Chapter 530
She could fool around with Wesley behind Charles’s back, but under no circumstances could she risk getting pregnant.
If she got pregnant, and Charles hadn’t touched her, there’d be no way to hide what happened with Wesley.
So, this baby simply couldn’t be kept.
But Wesley found out. He usually did whatever she wanted, but on this-he put his foot down, hard. He was adamant: she had to keep the baby.
She didn’t dare go head-to-head with Wesley. If she really pushed him, he’d blow everything up, drag her down with him, and tell Charles everything. That would be the end of her.
So, she could only play along, promising Wesley she’d have the baby.
She couldn’t get rid of it.
But she couldn’t let Charles find out, either.
The only solution was to get Charles to sleep with her-make the baby his.
Once that idea took hold, Dahlia began plotting for their anniversary. She set the scene, planned every detail, determined to make Charles hers.
But things didn’t work out. In the end, it was Evelyn who got lucky.
Left with no other option, Dahlia pretended she’d been assaulted, giving her unborn child a “legitimate” explanation.
All for the sake of Sandy.
Dahlia had worried herself sick over this, especially since this wasn’t the child she’d wanted.
What she truly longed for was Charles’s baby.
Deep down, Dahlia resented Sandy. If it hadn’t been for her, Dahlia never would have done something so reckless on her nineteenth birthday never would have tried to drug Charles.
If not for that, Charles would never have slept with Evelyn.
Evelyn wouldn’t have gotten pregnant with Charlie, that wretched brat, and stolen the one thing Dahlia wanted most.
It all traced back to Sandy.
Sandy never should have been born.
This loathing had followed Dahlia from pregnancy to birth… and through Sandy’s seventh year. It never changed.
She’d always wished Sandy would just disappear.
But now, she was truly afraid Sandy might die.
The grueling night dragged on as doctors fought to save her.
At last, the heavy hospital door swung open. Dahlia rushed forward. “How is my daughter? Is she going to be okay?”
She hadn’t slept all night. Haggard and pale, Dahlia looked up at the doctor, her bloodshot eyes shining with desperate hope.
“I’m sorry. We did everything we could.”
The doctor’s tone was grave.
They’d tried all night, but nothing could stabilize her condition.
The infection had spread. There was nothing more they could do.
Dahlia heard the words “we did everything we could”-which meant Sandy was beyond saving. What now?
Panic seized her. She lost control, grabbing the doctor’s white coat, her voice ragged and furious. “What kind of doctor are you? Can’t you even treat a fever? You call this ‘doing everything’?”
“I swear, if anything happens to my daughter, I’ll make you pay.”
“Go back in there and keep treating her! Do you hear me? Go! There must be something left to try-she’s not gone yet!”
Dahlia couldn’t accept it. She clung to the doctor’s coat, ramming her wheelchair against his legs.
The doctor finally snapped, his
gone. “If you’d brought her
mer, what do you think we?:
miracle workers?”
If she’d come just ten minutes earlier, maybe they could have done something.
Doctors are healers, not magicians.
If there was any hope, they would never have given up.
He was furious-she could have been saved, if not for her mother’s neglect.
He shoved Dahlia away.
“Useless!” Dahlia spat.
Some specialist he was! Clearly, the doctor was incompetent-it couldn’t be that Sandy was truly dying.
That’s what Dahlia told herself as she pulled out her phone, ready to call Charles. Charles could always find a doctor-he would save Sandy.
Her finger hovered over the screen-then she remembered: Charles had blocked her number. She couldn’t reach him.
Just then, a nurse came out and said, “Go in and say your goodbyes to your daughter.”
Dahlia ignored her, thrusting out a hand. “Let me borrow your phone-I need to make a call!”
This very nurse had been there the
day Charlie died two years ago. She’d watched Evelyn clutch Charlie’s lifeless body, sobbing in agony, while Dahlia stood at the end of the hallway, smiling coldly.
Nearly three years had passed, but the nurse could never forget that look on Dahlia’s face.
She had no desire to help.
Dahlia took matters into her own hands, snatching the phone from the nurse’s pocket.
With the phone in hand, she wheeled herself into the room.
The nurse just stared, speechless.
Dahlia stopped her wheelchair beside Sandy’s hospital bed.
She didn’t look at Sandy lying there. Instead, she stared at the monitor.
Dahlia’s heart sank.
Sandy had already been hospitalized twice for kidney failure.
Even Dahlia, careless as she was, had learned to read the machines to impress
Charles.
She could see it now-Sandy was slipping away.
Her hands shook as she clutched the phone.
No. It can’t be. There must be a way to save her.
Sandy had always been tough, hard to break.
Dahlia had mistreated her for so long. She’d survived two
vermet
hospitalizations, matched for surgery both times, and everything had gone smoothly. Like a cockroach-how could she die from a simple fever?
Refusing to accept reality, Dahlia dialed Charles’s number using the nurse’s
phone.