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Chapter_240
The sound of the slap echoed down the sterile hallway, sharp and brutal, cutting through the tension like a knife. Ashton staggered back, his hand instinctively rising to his cheek where Valerie’s palm had left its mark. For a brief moment, everyone stood frozen, the air thick with the weight of the unspoken.
Ludwik’s gaze shifted from the glass of the incubator to the confrontation unfolding before him. His fingers, still trembling from the chain of events, gripped the cigarette between his fingers tighter, the ember flaring momentarily. The chaos of the situation—the betrayal, the lies, the manipulation—seemed to swirl around him in an endless storm, but the only thing that anchored him to the present was the life in that incubator. His son. His fragile, tiny son, fighting for a chance at life.
Valerie, her chest heaving with frustration and anger, locked eyes with Ashton. “You think this is over, don’t you? That Elaine’s some innocent bystander in all this?” she spat, her voice low but cutting. “You’re all blinded by the lies she’s spun. Don’t you see? She’s been playing you all for fools.”
Ashton’s face was still flushed with the sting of the slap, but his expression hardened with a renewed sense of righteousness. “You’ve lost your mind, Valerie. Elaine’s the one who’s been through hell, not Whitney, not Tiana. You’re just as crazy as she is if you think she’s the one behind all this.”
Ludwik’s eyes narrowed as he took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke swirling in the air around him. His patience had worn thin, and the last thing he wanted was to get caught in the crossfire of their petty squabble. His focus remained on the child in the incubator, the soft beeping of the monitors a constant reminder of the fragility of life.
“Enough!” Ludwik’s voice rang out, harsh and commanding, silencing both Valerie and Ashton in an instant. His gaze turned icy, his face devoid of the emotion it had once held. “You’re all wasting my time. None of this matters. What matters now is my son. If you have something to say, say it quickly. I don’t have the energy for anything else.”
Valerie’s defiance faltered for a moment under the weight of his cold demeanor, but she held her ground. “Ludwik, I’m trying to warn you,” she began, her voice shaking but firm. “Elaine’s behind all of this. She’s been manipulating you and everyone else. It was her plan to—”
“Enough.” Ludwik interrupted, his voice quieter now, but still laced with an edge of finality. His cold eyes flicked back to the incubator. “I said, enough.”
Ashton, ever the protector of his own narrative, stepped forward, standing tall despite the sting on his face. “Valerie, you’re the one who’s making this worse. Whitney’s gone. Elaine’s been through enough, and you—” He broke off, his voice shaking with growing frustration, “You’re just holding onto a fantasy.”
Valerie opened her mouth to respond, but Ludwik’s sharp gaze silenced her before she could speak. He looked at both of them, his weariness evident, and then turned away, walking back to the incubator. The sound of his footsteps echoed in the hallway as he drew closer to the small glass box, where his son lay, small and fragile, fighting for life.
The air around him seemed to shift, growing heavier with each passing second. He watched the baby’s tiny chest rise and fall, each breath a fragile testament to the strength hidden in such a small body. He couldn’t bring himself to hold the child yet—he was too fragile, too vulnerable, a symbol of everything he had lost and everything that was still at risk.
Valerie’s words echoed in his mind, a dark whisper, but he shook them off, focusing instead on the child. He needed to believe that this little one could make it. He needed to believe it.
As he stood there, the walls of the sterile ward pressing in on him, a bitter thought crossed his mind: Had he failed all of them? Had he failed Whitney? The child? His family?
His hand tightened around the cigarette in his fingers until it burned through, the ember flaring and then dying out as he tossed it into the nearby ashtray.
And then, just as the quiet of the hospital returned, the door to the room opened with a soft click, and a nurse stepped inside, her face grim. “Mr. Lippert,” she began softly, “There’s a visitor here to see you. It’s regarding your son.”
Ludwik turned, his chest tightening. His mind whirred, running through the possibilities, but in that moment, his focus never wavered from the fragile child in the incubator.
“Who?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
The nurse hesitated before answering, her gaze flicking nervously between him and the others in the hallway. “Ms. Valentine.”
