Billionaire's Regret: Losing Me And Our Son - Chapter 24: Chapter 24

As I moved forward, my heart pounded like a drum, desperation clawing at my chest. Quinn was right beside me, his expression unreadable, but I couldn't think about him now. My only thought was of my child.
Why couldn't I hear him crying? Why was the emergency room so suffocatingly quiet?
The attending doctor stepped forward, removing his mask. His eyes swept over us before he finally spoke, voice heavy with regret. "I'm sorry. We did everything we could."
A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, drowning out the rest of the world. My vision blurred, my mind went blank, and only one thought repeated itself like a mantra: No, this isn't real. I don't believe it. I need to see my child.
I shoved past the doctor, ignoring his protests, and burst into the emergency room. On the operating table lay a small, fragile body. His lips were pale, his eyes shut tight.
"My baby..." I dropped to my knees beside the table, my trembling hands reaching for his icy face. "Sweetheart, please... open your eyes for Mommy. Just once..."
But he didn't move. He didn't breathe. My baby was gone. He had left me forever.
"Natalia," Aiden said softly, trying to pull me to my feet. "You need to accept this and move on."
"Don't touch me!" I shoved his hand away, my grief exploding as I scooped my baby's lifeless body into my arms.
The sobs tore through me, raw and uncontrollable, as though my heart were being ripped apart piece by piece.
I don't know how long I cried—minutes, hours, it didn't matter. Eventually, my head spun, and darkness swallowed me whole.
When I woke up, the sky outside the window was cloaked in night. I was lying in a hospital bed, an IV needle taped to my hand. The room was empty.
I pulled out the needle and swung my legs over the side of the bed, but my legs buckled beneath me, sending me crashing to the floor.
The noise must've alerted someone because a nurse's aide quickly rushed in, helping me back onto the bed. She handed me a bowl of oatmeal. "Madam, are you alright?"
Her words barely registered. My mind clung to one desperate hope—that this was all just a terrible nightmare. My voice trembled as I asked, "Where is my child?"
The moment the question left my lips, reality came crashing down like a tidal wave. I knew the truth—I'd known it all along.
The aide lowered her head, sighing softly. "Madam, I'm so sorry. But you're still young, and so is Mr. Madden. Life goes on. You can't live in this sadness forever."
Tears slid silently down my cheeks as my mind replayed the haunting image of my baby's pale, peaceful face on the operating table.
"Do you think he'll be sad?" I whispered, forcing a smile that hurt more than crying.
I couldn't even remember what Quinn had done for our child. The only thing I was grateful for was that the Madden family had the money to gather the best doctors, giving my premature baby a fighting chance.
But in the end, it hadn't mattered. My baby was gone.
The aide hesitated, then spoke gently. "Mr. Madden hasn't eaten or drunk anything all day either."
I waved her off, my voice flat. "I'm tired. Leave me alone." Without waiting for a response, I crawled back under the covers, shutting out the world.
I couldn't sleep; my mind was consumed with thoughts of my child. His face kept flashing before my eyes, haunting me.
For a fleeting, desperate moment, I even wished I could follow him to the grave.
Then I heard heavy footsteps outside my room.
Opening my eyes, I saw Quinn standing there. His face looked hollow, his eyes shadowed with dark circles, and his whole demeanor radiated exhaustion. He rarely smoked, but now the sharp smell of tobacco clung to him like a second skin.
I froze. I had never seen him like this before.
Quinn stood silently by my bed, his dark eyes fixed on me. I couldn't tell what he was thinking, but the weight of his stare was almost unbearable.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and rough. "The doctor says your health is terrible. You need proper nutrition." His gaze flicked to the bowl of oatmeal on the nightstand.
I met his words with indifference, my tone flat. "No need to concern yourself, Mr. Madden."
He didn't respond immediately, just looked at me. Then, to my surprise, he picked up the bowl and sat down at the edge of the bed, clearly intending to feed me.