Finn stood by Aoife’s side, his gaze shifting between the doctor’s words, the remnants of glass on the sterile wipes, and the scar on Aoife’s face.
The scar, seven centimeters long, stitched up with over seventy stitches under ineffective anesthesia, with each stitch an average of one millimeter apart.
No one is immune to pain, and facial wounds are even more sensitive. Even Finn couldn’t bear to remain silent and still in this kind of agony.
That’s why Aoife was restrained on the bed, fearing that her struggles from pain would cause the doctor to stitch unevenly.
Finn reached out, wanting to touch Aoife, but his trembling hands couldn’t control themselves. He gently touched Aoife’s intact left cheek, fingertips lightly brushing against the bandage. As soon as his fingertips touched the bandage, they trembled and retreated.
In his mind, he heard Aoife’s question.
-“Finn, do you dare to do a DNA test on that child to see if she is really Ethan’s child? I bet you can’t bear the pain once you know the truth.”
Finn had an extreme sense of confidence and arrogance. He always believed that he would never fall in love with anyone, relying too much on his abilities and means.
The child in Aoife’s belly was revealed to be five months old. Based on the timeline, it couldn’t be his. In the months she was away, she was closest to Ethan, living and eating together, even engaged. If it wasn’t Ethan’s, then whose could it be?
The more Finn thought, the colder his heart became. Could it be that Aoife had never lied? She didn’t have relations with Ethan, and the child wasn’t Ethan’s but Finn’s.
Finn refused to admit the mistake he made… up to now, he preferred to believe in the test results, the numbers produced by the machine, rather than believe Aoife’s words.
Humans often choose answers that benefit themselves, but with benefits come consequences. The consequence here was going against one’s wishes.
The doctor noticed Finn’s pale complexion and wondered if he had been too harsh with his words. But he had only spoken the truth.
“Mr. Snearl, I have said what needs to be said. If you truly think that Miss Powell is pitiful, then treat her well.”
Those used to bitterness don’t need a lot of sugar to mask it, a hint of sweetness suffices. The same applies to those lacking love; as long as they are treated a little better, respected a bit, it suffices.
Unfortunately, Finn did not understand this principle.
Should he test the child’s DNA?
For a moment, Finn hesitated, unable to move forward, torn between two conflicting choices. He heard a voice inside him, seemingly screaming at him, stopping him from investigating.
If it was true, as Aoife said, that the child was not Ethan’s but his, then he would be the executioner who killed his own child. He even turned the child into a specimen displayed for others to see, labeled with “bastard.”
How could he bear such a price? How could he make amends with Aoife?
Regrets and unbearable pain were already calculated.
But if he didn’t investigate, he would be kept in the dark, and he detested being deceived. Not knowing the truth forever was the last thing he wanted.
This time, Aoife had been lying in the intensive care unit for days, with intravenous nutrition attached to her hand and a catheter below.
Physical scars could heal with medication, but how to heal the wounds in the heart?
The pain in the bones would ache when it rained, but the pain in the heart would ache simply by thinking about it.
Finn abandoned his work, staying almost glued to Aoife’s bedside, tightly holding her hand.
“Aoife, your eyes are temporarily blind, but once you wake up and remove the bandages, you’ll see it. The cherry blossoms in the hospital have bloomed, don’t you want to open your eyes and see?” Finn said with red eyes. “Once you wake up, I’ll take you to the prison to see Hattie, we promised to torment each other. If I don’t die, you must not die. If you die, I’ll have plenty of crazy people accompany you in death.”
Aoife had always been like a blade of grass, seemingly inconspicuous but resilient, surviving through harsh conditions, just like grass in the wild, despite being trampled upon or buried in mud, it would still grow back.
Aoife’s resilience made people forget that she was human, not just a blade of grass. But even grass, if it didn’t want to live, would die.
Disasters occurred daily, in this world where life, death, sorrow, and joy were common occurrences.
The hospital was a place to save lives, but it couldn’t save someone who wished for death. If Aoife didn’t want to wake up, even if Finn exhausted all his strength, he wouldn’t be able to help. No one could snatch a life from fate.
Finn spent the whole night in the ward talking to Aoife, his voice hoarse. He looked at the black lines on Aoife’s face, tears welling up in his eyes.
“I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow to do the DNA test.”
Aoife, usually without much opinion and pure-hearted, had never doubted Finn, but this time she didn’t believe him at all.
The next day, Finn began preparing for the DNA test for the child. The results matched not only Ethan’s but also his own.
After waiting three days for the test results, Finn was stunned when he received the report. None of the results matched. The child wasn’t Ethan’s, nor was it his.
Aoife couldn’t have had contact with anyone else, she didn’t have the courage. Even a fool would realize by now that the hospital had been tampered with.
The only person capable of manipulating the entire Chiwood hospital, other than Old Burns, was he, and he felt foolish for only realizing it now.
Finn secretly sent his trusted assistant overseas, re-investigated, and then went to the hospital where Aoife had her prenatal check-ups, meticulously examining each detail.
As he waited, half a month passed, and Collins returned with the final results.
In the dead of night, the hospital corridor deserted except for medical staff, Finn walked to the staircase with a file bag. The stairwell’s light was motion-sensored, plunging into darkness if there was no sound.
Finn lit a cigarette, taking a few puffs before tremblingly opening the file bag. Looking at the documents inside, Finn’s tears flowed.
The child in Aoife’s belly was his, not five months but a full six months old. She hadn’t lied; she had never had relations with Ethan. She was innocent.
It was his arrogance, lack of trust, that destroyed her.
The papers in his hand fell to the ground, scattered by the wind in the stairwell. Finn didn’t know how long he had sat there, only regaining his senses when his body turned cold, and his limbs felt numb. He stood up, descended the stairs, picking up the scattered papers one by one.
Now, all he could think about was Aoife. He didn’t know what to do next, and even if Aoife never forgave him, even if they tormented each other, he would never let her go. Losing Aoife meant never finding someone like her again.
The cigarette in his hand had burned to its end, stinging him. He extinguished it with his hand, the smoke irritating his eyes. Squinting, he tightly pressed the document against his chest, mechanically looking forward. He ascended the stairs slowly, unsure if it was from sitting too long, his legs had gone numb, causing him to stumble and kneel on the staircase.
He was weak, Finn mocked himself. He thought he could bear the consequences no matter what, but he also dared not face them.
He always called Aoife a coward, but in reality, he was one himself.
His biggest obsession in life was power and wealth, to obtain everything from the Burns family and have the Burns Group bear his mother’s surname. He wanted everyone to know that the one who finally took over the Burns family was not names Burns but a bastard of his, looked down upon since childhood.
He had always acted towards this goal, gradually rising above the elites, having almost everything within his reach. Yet, what wasn’t his, he didn’t care for, except for Aoife.
A year ago, he was mocking Hamish, not expecting fate to turn the tables.