My Husband Realized He Loved Me After I Stopped Loving Him Chapter 04
During the week I spent in the hospital, Grant stayed in the room next door the entire time.
I lay listening to the intimate murmurs through the wall when the attending physician knocked.
“Ms. Calloway, the results are in.”
“Ms. Sinclair’s baby has no biological relation to Mr. Ashworth.”
I looked out the window without a flicker of reaction, and didn’t reach for the file.
Whatever was happening with him—it had nothing to do with me anymore.
Passing Chloe’s room, I saw Grant carefully coaxing her to eat some soup.
Honestly, this clumsy, earnest version of Grant was still one I’d never seen before.
I paused at the door, hand halfway raised to knock, then thought better of it and had the doctor pass him the divorce papers instead.
I went straight to the airport and left the city without looking back.
…
The following months were not kind to Grant.
He knew me too well. My possessiveness over him was obsessive, almost feral.
Now that everything had come apart completely, he assumed—by pure instinct—that I would go after Chloe.
So he mobilized every resource he had.
He spent every waking hour suppressing bad press, terrified that something online might upset her.
He kept people stationed around the hospital, ready for war if it came to that, determined at minimum to get Chloe out safely.
He’d even pre-armed himself with everything he might use to threaten me.
I doubt that if my parents hadn’t died in a plane crash three years earlier, he’d have found a way to bring them under his control too.
He’d braced for total war, positioned bodyguards inside the house on standby.
But I’d simply looked through the door of her hospital room, once, and left.
It threw him off for the entire day.
He scrolled back through his messages.
Normally, if he went a single day without reporting his location, his phone would explode with texts.
These past few days, though, had been eerily quiet.
He put the phone down, baffled, feeling an inexplicable hollowness he couldn’t quite name.
That feeling hit its peak the day he finally got Chloe to sleep and made it home, worn out.
Every trace of me had been stripped from the house.
Every gift he’d ever given me—smashed, destroyed.
Anger flared. He held it in check and, for the first time, texted me first.
When he saw the red exclamation mark, he froze on the spot.
He rushed back to the hospital.
The moment he got back to the hospital, the doctor stopped him, relieved, and handed over a stack of papers.
“Mr. Ashworth, finally found you.”
“These belong to Ms. Calloway and Ms. Sinclair—they both need your signature.”
Grant scanned them impatiently.
The next second, his face went white.