He then laughed—a sound so cold it froze me in place.
“I’ve been waiting for this moment,” he said, his voice sharp with malice. “Nydia, did you know? Cynthia died in my arms just like this. This baby looks just like her... No, Cynthia had it worse. Much worse.”
Glaring at me, he continued, “Tell me, why did she have to die because of you? She begged me not to blame you, even while she was suffering. It should be you who died then, not her! You don’t deserve to live. You don’t deserve anything!”
And so, I gave him what he wanted—I died on the delivery table, my lifeless baby by my side.
But fate was cruel. Even after being given a second chance, I couldn’t escape Hadden’s cold-heartedness.
“Hadden, you should go check on Nydia,” I heard Cynthia plead softly. “What if she’s not pretending? I’d feel guilty.”
“Don’t worry, Cynthia,” he replied, his tone as gentle as ever when speaking to her. “Nydia is the head nurse. She knows her own condition better than anyone. Besides, you’re already weak from your hospital stay, and now you’ve inhaled the virus. Even with the antidote, it won’t work immediately. Stop worrying about her—have you forgotten how she treated you?”