Chapter 6
On the first day after his bail, he smashed the last bottle of whiskey.
The suit he wore was borrowed. The watch, the luxury car, the villa–everything was seized.
This was the 36th consecutive day he’d spent waiting outside the ICU.
“Get lost!” Judith shoved aside the breakfast he offered. “Ms. Cohen doesn’t need a murderer looking after her.”
“Please, let me in,” his eyes were bloodshot.
The security guard hesitated, unsure of what to say. “Mr. Roffe…”
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“Don’t call me that.” He crouched in the
corner, his voice barely a whisper. “I just want to help her… wipe her down.”
Half an hour later, he was finally allowed into the room.
The stench of alcohol hung in the air. Yet, his movements were as gentle as if he were cradling a feather.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
The TV continued to play his story: “Former Chairman of the Roffe Group sentenced for fraud…
*Click!*
The nurse snapped, turning off the TV.
A thick stack of medical bills was handed to
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him. “For this month.”
His hands trembled. “Just give me three more days. I’m still raising the money.”
During the night shift, he snuck in, holding a medical journal. “Diana, let me read to you…
The security guard pretended not to see. He simply closed the door quietly behind him.
“The latest research on artificial heart valves…” His tears fell onto the pages.
In the early hours, the debt collectors blocked the hospital entrance.
“Byron! Stop hiding!”
“Pay up!”
“Fraudster!”
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The head of security sighed. “Mr. Roffe, maybe you should leave for now…”
“I’m not leaving.” He gripped the medical journal in his hands tightly.
The next day, someone caught him working part–time at a local clinic.
“Business tycoon reduced to a street cleaner!”
“Owes two hundred million, now a janitor!”
“Once a wealthy elite, now a fallen man!”
The media swarmed at the scent of scandal.
He was like a startled bird, rushing into the restroom to escape.
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The reflection in the mirror was
unrecognizable. His suit reeked of disinfectant.
The money in his pocket was barely enough to cover today’s medical expenses.
*Ding!*
A message popped up on his phone: The house has been sold, only this old, rundown place left.
He replied: “Deal.”
In the hospital room, he carefully adjusted the items on the bedside table.
A red notebook slipped out.
On the first page, neat handwriting read: *To my future baby.*
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His hands trembled.
“February 14: He said he’d give me the whole world.”
“March 8: He gave me a bouquet of roses and promised to cherish me forever.”
“April 1: Found out I’m pregnant! He’s going to be so happy…”
“April 10: He’s been acting a little strange. Maybe work is exhausting him.”
“April 15: Found some info. I can’t believe it…”
“April 20: Once the baby’s born, he’ll come around…”
The notebook hit the floor.
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He burst out of the room like a wild animal, running into the stormy night.
The rain was pouring.
An hour later, he stood drenched at the counter. “Here’s today’s bill.”
Coins scattered across the floor.
The family member from the neighboring bed secretly slipped him a sandwich.
He crouched in the corner, crying like a child.
Until dawn.
Until the 37th sunrise.
Until the doctor told him:
“The patient showed some response today”
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“But she will never forgive you.” Judith added coldly.
He smiled, tears falling in heavy streams.
“It’s enough if she hates me. That’s enough…”
Outside the window, another dawn broke.
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