Chapter 5

Five years, and this was the first time I'd been this close to Jonathan again.

His once immaculate hair was now a mess, falling over his forehead, and his suit jacket was gone, tossed aside somewhere.

The top two buttons of his white shirt were undone, exposing his collarbone as his chest heaved with heavy, uneven breaths.

Those golden eyes, usually icy and distant, now blazed with a wild, feverish light, locked onto me.

No, not me. His gaze was drilling into Leo, right at my side.

"He..." Jonathan's throat worked, his voice rough.

"He is my son," I said calmly. "Leo Hart. Leo, say hello."

Leo stepped forward half a pace, gave a slight nod, every bit the little gentleman. "Good evening, Mr. Reed."

Jonathan staggered back as if he'd been stabbed in the chest, crashing into the glass doors.

He stared at Leo's face, his gaze locked onto those eyes, identical to his own, and that little nose, the same curve as his.

Then he whipped his head around to me. "Evelyn, you—"

"I what?" I cut him off, swirling my champagne glass. "You wanted to say why I didn't tell you I was pregnant? Why didn't I tell you that on the day of the surgery, I was carrying your baby?"

I stepped forward, the click of my heels ringing out in the silence of the terrace. "Tell me, Jonathan, what difference would it have made?

"If I told you, would you have given up Claire's kidney? Would you have stopped the surgery? Would you have touched my stomach and said, 'Let's keep this baby'?"

Jonathan's face grew paler with every word.

"Would you?" I asked again.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

"You wouldn't," I answered for him.

I pulled a neatly folded piece of paper from my purse, unfolded it, and held it out to him. "Because on this kidney transplant consent form, in the box asking if you knew the patient was pregnant, you checked 'No'."

The yellowed paper fluttered in the night air.

It was the consent form from five years ago, edges worn, but the black print and the red check were still vivid.

At the very bottom, his name was scrawled in dramatic, bold script: Jonathan Reed.

He condemned that baby himself with his own hand.

Jonathan's eyes landed on the paper, and he jerked back as if it had burned him. He shook his head, words tumbling out in a jumble. "No, I didn't know. The doctor never told me you were pregnant."

"The doctor did tell you," I said calmly. "On the operating table, the surgeon said, 'Mr. Reed, Mrs. Reed is eight weeks pregnant. Do you want to go ahead with the surgery?'"

I paused, watching the blood drain from his face. "And your answer was, 'Continue'."

The night wind suddenly picked up, making the paper rustle loudly.

Jonathan reached out to grab it, but I lightly stepped back half a pace and handed the consent form to Leo. "Sweetie, read it for Mr. Reed."

Leo took the paper, his little face as serious as if he were reading a verdict in court.

With a clear, childish voice, he read each word slowly and carefully, "Patient's name: Evelyn Hart. Surgery name: Living donor kidney transplant. Risks: May cause miscarriage, hysterectomy, death from massive bleeding..."

"Stop it," Jonathan roared, lunging for the paper.

Leo darted back, shielding the consent form behind him.

He looked up at the tall man on the verge of collapse, his golden eyes utterly fearless, just cold, merciless judgment. "Signatory: Jonathan Reed." The five-year-old asked, calm as ever, "Mr. Reed, do you know how many years you'd get for attempted murder?"

Time seemed to freeze.

All that remained on the terrace was the howling wind and the faint rush of traffic in Patsas.

Jonathan stood there, like a statue suddenly crumbling, his hand still outstretched.

He watched Leo, whose face was so much like his own, deliver the cruelest words. The child who should have called him "Dad" now looked at him as if he were a criminal.

Then, slowly, almost painfully, he crouched down.

The man who was always so proud, so arrogant, always above everyone else, here, in the Patsas night wind, right in front of Leo and me, crouched down.

He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking violently. "I'm sorry." His voice came out muffled through his fingers, shattered and raw. "Eve, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I really didn't know."

"You knew," I said softly.

He looked up suddenly, his face streaked with tears. His golden eyes caught the terrace lights, and the coldness in my gaze.

"You knew I was pregnant, Jonathan." I stepped closer, towering over him. "Because the night before the surgery, you came home to pick up some documents, and I was in the bathroom, vomiting uncontrollably.

"You stood in the doorway, frowned, and asked, 'Did you eat something bad again'?"

I crouched down so I was eye to eye with him. "Back then, I really thought you cared about me."

I smiled, gently wiping the tears from his face, my hand soft, just like all those nights long ago. "So, like a fool, I told you, 'No, Jonathan, I'm pregnant. We're going to be parents'."

Jonathan's eyes widened, shock flooding his face.

It all came rushing back to him.

That night, I was so full of hope, thinking things were finally going to change for us. What did he say?

Oh, right. He said, "Abort it. Claire needs to focus on getting better. Don't bother her with this."

Then he grabbed his files and left without a backward glance.

He didn't even ask how far along I was or how I was feeling.

"You remember now, don't you?" I asked softly, my fingertips still resting on his face, chilled to the touch.

Jonathan grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight that it felt like he might break my bones.

He locked his gaze on me, tears falling in big, heavy drops. "Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you say it again? If I'd known back then—"

"If you'd known..." I cut him off as I pried his fingers off my wrist, one by one. "What would you have done? Delay the surgery? Let Claire die from kidney failure? Or wait until I gave birth, and then cut out my kidney anyway?"

I stood up and took a step back, putting some distance between us.

"You wouldn't, Jonathan," I said calmly. "To you, Claire's life was worth something. Mine wasn't. Her health mattered, and mine didn't."

I paused, looking over at Leo.

Leo stood quietly to the side, his hands gripping the consent form tightly, his lips pressed into a stubborn, straight line.

"Even the baby growing inside me was just a bastard," I finished for him, echoing the cruel words he'd thrown at me all those years ago.