The Ex-Wife's Redemption: A Love Reborn Chapter 61

The winter night had already enveloped Manhattan, the darkness matching my somber mood. As Billy and I walked through the hospital's revolving doors, the cold air hit my face, bringing a bone-chilling clarity. James was already waiting for us, standing beside Henry's luxury sedan with his characteristic patience.

"Mrs. Harding," he said with a slight bow, opening the car door. "Mr. Harding instructed me to drive you and young Master Billy home."

I hesitated, feeling uncomfortable accepting anything from Henry—even a ride—after our confrontation. But looking at Billy's tired face, I knew this wasn't the time for stubborn pride.

"Thank you, James," I said, helping Billy into the back seat.

The familiar smells of leather and Henry's cologne lingered in the car, bringing back memories I'd rather forget. Billy curled up against me, his small body gradually relaxing as the car pulled smoothly into the evening traffic.

"Did you enjoy visiting your great-grandfather?" I asked, stroking his golden hair.

"Mmhmm," he mumbled sleepily. "But why was everyone fighting?"

I had no simple answer for that. How could I explain everything to a five-year-old?

"Sometimes adults disagree," I finally said. "But that doesn't mean they don't care about each other."

Even as I said the words, I wondered if they were true. Did Henry care about me at all? Had he ever?

"Mrs. Harding," James's voice interrupted my thoughts, his eyes meeting mine briefly in the rearview mirror. "Mr. William asked me to speak with you about his will."

Here we go again. "James, I appreciate your concern, but—"

"It would mean a great deal to him," James continued, his usually professional tone softening. "Mr. William has always held you in high regard."

I sighed, watching the city lights blur past the window. "I'm grateful for his support, James. Truly. But I'm not interested in the Harding fortune. My respect for William has nothing to do with money."

James nodded thoughtfully. "He suspected you might say that." A small smile crossed his usually stoic face. "It's precisely why he trusts you with it."

The car stopped at a red light, and James turned slightly in his seat. "If I may speak freely, Mrs. Harding?"

I nodded, curious about what this eternally reserved man might say.

"Mr. Henry..." he began carefully, "is not always skilled at expressing his feelings. But I've worked for him for many years. I've seen changes in him since your marriage."

"Changes?" I couldn't help the skepticism in my voice. "He seems exactly the same to me—cold, controlling, obsessed with Isabella."

"May I suggest that perhaps Mr. Henry's feelings for you are more... complex than you realize?" James's voice remained professional, but I caught a hint of something almost paternal in his tone. "In all my years of service, I've never seen him as agitated as when you're concerned."

Agitated. What a perfect word for Henry's attitude toward me. "That's hardly a declaration of love, James."

"Perhaps not," he conceded. "But it is something. Would it be possible to postpone the divorce proceedings? Mr. William's health is declining rapidly, and the stress—"

"I understand," I cut him off gently. "I won't do anything to upset William. But once he's recovered..."

James's eyes met mine in the mirror again, full of a wisdom earned through decades of silent observation. "Thank you, Mrs. Harding."

The Harding Estate loomed ahead, its windows glittering against the night sky. As we drove through the elaborate iron gates, I felt the familiar pressure settling on my shoulders.

After putting a sleepy Billy to bed, I found myself drawn to Henry's study. I wanted to find that divorce agreement, to confirm whether Henry had signed it.

I moved methodically through the desk drawers, careful to leave everything exactly as I found it. Nothing in the first drawer. Nothing in the second either...

After searching for a long time, I still couldn't find the divorce agreement I had signed.

"How could it not be here?" I wondered.

At the time, I had left it right on Henry's desk, under the file rack, clearly visible. Something so important to Henry—he wouldn't misplace it.

"How could this be? Where did Henry put it?"

In the hallway of Manhattan General Hospital, Henry stood outside his grandfather's room, a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his fingers, despite the hospital's strict no-smoking policy.

With each deep drag, the ember glowed, illuminating the hard planes of his face in the dimly lit corridor.

His mind replayed Sophia's earlier words: "What I needed was your protection years ago!"

Had he really been blind to what was happening?

Had his mother and sister truly made Sophia's life so miserable without his knowledge?

Through the window, he could see the city spread out below—millions of lights twinkling in the darkness. Somewhere amid those lights, ordinary people were returning home, embracing their loved ones.

Henry felt a hollowness expanding in his chest. Tonight his own home would be dark. No warm light in the kitchen. No Sophia waiting with that smile she once had—a smile he had successfully extinguished with years of indifference.

"If you've come to visit, then come in," William's voice called from inside the room, interrupting Henry's thoughts.

Henry crushed the cigarette beneath his heel and straightened his shoulders before entering.

A nurse was just leaving, carrying an empty food container. Henry took it from her hands, examining the contents—a small thermos and several tiny containers.

"What's this?" he asked, recognizing Sophia's careful preparation.

William adjusted himself on the bed. "Sophia's soup. She makes it herself. This is the most comfortable meal I've had in months."

Henry opened one of the containers, frowning at the thin, plain soup inside. "This is what she brings you? This... bland mush? Grandfather, I could have the chef prepare something more substantial—"

William's weathered hand gestured for him to stop. With a sigh, the old man opened his mouth, revealing scattered remaining teeth and empty gaps.

Henry felt immediate shame wash over him.

How had he not noticed his grandfather's deterioration?

"Do you see?" William asked quietly. "Could I chew the substantial meals you're suggesting?"

"I... didn't realize," Henry admitted.

"Of course you didn't," William said, not unkindly. "You always stay on the surface." He adjusted his position, wincing slightly. "That wife of yours—she notices. Brings me food I can actually eat. Sits and talks with me about things other than business."

Henry's jaw tightened. "She always knows how to win your favor."

William's laugh turned into a hacking cough. "You fool," he said when he could speak again. "You have a jewel in your house and treat her like glass. How many women would care for an old man who's not even their blood relative?"

"I'm your blood relative," Henry protested. "Your grandson."

"When was the last time you sat quietly with me for a conversation?" William challenged. "I don't mean the kind where you're making business calls and barely acknowledging me! Not the kind of visit where you've timed your departure from the moment you arrived."

Henry had no answer.

"You're blind, boy," William continued, his voice softening with fatigue. "Blind to the treasure right in front of you."

Henry left his grandfather's room with those words echoing in his mind. He drove to his office, hoping work would distract him from the uncomfortable thoughts circling in his head.

Hours later, papers still scattered across his desk, Henry realized it was past midnight. The office had emptied hours ago, leaving him alone with his thoughts—and they all led back to Sophia.

When he finally arrived home, the estate was dark except for a single light glowing from the direction of Sophia's room. His heart jumped unexpectedly in his chest.

She's home.

He tried to suppress the surge of... something... that rose within him. Relief? Anticipation? Whatever it was, he wouldn't acknowledge it. Henry straightened his tie, entering the house with measured steps, prepared to act as if her presence meant nothing to him.

But the light in her window continued to draw his gaze, like a moth to flame.