The sun poured through the window, casting soft beams of light that danced with the breeze. The curtains fluttered gently in the wind, but the man standing by the bed blocked most of the sunlight. His long shadow stretched across the room, making him seem even taller.
Stella, covered by the shadow, slowly gripped the blanket as she regained her senses. She muttered under her breath, barely audible. “Pregnant…”
She glanced down at her abdomen, still flat beneath the white blanket, but inside her, a new life was growing. A rush of emotions flooded her chest, and the corners of her eyes glistened. It had been her assumption until now. She had been too distracted to check the results after her rushed trip to the hospital. But the reality hit her—she was pregnant.
Weston, sitting in a chair nearby, lit a cigarette and took a slow drag, the smoke swirling in the air around him.
“Are you happy about this?” he asked, his voice low and detached.
Stella looked up at him, her gaze shifting from the smoke curling in the air to the man standing before her. His face, partly obscured by the smoke, was a mask of cold indifference. His sharp features were cast in shadow, making him seem even more distant and unattainable.
The warmth that had briefly softened her expression vanished. The joy she had felt moments ago flickered out, replaced by a wave of anxiety.
“Mr. Ford…” Stella’s voice trembled, her grip tightening on the bedsheet. She had forgotten, even for a moment, that Weston was divorcing her. That Guinevere, pregnant with his child, was waiting for him. In his eyes, she had never been more than a tool to relieve his loneliness.
How could he ever accept the existence of her child? The realization struck her like ice water.
Weston noticed the shift in her expression. With a nonchalant flick of his wrist, he dropped the ash from his cigarette into an ashtray.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his words hollow.
Just two words, nothing more. It was a cold apology, one that carried no warmth. It was as if he was apologizing for the inconvenience of her pregnancy. A clear message that he expected her to give up on the child.
Stella’s heart sank. She shook her head, her lips pale. “You don’t have to be sorry… We won’t be related at all after we divorce.”
She gathered the courage to meet his gaze, her voice resolute. “This child will have nothing to do with you either. I promise I won’t be a burden to either of you after we’re divorced.”
Weston’s eyes narrowed, a frown deepening on his face. “You want to keep the child?”
Stella’s jaw clenched, her gaze flickering as her mind raced. Before she could speak, Weston scoffed, cutting her off.
“Putting aside the impact this would have on the Ford family, you’re struggling to take care of Roger. If you keep this child, how do you plan to manage?”
His words were harsh, but they held an uncomfortable truth. Stella swallowed hard, her mind grappling with the reality of what he was saying. Her fists clenched at her sides.
“I’ll figure something out,” she said softly. “I won’t make things difficult for you.”
“You’re making things difficult for yourself,” Weston replied flatly, extinguishing his cigarette. He stood, adjusting his suit jacket. “There’s no need to complicate matters over something that hasn’t even taken shape yet. Do you agree?”
Stella’s face drained of color. Her nails dug into her palms, but she remained silent. Weston turned and walked toward the door, his steps resolute.
“Rest well,” he said, without looking back. “I’ll take care of everything else.”
With that, the door clicked shut behind him, and Stella was left alone. She closed her eyes, her chest tight. The buzzing sound in her ears paled in comparison to the weight of his words. To hear him refer to their child as “nothing”—a mere “thing”—with such cold indifference made a part of her heart wither.
All the hope she had harbored, the fragile expectation, was drained away, leaving her with an aching emptiness.
Stella was finally allowed to see Roger the following day. Weston never returned to check on her, but someone was assigned to watch over her, ensuring she stayed put.
Inside the ward, Roger lay in bed, his eyes closed. His condition had worsened since the last time she saw him. His once youthful face was now marred with bruises, and his complexion looked even more pale.
Stella’s heart ached as she stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind her. She walked over to the bedside and sat down beside him. Her eyes welled up, but she fought back the tears. She gazed at the face of the young man who had once been full of life, and guilt gnawed at her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t protect you properly.”
Their lives had been turned upside down so quickly. They had once been a family full of dreams and promises. Stella had been a carefree young lady, playing piano and practicing ballet, unaware of the cruel reality that awaited them. Then, in a single night, they lost everything. Their parents’ plane crash shattered their world, and the struggle to survive began.
For years, Stella had done everything she could to keep their lives together, but now, even that seemed to be slipping through her fingers. The money she had once taken for granted was now a lifeline, especially with Roger’s illness.
Roger stirred, a frown creasing his brow as he slowly opened his eyes.
“Sis…” His voice was hoarse, and he rubbed his forehead, clearly disoriented. “How long have I been asleep?”
Then, his eyes widened, and panic flooded his features as he grabbed Stella’s arm. “Where is Weston? Where is he?!”
Stella quickly soothed him, her voice calm but firm. “Calm down, Roger. You just woke up.”
But Roger wasn’t having it. He cut her off, his fury rising. “That man is keeping a celebrity as his mistress. He even got her pregnant!” His voice trembled with outrage. “How could he do this to you?!”
Stella’s expression darkened. She grabbed his shoulder, pressing him back down into the bed.
“That has nothing to do with you,” she said, her voice tight with suppressed emotion. “Just rest. Focus on your recovery and let the doctors handle your surgery. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”
Roger’s anger didn’t subside, but when he saw her exhaustion, his fire slowly faded. His eyes softened as he hugged her tightly, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Did he give you trouble?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Stella sighed, gently patting his back. “I know you’re angry, but you shouldn’t have hit Guinevere.”
Roger’s eyes flared with indignation. “I didn’t hit her,” he muttered. “I just wanted to hit Weston, but she jumped in the way.”
Stella’s chest tightened, but she forced a smile, trying to comfort him. “It doesn’t matter now. You just need to focus on your treatment and stop making me worry, okay?”
Roger swallowed hard, his eyes red. Finally, he nodded, averting his gaze. “Okay. I understand.”
Stella stood on the balcony, her gaze fixed on the distant skyline. The wind tugged at her hair, but she barely noticed. Her mind was a whirl of conflicting emotions, and the weight of her reality pressed down on her.
Weston entered the room and saw her standing there, a fragile figure against the backdrop of the city. The sight of her, pale and weak, struck something deep within him. The wind seemed to pull at her, and for a moment, he feared it might carry her away.
He rushed over, his instincts kicking in. Without thinking, he lifted her from the railing, pulling her into his arms.
Stella was startled, her voice sharp as she struggled against him. “What are you doing?!”
Weston’s eyes were blazing with fury. “Stella, are you trying to kill yourself?”
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