THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 69: I’m not your wife

Chapter 69: I’m not your wife

The car screeched to a halt under the hospital’s parking lot, headlights splashed over the white-tiled entrance.

Before the engine even fully cut off, Caius stepped out. He didn’t slam the door or shout for help—he didn’t have to.

He opened the back door and bent down, carefully gathering Alex from Heather’s trembling arms.

She hesitated—just for a second—but then reality hit, and she scrambled out behind him.

Her heel hit the curb awkwardly, and a sharp jolt radiated through her twisted ankle. She hissed in pain but didn’t stop.

She limped forward, ignoring the surge of heat climbing up her calf, ignoring everything except her child.

"Alex—!" she called as nurses inside spotted them and rushed forward.

"Pediatric code coming through!" one of them yelled.

Caius strode forward without a word, his long coat sweeping behind him, the boy limp in his arms.

He didn’t even look down—his focus was locked on the ER doors opening before him.

Heather limped after him as fast as she could, hair sticking to her face, mascara streaking her cheeks, one shoe half-dangling from her foot.

She pushed past the sliding doors just as the gurney was being wheeled out to meet Caius.

He transferred Alex with the control of someone used to high-pressure situations—careful, quick, and completely unshaken.

Heather, however, was falling apart.

"Wait—I’m coming with him—!" she cried out, trying to follow as the nurses started rolling Alex away.

"Ma’am, you can’t go beyond this point."

Heather pushed against the nurse’s arm. "That’s my son! He’s my baby!"

Caius reached her just as she tried to dart past the threshold, grabbing her gently but firmly by the waist.

"Let me go!" she shouted, twisting in his arms. "He needs me!"

Her twisted ankle buckled under her, and she staggered. Caius caught her before she could fall completely, steadying her with a firm grip.

"Heather," he said, voice low but strong. "You’ll only make it harder for him if you go in like this. Let them work."

"Let me GO!" she screamed, pounding a fist weakly against his chest. "I can’t just let them take him—I need to see him—please!"

She sagged against him then, her fight crumbling into sobs. Caius didn’t speak. He just held her, one arm around her shoulders, the other gripping her forearm to keep her steady.

Nurses hurried past, their machines beeping. The ER doors slammed shut with a cold finality.

Heather gasped for breath like she was drowning. "I didn’t listen—I should have taken him sooner—I should have—"

"You did what you thought was right," Caius murmured, he didn’t understand what she was referring to, but he felt the need to comfort her."Don’t do this to yourself right now."

But she wasn’t listening. She pulled away from him suddenly, limping toward the wall and bracing herself with both hands as she tried to calm down.

Her body trembled with every inhale. She looked like a woman seconds from collapse.

Caius removed his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She pushed it off almost immediately.

Two hours later.

The waiting room was half-lit and quiet, except for the occasional murmur of voices and the distant whirl of stretchers.

Heather sat hunched over on the bench, her twisted ankle elevated on her shoe, now discarded beside her. Her foot had begun to swell.

Caius sat beside her, a calm contrast—back straight, one ankle crossed over the other, fingertips steepled against his chin.

He looked as if he were in a boardroom, not an emergency ward. But his eyes never left the hallway where Alex had disappeared.

Heather scoffed under her breath.

"You really going to sit there like nothing’s happened?" she muttered.

He didn’t look at her. "What would you prefer I do? Scream? Panic? It wouldn’t help him."

Heather turned to him, eyes bloodshot, voice sharp. "You’re so controlled. Like none of this touches you."

His gaze flicked toward her. "It touches me. I just don’t bleed in public."

She looked away. She didn’t know why she was mad at him. But for some reason, she was.

Silence fell again. A nurse passed by—Heather sat up. "Excuse me—my son—Alex Remington—do you know anything—?"

"I’m sorry, ma’am. The doctor will be with you as soon as possible."

Heather sat down again, defeated.

Caius’s phone buzzed. He silenced it without looking at it.

"Why are you even still here?" she asked bitterly.

He turned his head slowly. "Because he’s my son. And whether you want to admit it or not, you and I are in this together now."

Heather looked at him, tired, broken. But something in his calm was beginning to wear down the storm inside her.

She didn’t respond. She just closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, letting the quiet hum of the hospital swallow her thoughts.

The emergency room door opened with a soft creak, and Heather’s head snapped up at the sound.

She rose slightly from her seat, her body tensing instinctively, almost as if bracing for impact. Her heart was already pounding before the doctor even said a word.

A man in scrubs stepped into the hallway, flipping through a chart as he approached. His expression was neutral—professional—but that only made her stomach twist harder.

"Are you the parents of Alex..." he glanced down at the chart again, scanning the details carefully before continuing, "Remington?"

"Yes," Heather answered quickly, almost cutting him off. Her voice was tight with urgency, the kind that made her chest feel too small to hold all her breath.

The doctor looked up from the chart, studying them both for a moment. Then he asked, "Do either of you have any medical conditions I should be aware of?"

Heather blinked. The question caught her off guard. She turned slightly toward Caius, as if to check that she hadn’t misunderstood, then looked back at the doctor.

"I—I don’t understand," she said. "Is that really important right now?"

The doctor’s face didn’t change. "I’m afraid it is," he replied. "I need to know if either of you have any health conditions that might make hearing difficult news more dangerous. We’ve had cases where a family member passed out. Some have gone into shock. One or two, even worse. So I have to ask."

Heather’s stomach sank, as though the floor beneath her was giving way.

Her hands started to tremble, and her breathing picked up, faster than before.

She didn’t want to read into the question, but it felt like something inside her had already done the math.

Caius responded before she could find her voice again.

"I don’t have any medical conditions," he said calmly. "But my wife..." He glanced briefly toward Heather, then turned his attention back to the doctor. "She has a history of panic attacks. We should probably talk somewhere private."

Heather sat back down slowly, her fingers gripping the edge of the bench so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her heart raced beneath her ribs. Her skin felt too warm.

Still, one thing registered—clear as day.

"I’m not your wife," she said under her breath, even if she wasn’t in her right senses, she wasn’t stupid.

The doctor looked between them, then nodded slightly. No one spoke for a few long, heavy seconds.

He wasn’t trying to be cruel; Heather could see that. He was doing what he had to do.

It was part of his job to ask questions like that—to assess the risk of giving someone bad news too suddenly, too carelessly.

She knew that. But knowing didn’t make it easier.

She didn’t want to sit here, separated from what mattered. She didn’t want to be left outside while Caius went in alone. She didn’t want to be treated like she couldn’t handle it.

She could handle it.

She had to.

She tried to speak up—to say she was fine, that she could come too—but before she could get the words out, Caius was already walking away with the doctor.

And she didn’t move.