The autumn twilight cast long shadows through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Manhattan General's VIP wing. I stood by my son's bedside, watching the medical monitors cast their steady blue glow across his flushed cheeks.
"Mom?" Billy's voice was weak, barely a whisper above the gentle hum of medical equipment. My five-year-old son lay against the crisp white sheets, his golden hair dampened with fever sweat.
I leaned closer, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. "Yes, sweetheart?"
"I want Daddy."
These three words felt like a knife to my heart. I forced a smile, trying to keep my voice steady. "Sweetheart, Daddy's busy with work. I'm here with you, okay?"
Billy's blue eyes filled with tears, "No! I want Daddy! Please call him, Mom. Please?" His small fingers clutched at the edge of his blanket, and I could see him fighting to be brave, to be the mature little boy he always tried to be.
How could I deny him? Even knowing what would likely happen, what always happened when I tried to reach Henry Harding.
"Okay, baby. I'll try calling him." I pulled out my phone, moving toward the window. My fingers hovered over Henry's private number, a number he'd never changed, though he'd made it clear I should only use it for emergencies.
The line connected on the third ring, but it wasn't Henry's voice that answered.
"Don't you know Henry's with me right now? Why are you calling at this hour?"
Isabella Scott's voice was as elegant as ever, dripping with false sweetness. I could picture her perfect features, her platinum blonde hair, her designer outfit—everything about her seemed perfect.
"Henry, stay still..." Her voice turned playful and intimate, "Let me kiss you!"
My hand tightened on the phone as I stared out at the city lights, fighting to keep my voice steady. "Our son is in the hospital with a high fever. He's asking for his father."
"Oh?" The false concern in her voice made my skin crawl, "Well, we're rather occupied at the moment. Perhaps you should try again later?"
I ended the call without responding, taking a deep breath before turning back to Billy. His hopeful expression nearly broke me.
"Was that Daddy?"
"No, sweetheart. He... he didn't answer. But we can try again, okay?"
Billy nodded, though I could see the disappointment in his eyes. This time, I put the phone on speaker, letting Billy hear the rings.
"What?" Henry's cold voice filled the room.
"Daddy, it's me!" Billy's face lit up despite his fever. "I'm sick. Can you come to the hospital?"
There was a pause, the silence heavy with possibility.
"I'm in Manhattan General, VIP wing, room 1630," Billy continued quickly, his words tumbling out. "I miss you, Daddy." When no response came, his voice grew smaller. "If you're too busy, maybe we can FaceTime?"
"I'm working." Henry's voice was flat and dismissive.
I watched the light dim in my son's eyes, but somehow he managed a smile. "Okay, Daddy. Goodbye then. Take care of yourself, don't work too hard."
The call ended, and Billy turned his face toward the window. I could see his trembling lower lip. I wanted to gather him in my arms, to protect him from this pain, but I knew he needed a moment to compose himself. At five years old, my son already knew how to hide his tears.
Hours later, after Billy had finally drifted off to sleep, I sat in the corner armchair reviewing his medical bills. I was lost in thought, wondering what exactly I had gained in my marriage to Henry.
Suddenly, the click of heels against marble drew my attention to the hallway. Through the glass door panel, I saw a scene that hurt my heart.
Henry strode down the corridor, his charcoal suit was perfectly tailored, his presence commanding enough that other patients and staff instinctively moved aside. Two security men flanked him, their earpieces gleaming under the hospital lights.
But it was the woman on his arm that made my stomach clench. Isabella Scott, in a white designer suit that probably cost more than most people's monthly salary, her hand resting possessively on Henry's forearm.
They weren't here for Billy. Of course they weren't. I knew Henry was here to accompany Isabella for a physical exam. After all, Isabella was his first love.
I sank deeper into my chair, but my movement caught Henry's eye. For a moment, our gazes locked through the glass. His gray eyes were cold and dismissive, the same look he'd given me for five years. Then he turned away, leading Isabella past our door without a second glance.
Billy stirred in his sleep, murmuring "Daddy" softly. I rose and went to his bedside, gently adjusting his blanket. In sleep, his features relaxed, and I could see traces of the man I'd met that night five years ago—the Henry Harding who'd been kind, who'd made me laugh, who'd looked at me like I mattered.
However, that man had vanished by morning, replaced by the cold stranger who'd married me three months later to satisfy his grandfather's demands. Because my dad helped them during a financial crisis, Henry's grandfather wanted to build a good relationship with our family. It was ridiculous that a middle-class family could help a wealthy family, but that was exactly what happened.
I brushed a kiss against Billy's forehead, checking his temperature. The fever seemed to have gone away a bit. Outside, the city that never sleeps sparkled with a million lights, but here in room 1630, my whole world was contained in the steady rise and fall of my son's chest.
"If I had known，Henry", I thought, watching the door where he'd disappeared with Isabella. "If I had known you had always loved her, I would never have married you".
