The Ex-Wife's Redemption: A Love Reborn Chapter 229

Although I had successfully collected DNA samples and submitted them to the testing facility, I wouldn't be getting results anytime soon. The staff informed me that due to the holiday, the earliest I could expect results would be a week from now.

I told myself I wasn't in a hurry. After all, I'd waited over six years already—what was one more week?

Despite my attempts at rationality, I couldn't shake the anxiety crushing my chest. It felt like someone was hammering at my heart, creating a dull, throbbing pain that radiated through my entire body.

Betty noticed my distraction as I sat in her apartment, supposedly reading a medical journal. She placed her coffee mug down and studied my face with concern.

"Honey, what's wrong? You look absolutely terrible," she said, moving to sit beside me. "You've been staring at the same page for half an hour."

Ever since she'd learned that Henry might be Billy's biological father, Betty had begun reevaluating my marriage from an outsider's perspective.

I could tell she was processing everything differently now.

I forced a smile and looked up from the journal I hadn't actually been reading. "Do I seem distracted? You're imagining things."

But my mind was racing with worries. If Billy truly was Henry's son, would I still be able to get this divorce? What would Henry do once he found out? Would he try to take my child away from me?

Betty snatched the medical journal from my hands and closed it with a definitive snap. "You are the worst liar I've ever met. Every time you lie, your eyes dart upward." She sat down beside me, taking my hands in hers. "I'm not just anyone, Sophia. Tell me what's bothering you."

When I remained silent, she playfully nudged my shoulder.

"Come on, it's obviously about whether Henry is Billy's biological father. You were totally calm when we sent those samples for testing, and now that the results are just days away, you're falling apart. Sit down and let your big sister Betty talk some sense into you."

She pulled me onto the couch beside her and began massaging my shoulders, her fingers working rhythmically.

"Sophia, let's be honest here. You haven't really gotten over Henry," she said firmly, cutting me off when I tried to protest. "Shh! Just listen to me."

"First off, before Isabella came back into the picture, you and Henry had a peaceful life together. You were sleeping together regularly—except during your period, right?"

I blushed furiously and nodded, turning my face away.

Betty smiled knowingly. "As a relationship blogger, let me explain something to you: do you know what physical attraction means?" I shook my head.

"It's when seeing someone makes you happy, when you can't help wanting physical contact—hugging, kissing, touching. In other words, your body is more honest than your mind. It tells you clearly that you like this person."

"Sophia, can you really call your marriage loveless if you were sleeping with Henry every night?" She stared intently into my eyes, searching for the truth.

I lowered my head, unable to meet her gaze.

The truth was, I had enjoyed the sexual aspects of our marriage.

Henry had always been attentive during sex, considerate of my needs, accommodating me most of the time. We satisfied each other, our sex life was harmonious.

Henry's cold nature was innate; he wasn't naturally affectionate with anyone.

I remembered one night when I'd burned my foot while cooking. Despite applying burn cream, the pain kept me tossing and turning in bed.

Henry, lying beside me, had initially refused to touch me. But after hearing me repeatedly wince in pain, he'd gotten up with an irritated grunt and disappeared into his study. Later, I'd felt something cool on my burned skin—his hands gently holding my calf as he applied medication.

I'd been deeply touched, but his only response was a cold: "Shut up and go to sleep!"

Perhaps for someone as slow to warm as him, taking the time to apply medication was the greatest form of care he could show.

"I know what you're trying to say," I finally responded, "but some things aren't as simple as we want them to be. The problems between Henry and me can't be resolved with a few words."

Betty frowned. "How do you know they can't be resolved if you haven't even tried to face them?" She leaned forward. "True love isn't about breaking up after every argument—it's about wanting to stay together even after fighting. Every marriage has its problems. Some husbands have affairs, some don't provide for their families, some don't work and abuse their wives. By your logic, all these marriages should end in divorce, but people patch things up and continue, don't they?"

"Be honest with yourself—has Henry ever gambled? Hit you? Neglected your physical needs? Is he truly beyond redemption?"

Hearing her defend Henry made me angry. "Betty, whose friend are you—mine or Henry's? If you're here as his advocate, we have nothing more to discuss." I took a deep breath. "Yes, I admit Henry is exceptional, an incredible man, perhaps the best in Manhattan. But he was involved with Isabella during our marriage, spent money on his mistress, crossed my bottom line. That's unforgivable!"

Betty fell silent for a long moment, an amused smile playing on her lips.

Finally, she asked softly, "Sophia, if the paternity test proves Billy is Henry's son, will you still go through with the divorce?"

My heart skipped a beat. I'd asked myself this question countless times without reaching a conclusion. After hesitating, I managed to squeeze out, "I don't know."

Just then, my phone rang. "Is this Billy's mother? Could you come to school? Your son has been in a fight."

I quickly ended the call, threw on my down jacket, and rushed toward the school.

My son had always been well-behaved and obedient—why would he be fighting?

When I arrived at Billy's classroom, I found him standing outside the door, clearly being punished. His face was dirty, his down jacket torn with white goose feathers poking through, and a bruise forming on his chin.

A little girl stood beside him, constantly talking to him, trying to cheer him up and wiping his face.

The little girl noticed me first and smiled politely. "Hello, Mrs. Harding."

I was furious that the teacher had left two children standing outside in the freezing cold. They could catch pneumonia! I immediately rushed to them, gathering both children in my arms. "Sweethearts, are you cold?"

Billy, who had been trying to act tough, instantly teared up at my touch. "Mommy," he whimpered, his voice full of injustice.

The teacher stepped out of the classroom just then and spotted me. "Mrs. Harding, your son got into a fight and injured another student. The boy is currently in the infirmary getting treatment. Please come with me."

Billy injured someone? I couldn't believe my sweet child would hurt anyone.

After escorting the little girl back to the classroom, I took Billy's hand and asked gently, "Baby, is this true? Mommy knows you're a good boy who never hurts others." I knew my son's temperament—even at his young age, he wasn't the type to randomly attack people.

"Teacher, did you find out why this happened?"

The teacher sighed. "By the time I arrived, the other student was already injured. His parent took him to the infirmary and said if your family doesn't compensate them, they won't let this go. The school has been trying to mediate, but they're not cooperating."

Though she spoke carefully, I understood her meaning. What had started as just children playing roughly had escalated because the other child was injured, and now they were being unreasonable, demanding Billy pay compensation.

As we entered the infirmary, a heavyset middle-aged woman turned to me.

"Are you Billy's parent?"

I nodded, about to speak, when she launched into a tirade: "Look at your face that's meant for seducing men—no wonder your kid is such a troublemaker!" she accused me.

"Your son hurt my child so badly he's bleeding! Absolutely no manners! This is what happens when a child doesn't have a father to discipline him!"