Chapter 6 A Bad Son, A Worse Husband

Christine's P.O.V.

"Turn it off!" Robert roared, his voice thick with fury. The nurse, her hands trembling, scrambled to shut off the television.

Slowly, I turned to look at him. His face had gone pale, his breathing uneven. I sniffled and forced a weak smile even as fat tears clung to my lashes, refusing to fall. My chest felt hollow and cold… empty. It was as if my heart had finally given up, beating its last before withering away inside me.

"Christine…" Robert's voice trembled with grief. How could it not? His own son had chosen to be with her instead of standing by his father's side. I swore to myself that I would never forget this moment. Not just for me, but for Robert as well.

"Don't say anything," I whispered, squeezing his hand gently. "You need to rest."

"I can't rest when my son—!"

"Please, don't get worked up," I soothed, caressing his cheek. "The only thing that matters is your health. Do you understand? Don't think about anything else."

"Christine… I'm so sorry." His voice cracked with the weight of his heartbreak, and I could do nothing but offer a tight, lifeless smile. There was nothing left to say. Just an endless void consuming every last piece of me. "I just… I can't understand what's going through his head."

"Mr. Robert, please, calm down," the nurse interjected, but it was no use.

"He's ruining his life—and everyone else's! I didn't raise a son this selfish!" His hand suddenly clutched his chest, his face contorting in pain.

"Please, stay calm!" I begged, but it was too late. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched against the pain. The nurse shoved me aside, frantically calling for a doctor and slamming the emergency alarm. Within seconds, a team of medical staff rushed into the room, pushing me back before shutting the door in my face.

A terrible sense of dread crawled over me.

-

Elliot's P.O.V.

"You took the liberty of giving him my last name?" I asked, pulling my hand away from Yvette's.

"Yes! Because he's your son," she insisted, fighting to keep her smile from faltering. My blank expression must not have been the reaction she was expecting.

"Do you have any proof of that?" I asked coolly, taking a sip of my coffee.

"Proof?" Her voice wavered, and her lips trembled as though she might cry. "Are you accusing me of being unfaithful? Elliot… do you not love me anymore?"

Her questions made me smirk. Did I still love her? My gaze flicked over her fragile expression—her glassy eyes and the quiver of her lips. She was still as beautiful as I remembered, but as they said, 'out of sight, out of mind'.

Years had passed. Time had spoiled whatever love I once felt. After her abandonment, my heart had grown bitter. Detached. I had learned that love was nothing more than a bad investment.

Then why did I still keep her picture in my wallet?

I supposed it was to remind myself that no woman was worth it.

Without looking away, I downed the rest of my coffee and offered her a slow, humorless smile. "If you weren't unfaithful, prove it with a paternity test. If you refuse, then do whatever you want—but the child won't carry my name."

Her face drained of color, and her teary eyes widened in shock. But this time, I didn't care if she cried.

-

Christine's P.O.V.

I sat in the emergency waiting room, struggling to process everything. My father-in-law was fighting for his life. My husband was off rekindling his love and embracing his newfound fatherhood while I was left here feeling empty and numb.

"I'm here!" Jemma's voice rang through the hallway as she arrived, struggling under the weight of my three babies who were squirming and giggling at her failed attempts to handle them.

"You couldn't find the stroller?" I asked, watching her flushed face.

"I did, but… I couldn't figure out how to put it together."

I tried to smile, but even her clumsy babysitting skills weren't enough to lift my mood. "I brought the new divorce papers," she said, setting the babies down and handing me a folder. "And the full custody request. Everything is in order. All we need is your husband's signature, and I'll take it straight to the notary to finalize it.

"Do you think he'll finally sign this time?" she asked hesitantly.

"No," I answered flatly. "But I don't care. I won't stop until he does. And if he refuses, we have all the footage from the news broadcast. If he won't do this the easy way, we'll do it the hard way."

Jemma raised a brow, clearly taken aback by my shift in attitude. Even my babies stopped laughing, their wide eyes watching me curiously.

As one final act of mercy, I called Elliot over and over to inform him about his father's condition. As expected, he ignored every single call. He probably assumed I just wanted to discuss the divorce—or maybe he was simply too busy with Yvette. Either way, I no longer cared.

Fortunately, the hospital receptionist agreed to call him on my behalf.

"Trust me," I told her with a dull smile. "He'll listen to you more than me."

And I was right.

Ten, maybe fifteen minutes later, Elliot stormed into the hospital, his face tight with frustration, his posture stiff with worry. The moment his eyes locked onto me, he rushed forward, his expression twisted in urgency.

"Where is my father?!" he shouted as if I owed him an answer.

His anger only fueled my own.