The Ex-Wife's Redemption: A Love Reborn Chapter 53

"Grandpa," I began carefully, "how did you—"

"How did I know?" William waved dismissively. "I may be old, but I'm not blind."

He reached for the water glass beside his bed. "The question isn't how I know, Sophia. The question is whether you're serious about this."

I stared at my hands, unsure how to respond. William had always been good to me, but his loyalty ultimately lay with the Harding family. If he opposed the divorce, he could make things even more difficult than they already were.

"Look at me, child," William commanded softly.

I raised my eyes to meet his, surprised to find not anger but concern in his weathered face.

"Are you divorcing my grandson?"

How could I possibly answer him honestly? This man had been nothing but good to me for five years—the only person in the entire Harding family who had treated me with genuine warmth.

If I told him the truth about Henry and me, the stress might take his life at any moment.

"Grandpa," I began carefully, "things are complicated right now. Henry and I are going through some difficulties, but—"

William's hand gripped mine with surprising strength. "Don't lie to me, child." He gazed at me with such intensity.

I swallowed hard, feeling tears threatening to spill. "I don't want to upset you."

William patted the bed beside him, inviting me to sit closer. As I did, he sighed deeply.

"Henry has already told me everything," he finally said. "He's helping Isabella only out of respect for past connections. I believe he loves you."

I felt my smile fade. Of course Henry would spin a story to make himself the victim, a noble man honoring past obligations while his unreasonable wife threw tantrums.

"Do you really believe he loves me?" I asked softly.

William's sharp gaze told me he understood far more than he showed. "What I believe is that Henry doesn't understand his own heart." He shifted slightly, adjusting his position against the pillows. "My grandson thinks he loves Isabella Scott, but what he feels for her isn't love. It's obsession, mixed with his pride and stubbornness."

The heart monitor beeped steadily as William continued, his voice growing more serious. "Sophia, I've known Isabella's family for decades. They're old money, Boston aristocracy—the kind who smile at you while calculating how to use you. That girl has been trained since birth to be the perfect society wife—beautiful, accomplished, and utterly ruthless beneath her charm."

I remained silent, letting him speak. Hearing William talk this way about Isabella was incredible—I had thought the entire Harding family was bewitched by her.

"I can see it in your face," William said with a hint of sarcasm, "you're wondering why I allowed Henry to pursue her in the first place if I felt this way."

I nodded, surprised by his perception.

"Life is complicated, dear. The Scotts were powerful allies, and at the time, I thought Isabella might be different from her family." His expression darkened slightly. "I was wrong. When financial troubles hit our family five years ago. The moment she realized Henry's inheritance might be in jeopardy, she fled to Europe faster than you could say 'gold digger.'"

Henry had always implied Isabella was forced to leave because of our marriage, but the truth was apparently quite different.

"Now she's back," William continued, "everyone knows she only cares about wealth, yet she claims she yearns for true love." He snorted dismissively.

Looking at William's face, I realized he had been protecting me all these years.

"Don't push your husband away, Sophia," William said, his tone becoming gentler. "I know my grandson can be difficult. Stubborn. Even cold. But beneath all that, he has a good heart. He just doesn't know how to show it."

"Grandpa," I tried to interrupt, but he held up a hand to stop me.

"Henry needs someone who won't abandon him in difficult times. Someone who challenges him rather than coddles him." His eyes fixed on mine with remarkable intensity. "Someone like you."

I felt my heart sink. William didn't understand. He thought Henry and I were having some minor marital dispute, not standing on the precipice of divorce. The gulf between us wasn't something a few kind words could bridge.

"The most important thing," William continued, oblivious to my inner turmoil, "is to ensure your economic independence. A woman who controls her own resources has a voice."

He pulled out an official-looking envelope from beneath his pillow. "I've had my lawyers draft this. If Henry loses his way, he'll forfeit the right to inherit all property under my name. You'll be the only qualified person."

I stared at the envelope in shock. "Grandpa, I can't accept this."

"Of course you can," he insisted, pressing it into my hands.

The envelope felt impossibly heavy in my hands. This wasn't what I wanted. I'd never been interested in the Harding money—I just wanted my freedom, my dignity, and my son.

William misinterpreted my silence as gratitude. "You don't need to thank me, child. Just promise me you'll try with Henry. Real marriages take work, especially in our circles. Don't give up on him yet."

I couldn't meet his eyes, couldn't bear to see the hope there. How could I explain that Henry and I were far beyond "working things out"?

That he'd betrayed me, humiliated me, threatened me? That he'd used our son as a weapon against me?

"Grandpa, I—"

"And now," William interrupted, a mischievous gleam in his eye, "I've made sure Isabella has been transferred to another hospital. The less you see of that woman, the better for everyone's blood pressure—especially mine!"

He laughed at his own joke, then broke into a coughing fit that had me instantly reaching for the water glass beside his bed. As he drank, I discreetly tucked the envelope back under his pillow. I couldn't take his money—my gratitude for his kindness couldn't be repaid with cash.

"You're a good girl, Sophia," William said, patting my hand. "Probably too good for this family. But we need you. Henry needs you. Remember that."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. After promising to bring Billy for a visit soon, I left the room with my heart heavier than when I'd arrived.

In the corridor, I blinked back tears. The hospital lights suddenly seemed harsh.

How could I break William's heart by pursuing divorce while he was still recovering? But how could I keep living in that toxic marriage, especially with Henry's "surprises" threatening me?

As I rounded the corner, a tall figure appeared in my path—Henry. His expensive custom suit looked immaculate as always, his hair perfectly styled, his posture radiating that easy confidence that came from a lifetime of privilege.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice carrying that familiar mocking edge. "I see you've been currying favor with Grandfather again."

I lifted my chin, refusing to be intimidated.

Henry's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You've certainly charmed him, haven't you? To please you, he's even had Isabella transferred to another hospital."

"That was his decision, not mine."

"Of course." His tone dripped sarcasm. "Just like the divorce was your idea, not Thomas's? Just like leaving the estate was for Billy's sake, not for your own freedom?"

I felt my temper rising. After everything he'd put me through, he still had the audacity to act like the injured party.

"You should thank your grandfather," I shot back. "He seems to think we're having some minor spat instead of a complete marriage breakdown. He actually believes you're worth saving."

Something flickered across Henry's face—was it shame? Or just annoyance?

I held up the envelope.

"He gave me a will," I continued, unable to stop myself. "Said if you ever betrayed your vows, he'd leave his personal fortune to me instead of you." I laughed bitterly. "I should pray for his long life, so I won't need to deal with you or Isabella myself. This will would take care of everything."

Henry's expression darkened. He suddenly lunged forward, trying to snatch the envelope.

I didn't dodge. Henry opened it to find nothing inside.

"Money isn't my goal, Henry. Just sign the papers," I said quietly.

Henry snarled viciously: "Wishful thinking!"

What kind of woman did he see in me? Greedy, foolish, insubordinate? But I was just a mother trying to protect her child; a woman yearning for freedom. That will I never took, lying under William's hospital pillow, would prove it all.