deep, dark eyes. George sat inside, a cigarette unlit between his fingers, his gaze fixed on Emma.
He hadn't dared to appear in front of her all week. She didn't want to see him, so he stayed away, but every night, he stood in the hallway outside her room until dawn.
"Mr. Russell, should we follow her?" the driver asked softly.
George shook his head, his voice hoarse. "No, just keep a distance."
He couldn't get close, but he couldn't let go either.
Meanwhile, in the hospital's other parking lot, Michael angrily loosened his tie and kicked the car door hard.
"Didn't see her again?" he asked his assistant coldly.
"Ms. Stuart has already been discharged," the assistant answered nervously.
Michael's eyes darkened, his fist slamming onto the car roof. He had come three times this week, each time stopped by the nurses. Emma didn't want to see him, not even giving him a chance to explain.
"Find out where she went," he ordered coldly.
The Stuart Villa.
Emma stood in front of the familiar door, her fingers lightly tracing the carvings on the doorframe. This place held too many memories for her, both good and bad, all etched into her bones.
"Emma!" Sophia hurried out of the house. "You've been away on business for so long, you must be tired. Why didn't you let me know in advance so I could pick you up..."
Her voice stopped abruptly because Emma was looking at her with a complex expression.
In her eyes, there was nostalgia, pain, and a hint of an emotion Sophia couldn't understand.
"Mom," Emma said softly, "I remember everything."
Sophia froze, her face turning pale.
In the living room.
Emma held a cup, feeling the warmth with her fingers, but her gaze was on the family photo on the wall. It was taken after she reunited with her parents, with Sophia holding her, smiling gently and contentedly.
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