Chapter 2 The Cause of Her Daughter's Death

The icy rigidity of Wyatt's expression melted in an instant, replaced by a gentler, almost tender visage. Without a moment's hesitation, he murmured, "Sure, sweetie."

No sooner had the word left his lips than his figure pivoted, retreating from the living room with brisk, purposeful strides.

Once again, he had made his choice. He chose the daughter of Isabella over their child, Mia.

Standing rooted where she was, Ophelia tightened her grip around the urn. Her hold was tender, almost reverent, as though she could soothe her child's invisible pain.

It had all changed when Isabella had come back from abroad with her daughter. From that moment forward, Wyatt's benevolence seemed tailored exclusively to the mother and child. They were his priority. His everything.

One call from them, and regardless of how late the hour or what he was doing, he would be at their side without falter.

Ophelia? She could endure his neglect. Her own suffering meant little. But she really felt sorry for her daughter, Mia.

Mia had been such a good girl, so sensible, so understanding.

Yet her father had forsaken her not once, not twice, but time and time again.

Thank God it was finished now. This was the final betrayal she faced.

There would be no more hurt.

Ever.

*****

St. Harry Hospital, VIP Ward

Wyatt swept through the doorway, his face cold.

The sight of his abrupt arrival startled Isabella, her hands still mid-motion in comforting her daughter, Cynthia. "Wyatt? W-Why are you here? Weren't you supposed to be with Mia this morning, making up for the birthday celebration you missed?"

Isabella's words seemed to catch up to her own thoughts mere seconds after they left her tongue. Her gaze turned sharply toward the young girl sprawled across stark white hospital sheets, her features shifting to a stern chastisement.

"Cindy, did you secretly call your father again?" Isabella questioned.

"Daddy..."

Cindy shrank into Wyatt's arms, staring up at him. Her tear-filled eyes mirrored the pure grief of vulnerability. With a shaking voice, the child whimpered, "Daddy, without you, I feel scaredalways scared."

Wyatt gave her a gentle hug and patted her back, rhythmically, soothingly, before turning his attention to her mother.

"Cindy is only five," he reminded her, his tone generous with paternal patience. "It's natural for her to feel frightened when confined to a sterile room, surrounded by strangers in scrubs. I'll stay with her here. Mia has plenty of birthdays. It doesn't matter."

Isabella's retort faltered as her thoughts pinned themselves on her daughter's fragile condition.

Sympathy coated her expression as she touched her daughter's delicate face.

She turned to Wyatt, her whispers carrying gratitude like ancient echoes spanning infinite halls. "Wyatt, without you, we'd have never found a matching kidney for Cindy. Without you, Cindy might have..."

The words spilled from her lips like an involuntary prayer, her eyes shimmering against quelled tears that threatened to overflow.

"I'll never let anything happen to her," Wyatt vowed, his tempered softness laced with unshakable resolve.

"Oh, Wyatt. You're a blessing I could never repay." As her sobs clawed up her throat, Isabella leaned in, seeking comfort against his broad shoulder.

To soothe her, Wyatt patted her back, his touch light. When she reached out to wrap her arms around his waist, he stood up and said,

"I need to speak with the specialists about Cindy's prognosis. Take her downstairs to have some fun. I'll catch up with you later."

"Come quick, Daddy!" Cindy chirped as Wyatt stepped into the hallway toward the elevator.

The fluid exchange among timing and coincidences became almost theatrical, as if the universe itself conspired against tranquility.

Wyatt's elevator began its descent the exact moment another cabin released its occupant.

Out strode Ophelia, her pace brisk, her intent singular.

She cut through the corridors like piercing electricity, arriving at the head physician's office.

"Ms. Thompson, you can't"

Before the nurse could wrest control of decorum, Ophelia had forced her way past doorways and inhibitions alikea storm made flesh, her energy acrid like a wildfire ravaging invisible spaces.

"Dr. Wood!" Her voice resonated with poignant desperation, tears blurring her eyes. "Dr. Wood, please! Spare me any shadowed secrets. Tell mewho took Mia's kidney match away?"

If no one had meddled, Mia, her daughter, her innocent girl, wouldn't have breathed her last, helpless, on that operating table.

"Dr. Wood, I beg you!" Ophelia's body seemed to collapse beneath the weight of pleading as she sank to her knees in surrender to despair. "Please!"

She would do anything as long as she could get the answer.

"Ms. Thompson, please don'tI really don't know."

Dr. Wood hurriedly stood up and helped her to her feet, his tone sincere.

Looking at Ophelia, who had become drastically thinner in just a few days, he let out a heavy sigh.

He was a doctor, and his heart went out to his patients.

He deeply sympathized with this woman.

Her daughter had finally found a matching kidney donor, only to have it taken away right before the surgery. In the end, the little girl died on the operating table.

That sweet, well-behaved child was gone just like that.

This mother must be shattered.

But the truth was, he really didn't know the whole story.

He'd only heard from higher-ups that the daughter of some influential figure had also matched with the donor.

But this was something he didn't dare reveal.

Unable to get an answer, Ophelia left Dr. Wood's office with a heavy heart.

As she passed by the inpatient building, a small figure suddenly rushed toward her like a cannonball.

Ophelia instinctively reached out to steady the child.

Before she could make contact, her hand was sharply slapped away. A familiar female voice rang in her ears. "Don't you dare hurt my daughter!"

It was Isabella.

Ophelia withdrew her hand and calmly turned to look.

Isabella was shielding Cynthia protectively, staring back at her with barely restrained emotion. "Ophelia, if you're angry, take it out on me. Cindy is still young. Don't direct your anger toward her."

The same old act.

A cold, mocking smile slowly curled at the corners of Ophelia's lips. She didn't even need to look around. She knew Wyatt was surely nearby.

Sure enough.

Just as Isabella finished speaking, Wyatt's displeased reprimand sounded from behind her. "Ophelia, what's wrong with you now?"

Wyatt strode over, positioning himself as a protector in front of Isabella and her daughter. His gaze toward Ophelia was filled with icy warning.

His unconditional defense of Isabella and her child still stung. Ophelia clenched her hands tightly.

Focused on uncovering the truth behind Mia's death, she had no desire to engage further. She turned to leave, but then Cynthia suddenly clung to Wyatt's leg, looked up with puppy dog eyes, and whimpered: "Daddy, was Ophelia mad at me because you spent time with me for my birthday yesterday instead of with Mia? It's all my fault."

Ophelia's expression turned frosty.

The scene before her reminded her of the first time Mia met Cynthia.

Cynthia had fallen into a swimming pool and been rescued by Wyatt.

Back then, she'd also apologized to Mia through tears. "Mia, did I upset you? I'm sorry. It's all my fault."

It seemed like an apology, but actually, she was subtly implying that Mia had pushed her into the pool.

Wyatt was furious. Without even hearing Mia's side, he scolded her harshly and made her stand outside alone for hours as punishment.

He didn't care what happened to Mia at all.

Mia fell ill that same day, running a high fever for three days and nights.

When Mia woke up, the little girl cried until she was shaking. "Mommy, trust me. I didn't push her. She pushed me and fell into the pool herself. I didn't do it, really."

"There, there, sweetheart. I trust you!"

Ophelia held her daughter, comforting her over and over, but Mia couldn't stop crying. "Why doesn't Daddy believe me?"

What hurt the little girl most was that the father she loved didn't trust her.

At that thought, Ophelia's gaze toward Cynthia grew colder and colder.

Cynthia burst into terrified tears.

Isabella, feeling sorry for her daughter, rushed forward to shield Cynthia from Ophelia's glare. "Ophelia, I told you. If you're angry, take it out on me"

Slap!

Slap!

Slap!

Ophelia granted her wish.

She raised her hand and struck Isabella hard across the facenot once, but three times in rapid succession.

"Ophelia! Are you out of your mind?!" Wyatt roared.

Some content on the website is uploaded by users. If it infringes on your rights, please contact us.