The Ex-Wife's Redemption: A Love Reborn Chapter 200

I stared at the hospital room's stark white ceiling, my thoughts racing as I considered my impossible situation.

The divorce had never been just empty words. From the moment I signed those papers and moved out of Maple Grove, I had been determined to sever all ties with Henry. Every action since then had been deliberate—staying as far away from that toxic man as humanly possible.

I'd been doing so well too. Keeping my distance, hardening my heart, focusing solely on Billy and my career. But now? Now everything had changed in an instant.

Henry's right hand—the one he used to sign billion-dollar contracts, the one that controlled the fate of entire companies—might never function properly again. And it was all because of me.

If this had happened even a day earlier, I could have walked away without a second thought. If Henry had been injured in some random accident, I wouldn't have spared him more than a passing wish for recovery. But he had deliberately put himself between me and danger. He had chosen to take that knife meant for my flesh.

I couldn't just turn my back on that. No matter how much I wanted to.

With Richard and William gone, I found myself alone with the sleeping figure in the hospital bed. My hand was still firmly clasped in his, though his grip had relaxed with sleep. The heart monitor beeped steadily beside the bed, its rhythm almost hypnotic in the quiet room.

After considerable internal debate, I decided to stay and care for him during his hospitalization. Not because I still had feelings for him—absolutely not—but because I couldn't simply accept his sacrifice without offering something in return. Basic human decency demanded at least that much.

Besides, when Catherine had been attacking me earlier, Henry had actually intervened on my behalf. It wasn't much, but it showed that at least in some small way, he was willing to stand up for me. That was more than he'd ever done during our entire marriage.

Having made my decision, I stopped trying to pull my hand from his grip. Instead, I settled more comfortably in the chair beside his bed and took out my phone with my free hand. If I was going to be stuck here all night, I might as well make productive use of the time.

I began researching nerve damage and rehabilitation options, my fingers scrolling through medical journals and case studies. The more I read, the more my stomach twisted with anxiety. The prognosis for severe nerve damage wasn't encouraging.

Henry slept deeply beside me. It struck me as odd—I couldn't recall the last time I'd seen him sleep so peacefully. For a man usually so controlled and tense, he looked almost vulnerable in slumber, his features relaxed into something approaching serenity.

What I didn't know was that Henry's sleep patterns had deteriorated dramatically since I'd moved out of Maple Grove. He'd struggled with insomnia for weeks, often lying awake until dawn or jolting awake in the middle of the night, unable to fall back asleep. In desperation, he'd resorted to sleeping with one of my old sweaters, taking comfort in the lingering scent of my perfume.

Even then, his sleep had been fitful at best, caught in that hazy zone between dreams and reality. This—right now—was the first time he'd slept soundly since our separation.

I was so absorbed in my reading that I didn't notice when Henry's eyes opened. He lay there silently watching me, making no movement to alert me to his conscious state. His gaze traveled over my features, taking in the slight furrow between my brows as I concentrated on the screen before me.

The room was dimly lit, with just a small bedside lamp casting a soft glow. I had positioned myself to block the light from his face, not wanting to disturb his rest. Moonlight filtered through the window, softening his usually sharp features and casting everything in a silvery hue.

Henry's expression was one of complete contentment. His furrowed brow had finally relaxed. He seemed reluctant to break the peaceful moment, content just to silently watch me as I scrolled through medical articles.

The hospital room smelled strongly of antiseptic, yet even through that sterile odor, Henry could detect the faint floral notes of my perfume—the same scent that had been his only comfort during our separation.

I remained completely unaware of his scrutiny until I went to turn the page on my phone. Something made me glance up, and I found myself caught in his gaze. Those distinctive eyes—which always reminded me of blooming flowers—were fixed intently on me. I had no idea how long he'd been watching.

Immediately, I reached for the call button to summon the doctor. "You're awake! I need to call the doctor right away."

Before I could press the button, Henry tugged gently on my captured hand. Off-balance, I stumbled forward, collapsing awkwardly across his chest. My face ended up mere inches from his, close enough that I could see every detail of his expression, from the faint stubble along his jawline to the tiny flecks of amber in his irises.

"Henry! What are you doing?" I hissed, trying to push myself up without putting pressure on his injured arm. "The doctor specifically instructed to call him immediately when you woke up!"

I was angry, mostly because of the position he'd maneuvered me into. Given our current relationship status, such physical closeness was entirely inappropriate. My voice rose with indignation, my eyes flashing with barely contained fury.

What I didn't realize was that Henry had been desperately craving this kind of physical contact. Since I'd moved out, he'd been starved for even the simplest touch. Every attempt he'd made to approach me had been firmly rebuffed. Now, taking advantage of my reluctance to jostle his injury, he'd created an opportunity to hold me, if only briefly.

"Don't move," he murmured, his voice husky from sleep. "Just let me hold you for a moment. Just one moment."

The deep timbre of his voice, combined with the intimacy of our position and the hushed darkness of the room, created an unexpectedly intimate atmosphere. I felt my heart skip a beat, then start racing uncontrollably. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I tried to ignore the sudden flutter in my chest.

"A moment?" I challenged, attempting to sound resistant despite my racing pulse. "Is that one minute? Two minutes? If you don't care about your wound healing properly, by all means, keep this up!"

My cold response effectively shattered the mood. Whatever romantic notions Henry might have been harboring vanished instantly. Though I could tell he was reluctant to release me, he loosened his hold, fearing that pushing too hard would only make me more distant.

He let me go with obvious reluctance.

The moment I was free, I pressed the call button and stepped away from the bed, creating a safe distance between us. The doctor arrived promptly and conducted a thorough examination of Henry's condition.

After completing his assessment, the doctor delivered his verdict: "Mr. Harding will need to remain hospitalized until his wound is completely healed. After that, we'll begin rehabilitation therapy. As for the damaged nerves, we'll need to monitor his recovery progress before making any definitive diagnosis."

As I listened to the doctor's words, a wave of guilt washed over me. The debt I owed Henry was enormous—how could I possibly repay someone who had potentially sacrificed the functionality of his dominant hand for me?

No sooner had the medical team left than Henry was issuing commands like the entitled CEO he was.

"Help me sit up," he ordered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I glanced at his unfairly handsome face, reminded myself that his injury was my fault, and held back the sharp retort that nearly escaped my lips. Instead, I gritted my teeth and carefully helped him into a sitting position.

Not satisfied with merely sitting up, he immediately slumped against my shoulder, transferring most of his weight onto me. "Now help me to the bathroom. I need to pee."