The Ex-Wife's Redemption: A Love Reborn Chapter 144

After leaving Henry standing in the hallway, I couldn't shake the feeling that this divorce was becoming more complicated by the day. Those photos had clearly struck a nerve with him. Good. Let him stew in his own confusion and lies.

Meanwhile, Henry remained frozen in place, his mind racing with questions about those photos. Who could have taken them? And why would they send them to Sophia? Despite his outward denial, a sinking feeling in his gut told him the answer might be simpler than he wanted to admit.

The real reason Henry had come to the hospital today wasn't to harass me or Thomas. He'd received a frantic call from Isabella earlier—a call that had left him deeply troubled.

"Henry," she'd sobbed into the phone, her voice barely audible. "Your grandfather is going to kill me. Please, take me away from here. I can't stay in this hospital anymore. Can we go somewhere else? Please?"

Henry had been skeptical. His grandfather was stern and sometimes harsh, but he'd never physically harm a woman, especially not someone as fragile as Isabella, who was much younger than him. Still, her desperate tone prompted him to check on her.

He hadn't expected to walk into Thomas confessing his feelings for me in the corridor. Seeing us together had ignited a rage in him that momentarily overshadowed his concern for Isabella. But now, with our confrontation over, he decided to investigate Isabella's claims.

As he approached her hospital room, Henry could hear Isabella's muffled sobs from inside.

The past week had been hell for Isabella. William had made it his personal mission to torment her, ensuring she couldn't sleep or eat properly. In just seven days, she'd lost noticeable weight, her once-radiant skin now sallow and stretched thin over her cheekbones. William's security team had confiscated her phone, cutting her off from the outside world. It was only by borrowing a janitor's phone that she'd managed to contact Henry.

As she heard familiar footsteps approaching her room, Isabella quickly collapsed onto the floor, looking fragile and defeated. Nancy, standing by the bed, immediately played her part in this carefully choreographed scene.

"Miss Scott, please get up," Nancy pleaded with concern in her voice. "The floor is cold, and you're ill. What if you catch something else?"

Isabella's tears flowed on cue. "What does it matter?" she whimpered, her voice breaking perfectly. "I might as well die. What's the point of living like this? I can't find a kidney donor, everyone treats me terribly, and William torments me daily. Why should I go on living?"

She continued her performance, making sure to appear selfless despite her suffering. "I don't want to burden him with more problems. In my condition, I'm already his biggest worry."

Nancy immediately countered, her timing impeccable: "Miss Scott, you're terribly ill! As your boyfriend, shouldn't Mr. Harding be spending more time with you? It's not just that he's absent—he lets his family mistreat you. How can he be so cold-hearted?"

It was at this exact moment that Henry pushed open the door. Isabella feigned surprise, rushing toward him before breaking into a convincing fit of coughs.

What man wouldn't feel protective seeing such a delicate creature in distress? Isabella had perfected the art of appearing vulnerable, knowing exactly how to tug at Henry's heartstrings.

The anger Henry had felt during his confrontation with me instantly dissolved. He strode quickly to Isabella's side, helping her back to bed with gentle hands. "Why aren't you listening to your nurse?" he scolded softly. "Can't you just rest properly?" A twinge of guilt flickered across his face.

Isabella was elated at having secured Henry's sympathy, though she carefully kept this triumph hidden. Instead, she gazed up at him with innocent eyes filled with adoration.

"Henry, I understand why your grandfather acts this way," she whispered nobly. "He doesn't want someone as sick as me burdening you. I can handle everything he does to me." With that, she pulled up her sleeve to reveal an ugly bruise on her pale arm—a mark she'd actually given herself while thrashing about days earlier. William hadn't ordered anyone to hurt her, but the bruise was impossible to miss against her porcelain skin.

"What happened?" Henry asked. Isabella had claimed on the phone that William had brought security to rough her up. Henry hadn't believed it then, but now, seeing the evidence, he wavered.

As Henry comforted her, Isabella secretly rejoiced. That old bastard William had humiliated her while Henry was away, taking advantage of his absence. Now that Henry had returned, she would have her revenge. William wanted Henry to reconcile with his wife? Well, she would make damn sure that never happened.

Henry pulled her into his arms, patting her back soothingly. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I'll speak to my grandfather directly."

After drying her tears, Isabella leaned against Henry's shoulder and asked softly, "I must look terrible when I cry, don't I?"

Henry had barely registered her tears. His mind was filled with images of Sophia's restrained expression years ago—how he'd mistaken her patience for docility, her tolerance for weakness. He'd learned the hard way that Sophia was neither patient nor weak. That sharp tongue of hers could cut a man to pieces.

Thinking of Sophia reminded him of the photos. He gently pushed Isabella away from his shoulder and stood up straight beside the bed, looking down at her with sudden intensity.

"Isabella, if someone took intimate photos of us together, what would you do with them?"

Isabella's heart nearly stopped. "What photos?" she asked, her voice unnaturally high. "Who took them?"

Though Isabella kept her head down, Henry immediately sensed her discomfort. "You really don't know?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm. "Should I investigate who sent those photos to Sophia? Isabella, tell me the truth. It's not a big deal."

If Isabella had indeed sent those photos to Sophia, Henry wouldn't necessarily blame her. But it would force him to reconsider everything he thought he knew about her.

Isabella's mind raced, carefully weighing her options. She lowered her head further, remaining silent for what felt like an eternity.

Henry watched her, already forming his conclusions from her reaction alone. "Isabella, did you really do it?"

After careful consideration, Isabella decided confession was her best strategy. "Yes, Henry, I sent those photos," she admitted, her voice small but gaining strength. "I was jealous of Sophia. Why should she get to be with you openly, standing proudly by your side, while I'm forced to lurk in the shadows?"

She looked up with glistening eyes. "It's torture, thinking about you every moment. My heart aches whenever I imagine you with her."

Her voice grew more passionate. "I hate Sophia. She came after me, yet she gets to have you while I have to watch from a distance, afraid of disrupting your family! Is it wrong for me to be jealous?"

She knew that if Henry discovered the truth on his own, the consequences would be far worse than if she confessed. Better to admit it now and play on the common understanding that women get jealous. It might even score her some sympathy points.

Henry's expression hardened. "Your jealousy isn't wrong, but you shouldn't resort to such underhanded tactics." His gaze turned cold and unfamiliar as he stared at Isabella, seeing her in a completely new light.

Isabella panicked. "Henry, what did I do wrong? Sophia has you, but you don't love her—you love me! We belong together! Sophia is the one who came between us!" She grew more desperate. "Without her, we would be the happiest couple in the world. Instead, I'm left watching your back, waiting endlessly through countless lonely nights." She reached for Henry, but he stepped away from her touch.

Henry looked at her with something close to disgust. "Isabella, jealousy is never a justification for hurting others." Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, his long legs carrying him away without a backward glance.

After everyone had left, Isabella stood frozen in the empty hospital room. A scream tore from her throat.

"How can this be happening?" she shrieked to the empty air. "Wasn't he supposed to care about me more than anyone? To trust me above all others?"