Farewell, My Don Chapter 12

Farewell, My Don Chapter 12

Flipping further, the date was the day of the miscarriage.

Her handwriting was frantic, blurred by tears, almost illegible:

[The baby is gone. He said it was all my fault. He said if I hadn’t pushed Amara, none of this would have happened.]

[He said Amara has a blood disorder and my push nearly killed her.]

[He said he would make it up to me–have another child, more money, a bigger house.]

[But Dominic, what compensation can bring my child back to life? What compensation can fix a heart broken beyond repair?]

[I think I’m done.]

[I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep loving someone who doesn’t see me, doesn’t care about me, doesn’t even know I’m alive. I can’t keep pretending this marriage is real, pretending he’ll ever love

me.]

That was the last entry.

The rest of the notebook was blank.

Dominic turned to the final page, and a crumpled piece of paper fell out. It was an ultrasound photo dated the same day as the last entry–12 weeks pregnant, a blurry little image with “Intrauterine Pregnancy” written on it.

On the back, in faint, shaky handwriting, were three lines:

[Baby, I’m sorry. I couldn’t protect you.]

[I’m sorry for bringing you into a world where no father would love you.]

[I am truly, deeply sorry.]

Dominic stared at the ultrasound image, his vision blurring, his heart thumping violently.

He remembered that day–he had come home to find Amara sitting on the floor, clutching her

head, blood dripping from her fingertips.

She said Genevieve pushed her, and she nearly died.

He had believed her without hesitation.

He had rushed into the guest room and seen Genevieve lying on the bed, pale as a ghost, clutching her stomach, tears streaming down her face. “Save the baby,” she pleaded, “please, Dominic, save

our baby.”

He had called her a liar, a manipulator.

He said she was faking it, that she had pushed Amara on purpose just to get his attention.

He ordered his men to lock her in the room and not let her out until she “apologized” to Amara.

He had left her there, letting her scream and plead, while he carried Amara to the hospital, comforting her all the way, telling her everything would be alright.

He had killed his own child.

He had killed the only bloodline belonging to Genevieve.

And he had done it all without a moment’s hesitation.

Dominic collapsed to the floor, his back against the bookshelf, clutching the ultrasound report and

the notebook tightly.

He opened his mouth to scream, to cry, to beg for forgiveness, but no sound came out.

C

Only hot tears flowed uncontrollably, soaking the pages of the notebook, blurring the words full of

love and pain.

His phone rang, breaking the silence.

Amara’s name lit up on the screen.

For the first time in his life, he felt a sense of pure, unreserved disgust.

He stared at the name, gritting his teeth, and then pressed the decline button.

The phone rang again and again, until he finally turned it off and threw it across the room.

He didn’t want to hear her voice, didn’t want to see her face, didn’t want to think ever again about the woman who had deceived him, manipulated him, and helped him destroy the only beautiful thing in his life.

He sat on the dark floor all night, holding the ultrasound report and the notebook, replaying every

mistake he’d made, every cruel act, every moment he had pushed Genevieve away.

When the first rays of morning light spilled through the window, he stood up, his body stiff, his

eyes vacant.

He knew what he had to do.

He had to find her.

No matter where she was, no matter how long it took, no matter what price he had to pay, he had to

find Genevieve.

He had to beg for her forgiveness.

Even if she would never forgive him.

Even if she would hate him for the rest of her life.

He had to try.