“Even if I don’t have a miscarriage, the poor condition of my body would result in fetal malnutrition. Who knows if the child born would be a cerebral palsy patient?” Just like you, Hattie didn’t directly utter the last four words.
Words can be both sweet as honey and sharp as knives, and Harry was stabbed by this knife, soaked in his own blood. Ironically, he was the one who handed her the knife.
Every argument she made was valid. These past few days, Harry forcibly held Hattie while sleeping, as if he wanted to imprison her in his embrace and gradually meld her into his very bones.
Now that he was forbidden from sleeping with her, Harry felt that everything was amiss. After tasting meat once, who willingly goes back to being a vegetarian?
But what Hattie said had its merits. He knew how light her sleep was, how the slightest breeze would startle her awake.
Harry had to consider it. Compared to his selfish desires, it was better to prioritize Hattie’s well-being. When she becomes pregnant, perhaps she would cast a few more glances his way, including at their child.
“Rest well,” Harry reached out his hand, wanting to touch her forehead as he always did. But before his hand could even reach Hattie, her expression changed, and she turned her head away.
She silently rejected him.
Hattie despised him so much that even his touch repulsed her. Would she really be willing to conceive his child and give birth to it?
At this moment, Harry could only deceive himself. Maybe Hattie felt powerless against him and chose acceptance over futile struggle.
Or perhaps, as she said, she wanted to leave a descendant for the Mason family, finding motivation to live on through having a child. It was a new beginning.
As for everything else, Harry didn’t want to think about it, and he couldn’t dare to think about it. Some things could only be buried in the darkest corners of his heart.
Harry silently withdrew his hand and tightly gripped the cup in his hand. “I’m going out.”
“No need for a farewell,” Hattie turned her body away from him, not even sparing an extra glance.
Only after hearing the fading footsteps until the door closed did Hattie open her eyes. Whether it was an illusion or not, she felt the air become much fresher after Harry left.
Harry returned to his own bedroom, but he couldn’t sleep. His assistant had sent him the information about Hattie’s time in prison, including the notes about the injuries she had suffered and the various incidents that occurred.
It wouldn’t be difficult to investigate, but he couldn’t bring himself to look. Seeing the truth was like peeling away layer by layer, exposing his ugliest side.
Harry was proud and arrogant. He couldn’t accept the mistakes he had made, especially because Hattie had endured inhumane torment inside because of his impulsive “lesson.”
He didn’t even dare to fully examine the injuries on Hattie’s body, let alone read every word in those documents.
…
Hattie focused on restoring her body every day, even waking up early to exercise for the sake of getting pregnant quickly. She drank the nutritional soup made by the chef, no matter how unpleasant it tasted, not leaving a single drop.
It must be said that her complexion had indeed improved considerably, and she even took a photo with a good mood to send to Micah, telling him that she was doing well recently.
In the blink of an eye, two months had passed. Harry also became busy. The news of his upcoming wedding with Fiona had been leaked, and many journalists were keeping an eye on him.
He had to prepare for his wedding with Fiona while also trying to conceive a child with Hattie.
Every time Hattie slept with Harry, she would take some medication-convenient pills for conceiving a child and relieving pain. The pain in her heart was even worse than the physical discomfort.
Sometimes, when Hattie endured the pain in silence, Harry would gently pat her back to alleviate her suffering.
She had many wounds on her back, rough to the touch, and every time Harry placed his hand on those wounds, he would flinch and pause.
Hattie naturally noticed. While he touched her scars, she looked at the wounds on Harry’s body.
Unlike him, she didn’t feel guilty. Instead, she had a sense of appreciation like observing a piece of artwork. Suddenly, she reached out and touched the scar on Harry’s chest closest to his heart. If it had deviated a little more back then, Harry would have died-this wound was the deadliest.
“Harry, it seems like you’ve never said you love me.”
As she spoke these words, Hattie couldn’t help but smile. She lightly curled her lips, like a seductive fairy casting a spell. “Do you love me, Harry?”
Love? Harry paused, pondered for a while, and then replied, “Love.”
Hattie pursed her lips, looking into Harry’s eyes thoughtfully, trying to discern the truth from his gaze.
“How much do you love me? Would you go crazy for me, or even die for me?”
Harry involuntarily frowned.
To put it plainly, Harry didn’t believe that there were truly people in this world who would go mad or die for love. It wasn’t a TV drama, and people didn’t live for love.
But if Hattie weren’t by his side… Harry couldn’t even dare to think about that. How deep was his love for Hattie?
He didn’t know the answer himself. He gently touched Hattie’s right hand, the fragment of a missing little finger, and lightly kissed it by his lips. “Hattie, I don’t want to see you in pain.”
But the person who hurts me the most is you. Love or no love, Harry didn’t answer with a single word, but there was a saying that expressed it well: the best answer is to answer a different question.
“If Fiona and I both fell into the water one day, whom would you save?”
This kind of question was too common. When a girl asked this question, it usually gave an impression of lack of confidence and unreasonable indulgence. However, Harry thought about it seriously and said, “I don’t know.”
Hattie didn’t look sad. “I suddenly feel somewhat fortunate that you hesitated and said ‘I don’t know’ between Fiona and me. It proves that my position can now stand alongside Fiona’s.”
“You and her are different; they shouldn’t be compared.”
Hattie’s hand was still resting on Harry’s left chest, and she could clearly feel his heart beating strongly.
Such intense heartbeats made her mistakenly believe that he truly loved her.
But in reality, it was more accurate to say that Harry’s feelings for her were desires he couldn’t fulfill, a sense of resentment and obsession.
It was done. Hattie was about to leave, but now she didn’t need to say anything. Harry wiped her body clean and brought her a cup of hot milk, then he would naturally leave.
However, this time, he sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at Hattie’s profile.
With her eyes closed, Hattie felt the burning gaze, and she had to open her eyes. She saw Harry furrow his brow, as if he was trapped in a problem and couldn’t find a way out.
She was about to speak.
Harry preemptively spoke, “Hattie, perhaps I do love you, but I don’t know what deep love is.”
One missing word made a world of difference. Love was a casual word on the lips, while deep love was an overwhelming force in the chest.
“If you don’t know, then learn it. Don’t come around later pretending you don’t understand deep love.”
Harry: “…”