The Ex-Wife's Redemption: A Love Reborn Chapter 260

At that moment, I saw Henry's face filled with regret. Regret for not listening to me.

The smug superiority he had displayed minutes ago when ordering extra dessert had completely vanished from his face, replaced by heartbreaking guilt as he watched our son suffering.

I didn't bother looking at Henry. I leaned across and took Billy into my arms, letting the little one rest against me. I skillfully placed my hand on his swollen belly and began to gently massage it in circular motions.

"Billy," I asked softly, "what does Mommy always tell you about eating too much?"

The little one guiltily lowered his eyes, his voice small and remorseful: "I know I was wrong, Mommy. I promise I won't be greedy anymore."

I continued to massage his stomach with gentle techniques, using the method that had always worked unfailingly before.

But today, for some reason, my usually foolproof technique wasn't working. Billy's face remained contorted with discomfort, his small hands clutching his bloated stomach tightly.

I began to panic. "Take him to the hospital!" I commanded, my tone leaving no room for argument.

At the hospital, after a series of examinations, the pediatrician gave his diagnosis: Billy had eaten too much and needed an IV drip.

Henry arranged for a private room where Billy could receive treatment comfortably. I could feel his pain as he watched our son lying in the hospital bed with an IV in his small arm.

He didn't even dare look at me.

The medication contained a mild sedative, and soon our little one fell asleep. He looked peaceful now, his round belly still protruding, traces of tears still on his face—both adorable and pitiful.

I silently wiped away the tears from my son's face and tossed the used tissue into the trash bin. Throughout the entire process, I didn't say a word.

I could sense Henry's self-reproach. He wanted to say something but could only manage a feeble "I'm sorry."

Hearing his apology, I didn't even raise my eyelids. Any possibility of reconciliation between Henry and me had long disappeared. If I didn't owe him a favor, I wouldn't have any interaction with him at all.

During our six years of marriage, I had become accustomed to doing everything alone—taking my child to the hospital alone, completing all household chores alone, waiting for Henry to come home alone.

When had I stopped caring about Henry? Perhaps it was the day Billy got sick and wanted his father, only to find him unavailable? Or maybe it was the moment I saw Henry holding Isabella in his arms? Or was it the night he simply stopped coming home altogether?

When I first married him, my passion was all-consuming; I would have cut out my own heart for him if he'd asked.

Now, I couldn't even stand to look at him. What had brought me to this point? Endless disappointment? Waiting for someone who would never truly be there?

Seeing my silence, Henry became increasingly flustered.

"Sophia, I had no idea this would happen. I'm truly sorry," he hesitated before adding, "You can yell at me, hit me, or ask for compensation—whatever you want."

That last word—compensation—ignited my fury. "Compensation?" I said coldly, "What kind of compensation are you offering?"

Henry, relieved that I was finally speaking to him, replied earnestly, "Any compensation you want. Even if you asked for all my assets, I'd give them to you without hesitation."

I suddenly laughed. Henry, seeing my smile, thought I had forgiven him and smiled back. "How much do you want? Just name a figure."

My smile disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, my eyes reddening with anger. I glared at him furiously. "Henry, in your world, is there anything money can't buy?" My voice trembled slightly. "You think you can use money to heal broken hearts, to make up for making someone sick—do you really believe everything has a price tag?"

For six years, I had given him my whole heart. I believed that sincere love would eventually be reciprocated.

Instead, all I had received were wounds.

When we divorced, Henry's casual offer to "compensate" me had reduced six years of heartfelt devotion to nothing. Now, he thought Billy's illness could also be resolved with money.

Henry hadn't expected such an intense reaction and fell silent.

"Mr. Harding," I said coldly, "please leave. Otherwise, I'll take Billy to another hospital."

I knew he blamed himself, but I couldn't feel any sympathy for him. I heard the sound of his leather shoes slowly fading away on the corridor floor.

Night fell again, enveloping the entire city in darkness. Everything seemed eerily quiet. I stayed by Billy's side the whole time, never taking my eyes off him as he received his IV treatment.

All my tenderness was reserved exclusively for my little boy.

Fortunately, after waking from his nap, Billy's stomach pain had subsided. "Mommy, I'm so sorry," he said, his voice still groggy. "It was all baby's fault for making you worry. I promise I'll never be greedy again." He understood his mistake and knew I had been caring for him while he slept, which made him feel even more guilty.

"It doesn't hurt anymore? All better now?" I asked gently. "Then let's go home."

I nodded, bending down to pick up my son.

Suddenly, my vision went black.

From taking Billy to the hospital, through registration, examination, and the IV drip, until the medication was complete—from midday until nightfall—at least seven hours had passed. I had low blood sugar, and having gone without food or water for over seven hours, combined with anxiety and worry, my body had reached its limit.

As soon as I stood up, my vision darkened, and I felt myself falling forward. I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but just before I hit the ground, I felt strong, gentle hands catch me around the waist. Henry's familiar scent filled my nostrils.

"Henry?" I murmured weakly. "Thank you. Just help me to the bed and let me lie down for a minute."

I was so weak I couldn't even find the strength to push him away. I lay limply in his arms, like a cat, like a fish out of water, gasping for fresh air.

He got a bottle of glucose solution from a nurse and helped me drink it. As my condition improved and I realized I was lying in Henry's arms, I immediately tried to push him away. But he ignored my resistance and continued holding me, whispering: "Billy is watching. If you keep this up, he'll think we're flirting."

Half an hour later, when my face had regained its color and Henry was satisfied I had recovered, he finally helped me up. Without waiting for me to speak, he picked up Billy and escorted us out of the hospital.

As I pushed open the hospital room door and looked at the cigarette butts scattered beneath the corridor window...

I realized that this man might have truly changed; for the first time, he hadn't abandoned us, mother and child.

He was like a destined lover from a fairy tale, one who couldn't be driven away, like a steadfast knight.

I could hardly believe I would one day think of Henry Harding this way.

On the drive back to Rose Garden apartments, both of us remained silent the entire way.

Only Billy, oblivious to the complicated emotions between adults, chatted and laughed like an angel.

Henry dropped us off at the entrance to the complex.

I could sense he wanted to come inside with us, but I didn't extend an invitation, and he tactfully didn't force his way in.

After we walked through the door, I looked back and saw that the smile had disappeared from his face as he turned and drove away, heading toward the Harding family estate.