After the Divorce, My Billionaire Husband Lost His Mind のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 71 - チャプター 80

The support group was Elara's idea.Which surprised me.Not because she avoided grief.Because she usually avoided strangers.Especially strangers who might witness vulnerability.Yet somehow—Three months after the hospital—She found a local bereavement group for parents who had lost children.And signed up before she could change her mind.The night before the first meeting, she barely slept.I knew because neither did I.At 2:00 a.m., she was staring at the ceiling.At 3:00 a.m., she was still staring at the ceiling.At 4:00 a.m., I finally gave up pretending to be asleep."You're nervous."She laughed softly into the darkness."That obvious?""Extremely."Silence settled briefly.Then—"What if I hate it?""Then you leave.""What if everyone is further along than me?"I turned toward her."There is no further along."A pause."There's just different."She was quiet for a long moment.Then whispered:"What if hearing their stories makes me hurt more?"The question lingered between

The dream returned after four months.Not a nightmare.Somehow that made it worse.Because nightmares ended with relief.This one ended with loss.Again.I woke at 4:32 a.m. with tears already on my face.For several seconds, I couldn't understand why.Then I remembered.The dream.Lily.My chest tightened immediately.Beside me, Elara slept peacefully for once.One arm stretched across the mattress.Her breathing steady.I sat up carefully.Not wanting to wake her.But grief had never respected intentions."You dreamed about her."The voice came softly through the darkness.I froze.Elara hadn't opened her eyes.Yet somehow she knew."How?"A sad smile touched her lips.Still half-asleep."You make a different sound when it's Lily."God.The answer shattered something inside me.Because of course she knew.She knew everything now.The versions of silence.The different kinds of sadness.The specific ways grief moved through me.Eventually she opened her eyes.Moonlight reflected soft

The happiness lasted exactly eleven minutes.Not that I counted.My mind did it automatically afterward.The way people remember the exact length of calm before a storm.Eleven minutes.Eleven minutes of crying.Of holding each other.Of whispering impossible things.A baby.Another baby.A future.Then Elara's phone vibrated on the bathroom counter.Neither of us paid attention initially.We were too busy staring at each other.Too busy trying to process what had just happened.The vibration stopped.Then started again.And again.Three missed calls.My stomach tightened immediately.Because something about that felt wrong.Elara noticed too.The joy on her face faded slightly."What is it?"She picked up the phone.The screen illuminated.Three missed calls.One voicemail.From Dr. Matthews.The room went cold.Instantly.Not physically.Emotionally.The kind of cold that arrived when fear remembered your address.Elara looked at me.I looked at her.Neither of us spoke.Because we

The appointment was at 9:00 a.m.We arrived at 8:12.Neither of us mentioned it.We both knew why.Because being early felt like control.And when fear lived inside you, you grabbed control wherever you could find it.The waiting room looked exactly like every other waiting room.Soft music.Neutral colors.Magazines nobody read.Yet my pulse wouldn't slow down.Across from me, Elara sat with both hands wrapped around a paper cup of tea she'd barely touched.She looked calm.She wasn't.I knew because her left foot kept moving.A nervous habit she'd had for years.One she'd never managed to break.I reached over and gently touched her knee.Immediately, the foot stopped.She looked at me.A tiny smile appeared."Am I that obvious?""Only to me."The smile widened briefly.Then faded.Because today wasn't really about nerves.It was about memory.The last ultrasound.The last pregnancy.The last time we'd walked into a room full of hope.Neither of us said it aloud.We didn't have to.

The call came from my mother.Which was unusual.Not because she never called.Because she rarely called first.For most of my life, our relationship existed somewhere between affection and distance.She loved me.I knew that.But neither of us had ever been particularly skilled at showing it.A family tradition, apparently.The phone rang while Elara and I were having breakfast.She was reading articles about high-risk pregnancies.A habit I was actively trying to discourage.Because every article seemed determined to convince her the world was ending."Stop researching."She didn't even look up."No.""You're making yourself anxious.""I'm already anxious.""Fair."That earned a small smile.Then my phone rang.I glanced at the screen.And frowned."Everything okay?""I think so."I answered."Mom?"Silence.Then a hesitant voice."Julian."Immediately, I sat up straighter.Something was wrong.Not catastrophic.But wrong.Because my mother never sounded hesitant."What happened?"A