Chapter 3: One Last Wish, One Final Goodbye

After five days in bed, Ethan asked if I wanted to see the baby.

He came in, hands clasped nervously, eyes hopeful. “Are you ready to meet him?”

I shook my head, saying I was too weak.

I looked away, mumbling an excuse. The truth was, I was scared.

But honestly, I really wanted to see him—the little life that had spent over eight months inside me.

I ached to hold him, to see his face, to count his fingers and toes.

Was he soft and tiny, sucking his fingers as he cried?

I imagined him curled up in the incubator, so small and perfect. All pink skin and tiny fists.

Crying because his dad wouldn't hold him?

The thought made my chest ache. I wanted to be there for him, but I didn’t know how.

Ethan got a little upset, his tone turning sharp.

He frowned, frustration creeping into his voice. “Jamie, what’s going on with you?”

"I'll push you there—how much strength does that take? You risked your life to have this child. Why won't you go see him?"

His words stung, but I knew he was just worried. I didn’t have an answer for him.

I stayed silent, head down, not daring to meet his eyes.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and uncomfortable.

After a long standoff, Ethan finally sighed in defeat.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking more tired than ever. “Okay. I get it. I’ll stop pushing.”

"Sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you. I just… I feel like something's off with you lately…"

He reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “If you want to talk, I’m here.”

He hesitantly asked,

"Jamie, is there anything you want? Or anything you want to do?"

His voice was soft, uncertain. I could tell he was trying, even if he didn’t know how.

Something I wanted to do?

I thought for a long time, searching for an answer. There was only one thing left.

"I want to see my… my dad."

The words felt strange in my mouth, but I meant them. I needed closure.

Harrison Whitmore showed up the next afternoon.

He arrived with his usual entourage—expensive suit, polished shoes, a carefully rehearsed smile. The room felt colder with him in it.

He put on a show, bringing two boxes of vitamins and sitting by my bed, fussing over me.

He made small talk, asking about my recovery, pretending to care. I watched him, waiting for the mask to slip.

But as soon as Ethan stepped out to take a call, I asked coldly,

"Where's my mom?"

My voice was sharp, cutting through the pretense. He froze, surprised.

He stared at me, the smile fading from his lips.

"What?"

He blinked, caught off guard. I didn’t let him recover.

"My job's done. I want to take my mom and leave."

I sat up straighter, meeting his gaze head-on. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

Harrison Whitmore laughed, a hint of mockery in his calculating eyes.

He chuckled, the sound cold and hollow. “You really don’t know, do you?”

"Nobody told you? Your mom's dead."

His words barely brushed my ears, but they exploded inside my head.

It was like the world stopped spinning. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Everything went quiet.

"She died the day you married Ethan Langley. I told her you'd found a good family, so she could rest easy. She died with a smile on her face—a happy death."

His voice was calm, almost gentle, as if he were doing me a favor. But all I could hear was the sound of my own heart breaking.

The floor dropped out from under me.