I Raised His 99 Children to Save My Son Chapter 07

I Raised His 99 Children to Save My Son Chapter 07

“But you were in the delivery suite. You gave explicit orders not to be disturbed for any reason. We had no choice… but to watch.”

Kian went rigid. Like a bolt of lightning had torn through him. He stood frozen.

He remembered. He remembered everything.

That night. He’d left Helena tied to the window frame, left her out in the freezing wind all night long.

She’d screamed and begged him, crying that their son was dying, pleading with him to let her go see Elias.

He’d heard every word, every agonizing cry.

And what had he done? Nothing. Worse than nothing. He’d fooled around with that nurse, Chloe

Moore, in the delivery suite.

Helena’s screaming annoyed him. So he told Chloe to be louder to drown her out.

Helena. Tied up. Frozen to the bone. Betrayed by the man she loved. Forced to listen to her son’s

emergency alarm blaring endlessly… but unable to do a single thing.

How much pain had she been in? How utterly broken?

No wonder she went quiet after that. Stopped begging. Stopped fighting. Stopped caring about anything he did.

She hadn’t found peace.

She’d lost her son.

There was no reason left to beg. No reason to humiliate herself for cord blood. Every shred of hope she’d clung to died that night.

And he’d been nothing but a clown, threatening her with cord blood she no longer wanted, trampling her last bit of dignity with empty promises of companionship.

The strength drained from Kian’s body. His hand fell from the doctor’s collar. Limp.

He stumbled out of the hospital, walking numbly down the street.

Everywhere he looked, families of three walked hand in hand. Children held their parents’ hands,

laughing, skipping, glowing with happiness.

But his son?

Seven years. From birth to death. His boy had spent every single day in the hospital, only

chemotherapy, needles, pills, endless suffering left for him.

Never once took a simple walk. Never once felt a father’s full love.

How many times had Elias called him? That small, hopeful voice.

“Daddy, can you come see me?”

And he? At bars. In other women’s beds.

He’d hung up impatiently. Sometimes he’d even turned his phone off.

He couldn’t even remember anymore…what his son’s face looked like when he properly called him

Daddy.

Kian’s feet carried him forward. Heavy as stone. He didn’t realize where he was going until he stood

at the gates of Steele Mansion.

His son’s room. Half-destroyed. The warmth stripped away. Nothing but wreckage.

Helena had packed away Elias’s few belongings. His clothes. His toys. The room sat empty and

hollow. Not a trace of the boy left behind.

Kian’s mind drifted. How little time Elias had actually spent here.

Most of his short life-hospital walls, beeping machines, and pain.

His legs carried him forward, to the half-smashed desk.

Tucked in the corner was a tiny sketchbook, covered in a thin layer of dust.

Kian’s hand trembled as he reached for it and opened it slowly.

The first page. A messy drawing of a family of three, made when the boy first learned to draw. Two adults, one small figure. No clear faces.

Second page. A birthday. Just the boy and his mother. Sitting before a tiny cake. No father.

Third, fourth, fifth… Birthday after birthday. The drawings grew clearer and more detailed.

Always him alone. Or with Helena. Never a father in sight.

Every single drawing had a big, bright sun in the corner. And beside it, wobbly child’s handwriting: [Want to spend birthday with Mommy and Daddy.]

Kian stared at those innocent, heartbreaking lines. His vision blurred. Tears slid down his face before he even knew they were coming.