I immediately call the doctors, and thankfully, he is just too tired, nothing serious.
I ask Frances how he deal with those two people. He doesn’t want to tell me, as he says that the
situation is not appropriate for me to know.
Since he has said so, I stop asking.
I believe he can handle this matter well and definitely give our child an answer.
“Thank you for everything you’d done. But what should I do about Lawrence? There is no way for me to
forgive or to let go,” I whispered.
My child is the pain of my life.
Even if the person that hurt my child were Frances, I would have hated him so much that I would have
wanted him to die. And now that this person has turned out to be Whitney, I cannot let her go this
easily.
“You don’t have to worry, I’m here for everything. It is our child, and I won’t let anyone hurt her get away
with it.”
Frances holds my hand and says in a deep voice.
My heart, suddenly, settles down.
After putting aside all those misunderstandings, I realize that Frances has been very good to me all
along.
At the time, I was blinded by hatred, and it made me hate him to my core.
“Okay.”
I replied to him softly.
He looks at me, his stares, becoming a little deeper.
I blush as he looks at me, stammered and unable to say a word.
Moments after, my face is held by him, followed by a kiss.
“You’re still wounded, get some rest!”
I nudge him, and he doesn’t move.
“This is how I recuperate from my injuries,”
He mumbled and kissed me deeply.
His lips are full of his scent.
My whole body is relaxed, and my mind is dizzy from his kisses.
I came to my senses when I see the look of his eye, and he is getting turned on.
I push him away and pin him down to the bed, “Get some rest!” I speak solemnly while my arms on my
hip.
He doesn’t say anything, looking at me while smiling.
My hot cheeks feel like they are burning now.
I turn around and leave the ward.
But my heart is still beating violently.
Frances is discharged from the hospital soon after, as he is given imported medicine. After all, he is
rich.
As soon as we arrive at Frances’ house, he takes me straight upstairs and carries me to the bed.
“Frances, what are you doing?”
I pout.
“Thinking of you.”
He replies, while his kisses overwhelm me, on my lips, my shoulder, my neck densely.
These days, he has been trying to touch me. But I’ve always refused, considering how badly he’s hurt,
and especially in a place like a hospital.
Now the wolf is back in his den, and he certainly not be honest.
Frances removes my clothes and kisses me passionately downward. He stops when he reaches my
underbelly.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“It stopped hurting a long time ago,” I whispered.
I can bear the pain of the scar. But I cannot accept is the loss of our child.
Frances doesn’t say anything. His head is facing down so I couldn’t see his expression. It’s just that,
the thought of the child, makes our mood so heavy.
A breeze blows in from the open window into the room. I feel a slight chill from my bare skin.
Frances leans down, his cold lips land on that scar of mine.
He kisses it with care and affection. Each of them feels like it’s on my heart.
Suddenly, there are warm water droplets that land on my underbelly.
Is Frances, crying?
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