Too Late For Regrets [Extra #1]

Part 27

The moment I opened my eyes again, I had to close them again because of the annoyingly white ceiling that was right above me. I tried to take a breath, but the smell of antiseptics made me reconsider. I knew right away where I was – in the hospital. A place I really didn't like. The mere awareness that there were people who died there made me nauseous. I didn't like staying in a place, where I knew death was a normal occurrence. I wasn't squeamish, that wasn't the case, but knowing that even in the very bed I was lying on there was probably someone who died made me uncomfortable.

I wasn't surprised to learn that I was alone in the room. They must've been scared to see me after what my husband did. Well, he did it unintentionally, but he did it nonetheless. He pushed me off the stairs. Frankly, I couldn't even blame him for it. It was mostly my fault for trying to get between him and my sister, but I couldn't have possibly predicted that he would shove me with such force. It was unexpected. However, even if I shouldn't blame him, I still did.

As I lay in my bed, I thought about a few things. The one thing I couldn't help but wonder about was the child in my belly. Did it survive? Did it die?

I quickly found an answer to my question. The child was no more. The doctor who came to check on me told me that with a pitiful look on his face. "I am so sorry, but you have miscarried," he said, sitting down by my bed and patting my hand as if waiting for me to burst into tears or get hysterical. I didn't react the way he expected, though.

"Where is it now?" I asked emotionlessly, blankly looking at the ceiling.

"Where is what?" he asked cluelessly.

"The fetus."

"Ma'am, I'm not sure I understand. You want to see the fetus?"

"I don't. I just want to know where it is."

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that. Knowing this could be detrimental to your mental state," the doctor avoided answering my question by bringing up my mental state. He probably thought that I was going to demand something unreasonable from him.

"Fine. Then tell me something else. How big was it?" I asked, turning my head to look straight at him so I could see his reaction. Just like I expected, he didn't anticipate such question, and looked at me with an expression of pure horror. I couldn't and didn't want to tell him why I wanted to know something like this, but I had an idea. I was going to show my husband exactly what he did. He would learn that his actions, although involuntary, had consequences. Dire consequences.

The doctor reluctantly showed me the size of the fetus that had been inside me. Since I was in my fifth month, the child was around ten inches long and according to the doctor it would be around a pound in weight.

That was all I needed to know.

From what the doctor told me, I'd been in the hospital for four days already, but as long as I was unconscious, no one entered my room. I was slightly surprised to hear that my husband and my in-laws kept visiting me during that time. They would stand in the hallway and quietly watch me then my mother-in-law would start crying and go home. My husband, according to the doctor, would spend most of his time in the hospital, interrogating the doctors about my state and questioning their abilities because I wasn't waking up.

I didn't comment on that. I didn't tell the doctor that it was the very man that was so 'worried' about me who did that to me. I only stayed silent and continued to stare at the ceiling as though it had answers to the questions that ran through my mind.

After the doctor left, I was all alone. Alone with my injuries and thoughts. Apart from my miscarriage, I suffered a few more wounds. None of them were much of a concern except for one. I had a small hemorrhage in my skull, which apparently, wasn't big enough to get a surgery. It still worried me, though. The idea of having blood leak into my skull had cold sweat run down my neck.

It was beyond my control, however, so I didn't know what to do. I didn't like having no control.

I needed to consult another doctor to see if that bleeding was something I needed to worry about.

My heart was doing somersaults in my chest whenever I thought about the fall. It was so sudden, so painful, so... I didn't know how to name it. A few short seconds were enough to kill the bastard in my stomach, destroy my head and break five bones in my body. And all of it happened because of one tiny moment of my husband's carelessness.

There was one funny thing, though. As much as I hated the child I was carrying in my belly, during the fall, my arms instinctively went to protect it. It seemed as if my motherly instinct kicked in, even though I'd never believed in things like that. I only believed that humans were creatures that relied on survival instinct. It was the only thing that pushed them to do things that were considered impossible. I found it hard to understand why my body reacted like that when my mind wanted nothing to do with the bastard.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Much to my surprise, it wasn't my Duke who entered the room, but my husband. He looked... crestfallen, as if he lost something really precious, as if he felt guilty about what he had done.

"I didn't ask for visitors," I said coldly, turning away from him to look outside the window.

"I... came here to..." he stammered then sighed quietly. "You don't know how sorry I am..." he croaked, his voice breaking twice. He was surprisingly emotional for a businessman, but I still doubted his good intentions.

"You feel guilty, I guess..." I muttered blankly. "For what exactly? Your lack of restraint? Your strength? Your past with my sister? What do you want to apologize for?" I turned to him with an emotionless look. He flinched slightly and sighed deeply.

"Everything. This... shouldn't have happened."

"It shouldn't have. But it happened. And you can't take it back."

"You will get better, I promise. I'll find the best doctors for you. If you want, I can arrange a private clinic for you. I will do whatever you ask of me."

"You can't give me back what I lost," I told him cryptically. It was a test to see if he knew about the miscarriage.

He didn't. He only looked at me in confusion then let out a quiet sigh. "Please, what do you want me to do to show you that I really regret what happened?"

"Nothing. I want you to do nothing. Just leave me alone."

My husband didn't argue with me anymore, probably realizing that there was no point in that, and left my room. He remained in the hallway, though, and I noticed him glancing at me a few times. His forlorn expression stayed in my mind for the rest of my stay in the hospital.

Yet I still didn't believe he was honest with me. I had an eerie feeling that something insane was happening behind my back while I stayed bedridden. My mind was consumed with possible scenarios. There were so many possibilities it made my mind spin.

Thanks to my husband, I only stayed in the hospital for a few days before I was moved to a private clinic, where I got the VIP room and a bunch of my own personal nurses and doctors. Their care was overwhelming, but I still welcomed it. The only issue I had with them was that they worked for my husband, not me, so they wouldn't keep anything from my spouse.

Within a day, my husband learned about the death of his unborn child, my hematoma and my health in general. He wasn't happy when he heard about it.

He visited my room late in the evening, drunk as hell and cried about me not telling him about my pregnancy sooner. He said he would've done everything in his power to help me during such delicate time and try his damn best to be with me as much as possible. I stayed silent as he cried his heart out, letting him express himself. As a renowned businessman, he didn't have many occasions to be honest with his emotions, since he needed to maintain his public image. I felt a little bad for him.

Just a little, though.

While he was a bit pitiful as he cried into my bedsheets, mourning the loss of his child, he was also the person who mercilessly forced that child on me.

He didn't deserve my pity.