The Ex-Wife's Redemption: A Love Reborn Chapter 91

Last night.

When Henry arrived, the hospital corridor was filled with noise and commotion. Medical staff rushed in and out of Isabella's suite, the usual tranquil atmosphere of the luxury ward shattered by urgent commands and the beeping of medical equipment.

Henry stood frozen at the entrance, watching in shock as doctors busily attended to Isabella's pale, motionless body. An oxygen mask covered her face, and various monitors displayed her vital signs in angry red numbers.

"What happened?" he demanded of a passing nurse.

"Sudden blood pressure drop," she explained hurriedly. "We're working to stabilize her condition."

After more than two hours, Isabella finally opened her eyes. The medical team had gradually withdrawn, leaving only the necessary monitoring staff. When she saw Henry sitting by her bedside, her pale lips curved into a weak smile.

"You came," she whispered, her voice deliberately fragile. She reached out with trembling fingers to grasp his hand. "I was so afraid."

Isabella's vulnerability reminded Henry of Sophia.

Sophia would never allow herself to appear so helpless, so dependent—even when truly injured. His wife's stubborn self-reliance compared to Isabella's fragility seemed cold and unsympathetic.

Sophia. The name brought a surge of bitter resentment. This woman who claimed to have loved him for years was just now dreaming of another man—calling out for "Sam" with such desperation.

Jealousy burned in Henry's chest.

"You should rest," Henry told Isabella, his voice gentler than he had intended.

Isabella's thin fingers tightened around his hand. "Don't leave me. Please. The symptoms always get worse when I'm alone."

Henry nodded, settling deeper into the chair beside her bed. "I'll stay."

As dawn broke, pale light filtering through the hospital blinds, Isabella stirred from her fitful sleep.

"Henry?" she called out, her voice deliberately weak.

He immediately looked up, dark circles under his eyes from the sleepless night. "What do you need?"

"I'm hungry," she admitted with a shy smile. "Hospital food is terrible. Could you... get me something?"

Henry checked his watch. "The café downstairs should be open by now. What would you like?"

"Some fresh fruit," she requested. "And maybe those croissants from the French bakery near your office? The ones with almond filling?"

Henry nodded, rising from his chair. His back ached from the uncomfortable hospital furniture, and his mind felt foggy from lack of sleep.

Nevertheless, being needed by Isabella gave him a sense of satisfaction.

It was certainly better than dealing with Sophia who demanded a divorce every day!

"I'll be back soon," he promised, heading for the door.

Due to his exhaustion, Henry didn't notice his phone sitting on the side table. He had placed it there hours ago and completely forgotten about it in the chaos of the night.

Isabella watched him leave, waiting until his footsteps faded before turning her attention to the forgotten phone. When it suddenly rang, her lips curved into a triumphant smile.

A child's picture appeared on the screen—Billy. Isabella immediately answered, her voice filled with false warmth.

"You must be Billy, right?"

"Who is this?" The child's confused voice came through clearly.

Isabella laughed softly. "I'm the person who loves you most in the world! And the one your daddy loves too. You can call me Aunt Isabella." She deliberately paused before continuing, "Your daddy just stepped out to get me something delicious to eat. Would you like to come join us?"

She could sense the child's discomfort and pressed her advantage.

"Is your mommy asking you to call your daddy? Tell her he won't answer. Your daddy loves me, not her." Isabella's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper, "He'll never love your mommy, dear. Never."

Hearing footsteps approaching in the hallway, Isabella quickly hung up and deleted the call from Henry's phone. By the time he returned with a paper bag containing breakfast, she was peacefully reclining against her pillows, presenting an image of innocent vulnerability.

"You're back," she greeted him with a warm smile. "I missed you."

Henry placed the breakfast on the small table over the bed, his mind clearly elsewhere. He glanced at his phone, slightly frowning when he saw no missed calls or messages from Sophia.

As he scrolled through his notifications, he noticed several messages from James.

Sir, I've completed the investigation into Harper Davis and her granddaughter. There appears to be no blood relation to Mrs. Harding.

Henry stared at the message, his frown deepening. If there was no family connection, what was Sophia's relationship to the old woman? What had triggered such an extreme reaction from her?

Isabella watched Henry's distraction with growing irritation. She had spent the entire night manufacturing a crisis to keep him by her side, yet his thoughts clearly still drifted back to Sophia.

"Henry? Is everything alright?" she asked, injecting concern into her voice.

"Fine," he answered mechanically, still focused on his phone.

"The croissants look delicious," she tried again, reaching for the paper bag. "Won't you join me?"

Henry nodded absent-mindedly, his thoughts obviously occupied with Sophia and this mysterious Harper Davis. Isabella's attempts at conversation failed as he responded with noncommittal grunts.

After nearly an hour, Henry suddenly stood up.

"I need to go," he announced, gathering his jacket.

Isabella's face fell. "So soon? But the doctor hasn't even made his morning rounds yet."

"I'll send Nancy to stay with you," he promised, already heading for the door. "I have some important matters to attend to."

Inside Maple Grove.

I discovered Billy had called Henry.

My initial irritation quickly transformed into anger—not directed at my son, but at the situation. Of course, Henry had spent the night with Isabella. Where else would he be?

"Billy, why did you call your father?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady while cracking eggs into a bowl for breakfast.

Billy's small shoulders tensed. "I just wanted to talk to Dad," he mumbled, his eyes fixed on the table.

I could tell there was more to it, but the hurt in my son's eyes stopped me from questioning further. Whatever happened during that call had upset him.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he suddenly said, his voice trembling slightly. "I didn't mean to make you angry."

The genuine remorse in his expression immediately melted my anger. Putting down the whisk, I moved to kneel beside his chair.

"I'm not angry with you, darling," I assured him, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "I'm angry with myself. I shouldn't have raised my voice."

Billy nodded, but the wounded expression remained. My heart ached as I realized he was caught in this complex situation—parents fighting for divorce, leaving the child in an impossible position.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, forcing cheerfulness into my voice. "I'm making your favorite—French toast with extra cinnamon."

The mention of his favorite breakfast brought a small smile to his face. "Yes, thank you."

I returned to the counter to continue preparing breakfast, my back to Billy, struggling to maintain composure. The thought that Henry's absence was affecting Billy so deeply made my chest tight with guilt and anger.

Billy quietly slipped from his chair and into the hallway, carefully extracting his father's business card from his pocket—the one with the private number Henry had given him.

Hiding behind a large potted plant, Billy dialed, his small face set with determination.

Henry answered immediately. "Billy? What's wrong?"

"Dad," Billy began, his voice deliberately trembling. "That lady who answered your phone earlier was mean to me."

"What lady?" Henry's voice sharpened.

"The one who said she loves you. She said you'll never love Mommy," Billy continued, his performance flawless. "She said mean things about me too."

Henry's silence spoke volumes.

"She called me a 'little brat' and said you're always complaining about having to take care of me," Billy now slightly embellished. "Is she telling the truth, Dad? Don't you want me?"

"Billy, that's not—" Henry began, clearly caught off guard by this revelation.

"It doesn't matter," Billy interrupted him, his voice carrying a maturity beyond his years. "You prefer that mean woman to Mommy anyway. I don't want to like you anymore either! Forget I called!"

He hung up before Henry could respond.

Henry stared at his phone, troubled by his son's accusations. Isabella answering his phone? Saying such things to Billy? It seemed unlikely, but what reason would a five-year-old have to fabricate such elaborate lies?

He checked his call history, finding nothing from Billy earlier that morning. This was strange—had Billy called from another phone? Or had someone deleted the record?

With growing suspicion, Henry gathered his things and headed for the door, ignoring Isabella's protests.

"Henry, you can't just leave like this!" Isabella cried out, her voice rising with desperation. "The doctor said I shouldn't be alone!"

"Nancy will be here soon," he replied flatly. "I have important matters to attend to."

Isabella watched him leave, her concerned expression transforming into fury the moment the door closed behind him.

"That bitch," she hissed, her delicate fingers curling into claws against the hospital sheets. "Sophia, you worthless whore. Why do you insist on fighting me for my man?"

She grabbed the water glass from her bedside table and hurled it across the room, glass shattering everywhere.

"He's mine," she whispered to the empty room. "He has always been mine. I will destroy anyone who tries to take him from me."