บททั้งหมดของ The Billionaire’s Surrogate : บทที่ 81 - บทที่ 89

ALEXANDER’S POVMy car is parked across the street from Emma’s floral shop.The sign isn’t lit yet. The metal shutters are still down and the morning hangs quietly over the street. I sit behind the wheel longer than necessary, hands resting loosely, and my eyes fixed on the shopfront.I kill the soft hum of the engine beneath me.Besides, waiting is something I’m used to—boardrooms, hospital corridors, closed-door negotiations.A car turns into the street. I recognize it instantly. It is Emma’s.She parks a few spaces away from the shop. The engine cuts. For a second, she just sits there, hands still on the wheel, shoulders slightly hunched, as if she’s bracing herself for the day.I step out of my car.The sound of my door closing seems louder than it should. The street is otherwise empty, save for a woman sweeping dust into a pile farther down.I walk toward her car slowly and gently, knock on her window.She startles anyway.Her head snaps up, eyes widening just a fraction before r

EMMA’S POVThe clock on the wall says only twelve minutes have passed since the nurse whispered stand down like it was a prayer she had learned too late, but it feels like an hour has died on my chest.Mum’s breathing grows shallow, then uneven. Her chest rises like it’s climbing a hill it didn’t agree to climb. I sit close, my fingers wrapped around hers. She’s been unable to drink the herbal tea except for two sips.Hilda hovers at the foot of the bed, her eyes glassy, her mouth moving in silent pleas to a God she hasn’t been on speaking terms with in years.“Mum,” I whisper. “Stay with me.”Her eyelids flutter, then settle. Her grip tightens faintly, as if she hears me but doesn’t have the strength to answer.As I watch her, it feels like there’s an internal break, like a bone cracking under skin. I step out of the ward again, holding back my tears.The corridor feels colder now. Somewhere down the hall, a child cries.I walk to the nurses’ station with a steadiness that surprises

ALEXANDER’S POVI sniff in the smell of the waiting room, the smell of burnt coffee and disinfectant.It’s a smell I have learned to associate with things going wrong slowly, then all at once.Emma sits rigid on one of the plastic chairs, her arms folded tightly across her chest and her eyes fixed on the floor as though she’s afraid of looking up. Hilda is beside her, with her fingers wrapped around her phone, opening and closing it without purpose.I stand for a moment, watching them.I don’t know where to put myself as every place feels intrusive.“I’ll be back,” I say finally. “I’ll get you something. Tea. Snacks. Milkshakes. Anything.”Emma doesn’t look up.Hilda nods weakly. “Thank you.”I leave before Emma can stop me with one of those dagger stares.The hospital cafeteria is almost empty. A bright television in one corner and a tired attendant behind the counter. I order tea, milkshakes, water— too much of everything, as if abundance can fight loss.By the time I return, Hilda

EMMA’S POVThe days after my mother’s death has nothing to do with the drama of excessive wailing and some thick cover of endless tears. The days after my mother’s death arrive empty; like water through a cracked cup— quiet, leaking, gone before I can hold them. Morning becomes afternoon without ceremony. Night comes without relief. People return to their routines with an efficiency that feels like betrayal. Laughter resumes. Traffic hums. Phones ring. Life continues, like my mother had no experience of death.Everyone goes back to normal. Everyone except me.I stop answering Alexander’s calls on the second day. By the third, I stop reading the messages. By the fifth, I turn my phone off entirely. And I don’t see this as a punishment but as a way of surviving. Every time his name lights up my screen, my insides tighten like a fist around glass.I cannot afford to bleed anymore, so, I disappear from him.The flower shop smells the same— earthy, green, and faintly sweet. It’s strange h