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Chapter Seventeen: Alive

Penulis: Debbie Inks
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2026-01-06 16:46:46

The clock on the wall had stopped meaning nothing.

Chris had checked it so many times that the numbers blurred, slipping past him without registering. Minutes stretched. Bent. Curled in on themselves. The hallway smelled like antiseptic and burnt coffee and fear—old fear, the kind that never quite leaves hospitals, no matter how clean they try to make them.

He stood when the double doors finally opened.

Not all the way. Just enough for the first surgeon to step out.

Chris’s breath caught—hard, sharp, almost painful. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. He was already moving, already halfway across the waiting area, hands clenched into fists at his sides like if he opened them, something vital might fall out.

The surgeon looked… tired.

Sweat darkened the collar of his scrubs. His hair, usually neat, stuck slightly to his forehead. He removed his cap slowly, rubbing a hand over his head as if grounding himself before speaking.

Chris stopped a foot away from him.

He d
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  • The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love   Chapter Twenty-Five: Guilt

    The drive back was quiet. Not the comfortable kind. Not the gentle kind that settles between people who know how to breathe together. This silence had edges. Rain streaked the windshield in thin, nervous lines, blurring the road ahead into something indistinct and gray. The city lights smeared like watercolors left out too long. Chris drove with both hands on the wheel, jaw tight, eyes fixed forward. Too fixed. Mia sat curled against the door, arms crossed loosely over her stomach, feeling every bump in the road like a punctuation mark she hadn’t agreed to. The car smelled faintly of coffee and leather and something else—familiar, grounding, irritatingly safe. She hated how safe she felt. Her thoughts kept circling back to the same image: Chris, standing quietly in that living room, holding twelve years of truth like it was nothing. Like it hadn’t mattered enough to say. Her chest tightened. She swallowed. Didn’t speak. Neither did he. When they pulled into the driveway, th

  • The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love   Chapter Twenty-Four: Successor

    Mia didn’t answer right away. The question—Can you wait till your babies are born?—sat heavy in her chest, pressing against ribs that already felt too full. She stared at her hands. At the faint tremor she hadn’t been able to control since the hospital. At the thin silver ring she still wore out of habit more than meaning. Waiting had never been her strength. She’d always moved. Forward. Away. Through. Her grandmother didn’t rush her. Just reached over and rubbed slow circles on the back of Mia’s hand, like she used to when Mia was a child and nightmares came too fast to explain. Chris shifted in the corner of the room. Once. Stopped. He didn’t speak. He never did when it mattered most. Mia inhaled. The house smelled the same—old books, lemon polish, something warm and familiar simmering somewhere deep in memory. It felt unfair that the world could stay so intact while she’d splintered and stitched herself back together in secret. “Yes,” she said finally. The word surprised e

  • The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love   Chapter Twenty-Three: It Could Take Years

    They didn’t rush her. That was the first thing she noticed. After the question hung in the air—Where have you been all these years?—no one filled the silence for her. No gentle prodding. No nervous clearing of throats. Just the steady tick of the old clock and the faint whistle of the kettle in the kitchen, like the house itself was holding its breath. Mia sat on the edge of the couch, hands folded together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. Her grandmother sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Her grandfather took the armchair opposite, cane resting across his knees, eyes fixed on her face like he was afraid it might blur again. Chris stayed near the window. Close enough. Not intruding. Always like that. Mia swallowed. Her throat felt raw, scraped hollow by years of silence. “I didn’t disappear,” she said finally. Her voice came out softer than she expected. “Not at first.” Her grandmother’s hand tightened around hers. A small encouragement. A promis

  • The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love   Chapter Twenty-Three: It Could Take Years

    They didn’t rush her. That was the first thing she noticed. After the question hung in the air—Where have you been all these years?—no one filled the silence for her. No gentle prodding. No nervous clearing of throats. Just the steady tick of the old clock and the faint whistle of the kettle in the kitchen, like the house itself was holding its breath. Mia sat on the edge of the couch, hands folded together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. Her grandmother sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Her grandfather took the armchair opposite, cane resting across his knees, eyes fixed on her face like he was afraid it might blur again. Chris stayed near the window. Close enough. Not intruding. Always like that. Mia swallowed. Her throat felt raw, scraped hollow by years of silence. “I didn’t disappear,” she said finally. Her voice came out softer than she expected. “Not at first.” Her grandmother’s hand tightened around hers. A small encouragement. A promis

  • The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love   Chapter Twenty-Three: It Could Take Years

    They didn’t rush her. That was the first thing she noticed. After the question hung in the air—Where have you been all these years?—no one filled the silence for her. No gentle prodding. No nervous clearing of throats. Just the steady tick of the old clock and the faint whistle of the kettle in the kitchen, like the house itself was holding its breath. Mia sat on the edge of the couch, hands folded together so tightly her knuckles had gone pale. Her grandmother sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Her grandfather took the armchair opposite, cane resting across his knees, eyes fixed on her face like he was afraid it might blur again. Chris stayed near the window. Close enough. Not intruding. Always like that. Mia swallowed. Her throat felt raw, scraped hollow by years of silence. “I didn’t disappear,” she said finally. Her voice came out softer than she expected. “Not at first.” Her grandmother’s hand tightened around hers. A small encouragement. A promis

  • The Billionaire’s Regret: Too Late to Love   Chapter Twenty-Two: Where Have You Been?

    She dressed slowly that morning.Not because she didn’t know what to wear—but because every movement felt weighted, deliberate, as if she rushed, the courage might slip through her fingers.The bedroom was quiet. Too quiet. Sunlight crept through the curtains in thin, uncertain lines, touching the edge of the bed, the chair where her coat waited, the mirror she’d been avoiding.She stood in front of it anyway.The woman looking back at her was composed. Calm, even. Hair brushed smooth. Clothes chosen carefully—not too sharp, not too soft. Neutral. Safe.But her eyes betrayed her.Twelve years lived inside them.She pressed her palms against the dresser, inhaled. Exhaled. Again.“You can do this,” she whispered, though the words sounded like they belonged to someone else.From the hallway, she heard Chris moving. The quiet clink of keys. The low hum of his voice as he answered a call and ended it just as quickly.He didn’t rush her.He never did.When she stepped out, he looked up.And

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