THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 33: THIS IS NOT A REAL - , DONT UNLOCK

Chapter 33: THIS IS NOT A REAL Chapter, DONT UNLOCK

Heather froze the moment her eyes landed on him.

Alex was barely recognizable. Pale, smaller somehow. An IV snaked into the back of his tiny hand, the skin around it too thin. Plastic tubes lined his nostrils, delivering silent oxygen. Machines pulsed steadily beside him, their beeps measuring a life now balanced on digits and decimals.

Heather’s breath caught.

He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze floated—unfocused, distant, like he was halfway between this world and some other one.

Her lips parted, but nothing came out. Not his name, not even a whisper. Just a soundless ache.

The tears came too fast to stop this time. Her chest rose in one jerky inhale before she turned sharply and walked out, unable to stand the sight of him like that.

Outside the Room

She pressed a hand against the cold hallway wall, the other covering her mouth as sobs racked her body silently. Her sprained ankle trembled beneath her weight, but she didn’t feel it, not really.

Caius followed, his footsteps quiet. He crouched beside her, his broad frame somehow small in the dim hospital light.

Heather shook with each breath, swallowing the grief like poison.

Then, quietly, she asked, "What did the doctor really say?"

She didn’t look at him, she already knew he’d lied. The forced smile, the rehearsed calm. She just needed to hear the truth from his mouth.

Caius hesitated, then said it.

"Alex might die."

Her heart clenched. "Might?"

"Seventy-thirty," he said. "The odds are stacked against us."

Heather squeezed her eyes shut. More tears, hot, and angry.

"And you smiled when you told me?" Her voice cracked like glass under pressure. "You let me walk into that room thinking this was manageable?"

"I didn’t want to break you."

"You did anyway." She swiped at her tears, then looked at him, broken and fierce all at once. "If he dies, what do we do, Caius? What am I supposed to do?"

"I don’t know," he admitted, his voice barely a whisper.

She let the silence stretch, the only sound, the faint beep-beep-beep down the hallway behind them.

"I don’t want him to die," she whispered. "He’s everything. He’s the only thing that makes me feel like I have a place in this world."

Caius’s hands curled into fists. "I won’t let that happen. We’ll fight. We’ll throw everything at this."

"But what if everything isn’t enough?"

"Then we make every moment count."

Heather’s eyes locked with his, and for once—just for a flicker—there was no fight between them, just shared terror.

"I’m going back in," he said. "You coming?"

She shook her head slowly. "When’s the surgery?"

"Tomorrow morning."

Heather nodded.

"Are you okay by yourself?" he asked.

Another nod.

Caius waited a second longer, then turned and slipped back into the room.

...

Heather stood at the sink, cold water pooling in her palms, the mirror blurring from steam and unshed tears. The pain in her ankle had dulled into something distant. Her chest, though—that ached with something deeper. Then, she heard something, like a soft murmur.

She turned slightly. A young woman, early thirties maybe, leaned against the sink, makeup smudged, skin pale beneath layers of exhaustion. Her eyes were dark green, ringed with fatigue.

She watched Heather through the mirror. Heather barely managed to raise a brow.

"Is your husband dying too?"

Heather blinked. The question hit hard—not just because of what was asked, but because it sounded so normal, so casual. Like it happened every day here. Maybe it did.

"No." Her voice was brief, the conversation already threatening to push into something she wasn’t ready to share. But her human side protested. She needed to talk to someone. To connect and be vulnerable in a way she couldn’t be with Caius. And now, with Alex. She exhaled. "My son." The words fell before she could stop them. And just like that, she broke down.

The woman didn’t hesitate. She walked over and wrapped her arms around Heather without a word. And Heather didn’t resist. For the first time all night, she let herself lean into someone.

They didn’t exchange names, didn’t need to. Grief had a way of recognizing itself.

...

Heather stepped back into the room, her posture straight, her eyes dry. The slight sting of tears lingered behind her lashes, but she refused to let them fall again. She had wash her face, enough that it wasn’t obvious she had been crying. The woman from the restroom had helped. She understood loss and grief. And somehow, for a brief moment, she had felt understood, too.

Caius sat beside Alex’s bed, reading aloud from a battered paperback. His voice was calm, almost mechanical, like someone reading terms and conditions. Heather closed the door softly, and the sound of her heels—removed hours ago—was replaced by the soft padding of her limp.

Caius looked up, watching her like someone who wasn’t sure which version of her would walk through that door.

"You’re back."

She nodded, eyes flicking toward Alex. "Yeah."

Alex’s head turned slightly at the sound of her voice, but he said nothing. His eyes were open now—hollow but aware.

Heather took a seat on the other side of the bed, reaching for his hand with a tentative gentleness. She didn’t say anything, cause she didn’t trust her voice.

Caius cleared his throat. "I was telling him about a boy in the story who gets trapped inside a glass maze. Can’t find his way out. Keeps going in circles."

Heather blinked. "You’re reading that to a sick child?"

Caius shrugged. "He seemed to like it."

"It’s about being trapped," she muttered. "That’s not exactly... comforting."

"He’s not dying because of the book, Heather."

The words landed too sharp. Heather stiffened.

"What did you just say?"

Caius glanced at her, deadpan. "I said he’s not—"

"I heard you," she snapped. "You think this is a joke?"

"No. I think you’re looking for someone to blame, and I’m the closest target."

Heather’s voice rose. "God, you’re unbelievable. You’re acting like this is a mild inconvenience. Like he just scraped his knee or something."

"I’m trying to stay calm," Caius said flatly. "Somebody has to be. You’re walking around crying in bathrooms and snapping at nurses."

Heather laughed bitterly. "You think I want to fall apart?"

"I think you’re making it harder for him."

He gestured toward Alex without looking at him. The boy flinched inwardly but said nothing.

Heather rose from her chair, limping. "You self-righteous robot."

"I’m just trying to think," Caius said coolly. "You should try it sometime."

The air went dead.

Heather moved before she could stop herself, her hand slapping the book from his lap. It hit the floor with a dull thud.

Caius stared at her, stunned but not angry. Just disappointed. That was somehow worse.

"You’re the one who kept this from me," she hissed. "You smiled. You smiled, Caius. I walked in thinking he had a treatable problem and you let me believe that. You don’t get to lecture me."

Caius rose to his feet, voice cold. "If I had told you the truth, you would’ve gone hysterical in the hallway. You wouldn’t have made it through that door."

"I would’ve held his hand knowing the truth," she said. "I would’ve cherished that moment instead of wasting it pretending everything was fine."

"I was protecting you," he said.

"No," she growled, stepping closer, fire rising in her eyes. "You were protecting yourself. Because you didn’t want to deal with my reaction."

Caius didn’t respond. Not at first. Then: "So what now? You want to scream? Blame me? Hit me?"

She almost did.

But Alex shifted.

And the rage drained instantly from her limbs.

She didn’t even look at him. She couldn’t. Her body trembled. Her lips parted, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned, slowly picking up the book from the floor, brushing dust from its cover, and placing it gently on the table. Then she sat back down. While Caius remained standing, unsure if he’d won or lost.

Alex frowned. He was watching them, his gaze flickering between both his parents. He didn’t like it when they fought. His mother had a short temper. His father was insensitive. Not in a cruel way, just in a way that made him completely dumb to emotion.

Alex coughed weakly, and Heather’s fingers instinctively tightened around his. She held on, as if she could keep him with her. As if she could protect him from the inevitable.