In My Desperate Time

Chapter 253: Despair

When I woke up, I found myself on my bed.

Steven is sitting next to me. His countenance is severe.

I regain my consciousness and know very well what happened before I fainted. In my sleep, even my breathing was hurting me. Now I feel that I have nothing left to live for. All content is property © NôvelDrama.Org.

“The baby was buried,” Steven said slowly after staring at me for a while.

The word stabbed at my heart so hard.

“You’d better get more rest. You were almost bleeding to death. If I hadn't come in time, you would…”

“You came in time! If I had been accompanied by you it wouldn’t have happened!” I yelled at him. “You are supposed to be with me when I do the check-up every month, but where are you? And how’d Frances know I got pregnant? How’d he find here? You must’ve told him!”

It’s quite clear to me that Steven is the last one to blame for, but I can’t control myself. I think selfishly and stubbornly that maybe it will make me feel better to blame someone. Steven, however, doesn’t have to endure all this.

“Jane, no shouting. You are in confinement after giving birth. Protect your voice and be in a good mood.” Mom walked in.

“Giving birth? Where’s my baby? Where?” I cried. I am falling into despair.

Mom looks at me with concern, tears dropping from her eyes. Then she wiped away her tears and walked out.

Steven sits silently no matter how badly I scold him. He left after few days. Before that, he told Mom to take care of me.

I ate nothing and cried all the time during the month of confinement. Even I managed to take a few mouthfuls, I spit it out at last. After this period finished, I lost ten pounds, and I was even heavier before pregnancy.

I stare at the woman in the mirror. She is skinny, her cheeks sunken, eyes are hollow and her face is pale.

I live with a heart full of holes at the age of twenty-five. I seem ready to be put into the coffin. Nothing is worthwhile to me.

“Have some. Take care of yourself. You know it matters.” Mom passes me a bowl of chicken soup.

I shook my head and said softly, “where’s the baby? I want to see him.”

“Steven is coming. You can go with him,” Mom sighs.

Then Steven and I go to visit the tomb. No picture on the gravestone. The date of birth is July 11, 2017, the same as the date of death.

Tears well from my eyes, and Steven holds my shoulder gently and gets me in his arms.

“My kid…was killed by Frances Louis before he was brought to this world. Steven, my heart is aching. I hate him. I want to cut him into pieces.” I said, grinding my teeth.

I have thought seriously about going after my kid when I lost him. But I hate Frances so much that I have to stay alive to see the murderer get punished. I won’t just let it go. Frances Louis will pay for what he has done.

I clench my fists, sit up straight and say firmly, “Steven, let’s go back to Virginia.”