Chapter 8
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Rain had battered the streets of Jouver all night long. At the hospital, the light above the operating room
flickered on and off, casting a ghostly glow through the corridor.
By dawn, Veronica finally managed to lift her heavy eyelids. Her body still radiated with fever and pain.
“Ms. Dolton, you have a viral infection. Luckily, you got here just in time. If you’d come any later, it might’ve turned into pneumonia. That could’ve been life–threatening.
“We tried contacting your husband several times last night. The calls didn’t go through, then the phone died. You should let him know–your family must be worried sick.”
A nurse who had come by to change Veronica’s IV spoke softly at her bedside, handing her the fully charged phone.
Veronica’s expression didn’t shift, but a hollow ache grew inside her.
She forced a tired smile. “Thank you.”
When the whole family was wrapped in joy, Heath wouldn’t spare a moment to answer her call.
Veronica couldn’t help but imagine that if she had actually died on that operating table, Heath probably wouldn’t have felt a flicker of panic.
It was Miriam and Samuel that she felt sorry for. In a world like theirs, growing up without a mother would only make everything harder.
Veronica powered on her phone, surprised to see a missed call from Heath. At the same moment, her custom ringtone for Miriam broke the silence.
Her expression softened, and she answered immediately. “Miri, didn’t you have class today? By the way… are you back?”
“Mom!” Miriam’s voice snapped, crowded with grief and rage. “You almost killed Ms. Turner.”
Veronica froze. “Miri, what are you talking about?”
Miriam’s voice wavered with sorrow and accusation. “The doctor said Ms. Turner had a severe allergic reaction since she wore your pajamas. It’s because of the mugwort you infused them with! Dad stayed by her side all night just to get her through it.
“If you hadn’t treated your pajamas with that stuff, she wouldn’t have nearly died. You’re a murderer! Why couldn’t it have been you in that hospital bed instead of her?”
When she heard her own daughter, the one she had carried for nine long months, say those words, Veronica felt as if rusted blades were tearing through her one after another. The pain was sharp, relentless, and almost too much to bear.
The pajamas had been infused with mugwort.
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When Miriam and Samuel were born, their bodies were fragile. Under medical guidance, herbal therapies became part of their long–term care, and mugwort was the only scent they could tolerate without adverse
reactions.
To make it easier on them, Veronica began the habit of infusing her own clothes with the herb.
In the beginning, her skin reacted with angry rashes and unbearable itching. But day after day, she
endured it for the sake of her children’s health.
Eventually, her body stopped reacting. The herbal scent became a part of her, always clinging faintly to
her clothes.
Heath had once mocked her for it, saying she smelled like she had soaked in a vat of medicine.
Veronica’s voice turned cold. “Miri, you still haven’t answered my question. Are you all back in Jouver?
Did I ever tell her to wear those pajamas? If she took something without asking, that’s stealing.”
It was the first time Miriam had ever heard her mother speak to her in that tone.
She froze for a second, then scoffed with a sharp sniff. “Why should I tell you? You already moved out!
Dad said she could wear it, so she’s not a thief.
“And you ignored Dad’s calls on purpose. You’re awful! I don’t ever want to talk to you again.”
With that, she ended the call in a fury and blocked Veronica’s number once more.
This time, she decided, she wouldn’t unblock her for a year.
She was still young, and Veronica had always cherished her the most. But now, she didn’t care. She was going to teach her mother a lesson–one she wouldn’t forget.
Veronica’s hands were cold. Her palms trembled as she lowered the phone, her fingers stiff.
She could hardly believe those words had come from her daughter.
Her vision blurred, and tears welled up, stinging her eyes. The numb ache in her chest finally gave way to
something deeper.
Suddenly, a small, pale hand reached toward her with a tissue. “You’re crying, Ms. Pretty. Here, use this.”
Veronica looked up. Standing before her was a little girl of around four years old and dressed in a tiny hospital gown. Her skin was fair, and her hair was a tousled mess.
Her soft little hands gently offered a tissue to Veronica’s cheek, while wide hazel eyes looked up at her
with worry.
She was the child from the bed next to hers, Wanda Fletcher.
Earlier that morning, Veronica had woken just in time to see her IV nearly run dry, almost causing blood to flow back up the tube.
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She had called for a nurse to change it. In her sleepy haze, Wanda had grabbed Veronica’s sleeve and
called her “Mom“.
“Thank you, Wanda.” Veronica took the tissue from her small hand, a gesture so gentle and pure it warmed her heart. For the first time in days, a genuine smile touched her lips.
Wanda suddenly gasped and covered her mouth with both hands.
“Oh wow! When you smile, you look just like a glowing fairy! You have to smile more, okay?”
Veronica’s smile deepened at Wanda’s pure, earnest praise.
“It’s a shame. My dad already has my mom,” Wanda said with a little sigh, shaking her head.
Suddenly, an idea struck her, and her eyes lit up with excitement. “But wait! What if you married my uncle? He doesn’t have a wife yet!”
Veronica couldn’t help but laugh, her eyes crinkling as she picked up a small comb to smooth Wanda’s
tousled hair.
“Wanda, I’m already married.”
Wanda’s expression fell. “What? You’re married? Well, you are really pretty, so of course you’d have a husband. But… how come he’s not here with you? When my mom gets sick, my dad stays up all night by
her side.”
Wanda had been admitted on short notice. She had fallen ill from the sudden climate change she
experienced upon returning from abroad. Her parents hadn’t been able to return in time, so her uncle had
been left in charge.
But her dad, clueless as ever, hadn’t even realized her uncle was away on a business trip.
Her grandfather had come by last night to drop off dinner and hired a nurse to watch over her, then rushed home to tend to his plants.
Veronica’s smile slowly faded as Miriam’s words echoed in her mind.
Last night, Heath must have stayed by Eleanor’s bedside the whole time. That one call he made was probably just to pin the blame on her.
Wanda blinked up again, letting Veronica gently pat her head. Her soft fingers tucked stray strands of hair
behind her ear.
But her smile faded again, and Wanda wondered if it was because of Veronica’s husband.
In the private VIP ward, Miriam and Samuel had arrived early that morning to visit Eleanor.
It had been too late the night before, so Heath hadn’t let them come.
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The kids had stayed up anyway, calling him over and over, worried sick through the night.
“Mom is just too much! I called her, and she still wouldn’t admit she was wrong. And she blamed you for wearing her pajamas, Miriam huffed as she leaned on the edge of the hospital bed, tugging gently at the
hem of Eleanor’s hospital gown.
Eleanor’s eyes flicked toward the balcony, where Heath had just ended a call. Her lips curled faintly.”
Mira, your Aunt Olivia saw your mom with a man last night. Maybe she was caught up in something. She
didn’t mean to say those things.”
“Caught up?” Heath remarked coldly.
A cold tension radiated from him, the kind that sent a shiver crawling down anyone’s spine.
That word was spit out through clenched teeth, laced with disbelief and fury.
So that was why she hadn’t answered his calls–she had been with another man.
That explained everything.
Eleanor’s smile faltered as anxiety flickered in her eyes. “Heath… Olivia said she just happened to see
them. Maybe it wasn’t what it looked like.”
Her voice trailed off, growing smaller with every word.
Heath stormed out of the hospital room, his expression dark with fury. With barely restrained anger, he
redialed Veronica’s number. “Where are you?*
“In the hospital,” she replied.
Heath let out a mocking laugh with a frown on his face. He figured Veronica must have heard from
Miriam.
“Oh, you finally made time, Mrs. Tate? All done with your… busy schedule?” he jeered.
Veronica’s brows pinched slightly. “What are you talking about?”
Heath’s voice turned even colder. “Cut the act. Since you’re already here, drop the pretense. Room 506.
Get over here, now.”
He hung up before she could reply.
Veronica knew she had no choice. If she didn’t go to that room and face them herself, things would only spiral further out of control.
She exhaled deeply and adjusted the collar of her thin hospital gown.
Across the corridor, Heath waited outside the private suite, growing more impatient with each passing
second.
He was about to call again when the door to one of the standard rooms clicked open across from him.
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A woman stepped out.
She was pale, and her small frame barely held up the IV bag in one shaky hand. Her gown looked too
loose for her already frail body.
Heath’s stern gaze softened just slightly as he caught sight of her.
“Why… are you here?” His voice dropped, stunned.
