Chapter 4 No Time for Trivialities or Well Wishes

Christine's POV

I spent the entire morning scrubbing the kitchen floor trying to remove the dried, crusted remains of last night's dinner. With a heavy heart, I picked up the filthy divorce papers, only for them to crumble in my hands. The food had ruined them.

Remembering last night's failure only fueled my frustration. Talking to that man was impossible.

"I hate you, Elliot Manning! I hate you! I despise you! I abhor you!" I screamed, my voice shaking with fury. I wanted to flip the table, kick over the chairs, grab my babies, and walk out of this miserable house forever. "You're a son of a bitch. Damn the day my parents chose you as my husband."

"But karma's a bitch, you bastard," I muttered, throwing the ruined mess of food into the trash violently. "When it finally catches up to you, I hope I'm there to laugh in your face. You'll end up alone and miserable because with that shitty personality of yours, even your own mother couldn't stand you."

Just as the pressure in my chest started to ease, my phone rang, the sound sharp and insistent. Hastily, I peeled off my rubber gloves and answered.

"Mrs. Manning?"

My teeth clenched at the name. That name. The reminder that I still belonged to Elliot, at least on paper.

With a tight smile and gritted teeth, I replied, "Yes? Who's calling?" My sarcasm and bitterness made the nurse on the other end hesitate, but the urgency of the call forced her to push past it.

"This is the Elite Medical Center…" she began, making me immediately straighten up. Was this karma already? Had something happened to Elliot? If he wasn't dying, I might just mock him for a while before leaving him to suffer alone—just like he had left me alone in childbirth.

"Mr. Robert Manning has suffered a heart attack and is in intensive care."

The breath left my lungs. Robert. Elliot's father. Not him. That man was an angel—nothing like the son he had raised.

"His heart valves aren't responding well," the nurse continued. "We need a family member to authorize emergency surgery and further procedures, but…"

"But…?"

"His son isn't answering his phone. You're our only option."

"I'll be there right away," I said, hanging up before rushing to get my things. Purse, keys...

The babies.

I stopped in front of their crib, where my three little troublemakers stared at me with wide, playful eyes, giggling as if my stress was some kind of comedy show.

"What do I do with you three?" I groaned. "I can't take you to the hospital, and your father is an asshole who won't let me hire a nanny."

Their laughter only grew, almost as if they were reveling in my suffering. With a sigh, I grabbed my phone. I already knew who to call.

-

"Christine, I'm your lawyer, not a babysitter!" Jemma protested as I led her to the nursery. "And definitely not for three babies!"

"They're small! Besides, didn't you mention you once took care of a pair of twins?"

"Not the same thing! Their mother was there!" Jemma's panic only seemed to delight the babies, who burst into even more laughter.

"Look at them," she muttered, narrowing her eyes. "Feeding off my fear like adorable little demons."

"There's food in the fridge, both for them and for you," I said quickly, moving around the room. "The bottles are clean and sterilized. Be careful with the stain of rotting food on the kitchen floor—there are broken dishes hidden in its 'anatomy'."

"Wow. That sounds both disgusting and dangerous," Jemma deadpanned.

"Like my marriage," I muttered. "Which we'll talk about when I get back."

I sighed, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "There's a diaper bag on the bed with enough supplies for the next twenty-four hours. Leonard likes the pink teddy bear, Gerard's is the green one, and Bruce will throw a fit if you don't give him his blue bear."

"…Ah."

"If anything goes wrong, call me. I'll have my phone on me." I paused at the doorway, turning back just in time to see Jemma hesitantly lift Bruce by the armpits.

"Any questions?"

"Yeah. Who's who?" she asked just as Bruce vomited all over her suit.

"That's Bruce," I said with a smirk before heading out, half-expecting to return to Jemma passed out while my babies played around her unconscious body.

-

I ran through the hospital corridors, feeling nothing but pity for Robert Manning. He had a powerful son, yet in his most vulnerable moment, he had to rely on me.

After the doctor explained his condition, I was finally allowed into his room. The sight of him hooked up to machines, his once-strong frame looking frail and exhausted, made my heart ache. When his weary eyes turned to me, a weak smile formed on his lips.

"My dear… I'm glad to see you," he whispered, lifting his trembling hand toward me. Without hesitation, I took it gently.

"Mr. Manning, I'm so sorry this happened, but don't worry," I reassured him. "I've signed everything needed, and—"

He cut me off with a weak chuckle which quickly turned into a coughing fit. Panic flared in my chest.

"My dear, I'm old. My heart is beyond repair," he rasped once he finally caught his breath. "I knew it was only a matter of time before it gave me a surprise."

"Don't say that. You'll be fine."

He ignored my words, his tired gaze sharpening slightly. "I know my son hasn't been a good husband to you."

I stiffened. So he knew.

"I regret that he's like this," he continued, his voice tinged with sorrow. "But I swear to you, he was a good boy. Kind and responsible."

I couldn't help it—I let out a sharp, ironic breath of laughter. Kind? Responsible? The man who had treated me like a burden? Like an obligation? Yeah, right.

"I know. He's a good man," I said, forcing the words past the bile rising in my throat. I barely managed to keep my smile in place. If I had to keep pretending Elliot was some kind of devoted husband, I'd be the one having a heart attack next.