Chapter 87: Painful Revelations
Chapter 87: Painful Revelations
(Ethan’s POV)
Relief washed over me when Dr. Bennett confirmed that Grandmother wasn’t in serious
danger. Her collapse had terrified me more than I cared to admit. Beside me, I noticed Olivia’s
shoulders slump as tension drained from her body.
The sudden release of pressure made her sway slightly. Without thinking, I reached out to
steady her, my hand hovering near her elbow.
She flinched away as if burned, her emerald eyes flashing with rejection. “Don’t touch me.”
Before I could respond, she rushed toward the gurney where the medical staff was wheeling
Grandmother from the emergency room. The elderly woman looked frail against the white
sheets, her usually commanding presence diminished by illness.
Olivia reached Grandmother’s side, her steps hurried but careful. She gently took the
Matriarch’s hand, whispering words I couldn’t hear. The tenderness in her gesture made my
chest tighten with an emotion I couldn’t name.
Dr. Fletcher approached me, his expression professional. “We’re moving her to the private
wing. You should prepare for a potentially lengthy recovery period.”
I nodded, watching as they wheeled my grandmother away, Olivia walking alongside, never
letting go of the elderly woman’s hand.
For the first time in years, I felt completely powerless.
Grandmother remained unconscious for a day and a night. I divided my time between her
bedside and handling urgent pack matters, unable to focus fully on either.
Dr. Bennett conducted regular examinations, his experienced hands carefully checking her
vital signs. His face revealed nothing as he listened to her heart and checked her reflexes.
“What’s your assessment?” I asked, unable to bear the silence any longer.
He straightened, tucking his stethoscope into his pocket. “Her condition is stable, but I cannot
determine when she will awaken.”
“But she will recover?” The question came from Olivia, who sat on the opposite side of the bed. She hadn’t left Grandmother’s side except for brief necessities.
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“The shock to her system was significant,” Dr. Bennett explained. “Her body needs time to heal
naturally.”
I clenched my jaw, frustration building. “There must be something more we can do.”
“Her constitution is strong,” he assured us, “but at her age, we must be patient.”
Patience had never been my strong suit, especially when it came to matters beyond my
control.
After another hour of silent vigil, I couldn’t stand the stillness of the room any longer. “I need to check on some pack business. Call me immediately if there’s any change.”
Olivia didn’t even look up as I left.
Alone at Imperial Gardens, I retreated to my study. The emptiness of the house pressed in around me, a physical reminder of all I had lost–or perhaps never truly had.
I sat at my desk and accessed the cloud backup of the residence’s surveillance footage. With a few keystrokes, I extracted all clips related to Lily. My fingers hovered over the keyboard,
suddenly hesitant.
Did I have the right to these memories now, when I had ignored them in life?
Pushing aside my doubts, I clicked on the first file. The screen filled with an image of Olivia, her belly swollen with pregnancy. She was sitting in the garden, reading aloud to her unborn
child.
My amber eyes grew troubled as I watched. I remembered that time–the period of Olivia’s pregnancy with Lily. I had been physically present but emotionally absent, providing financial support but little else.
There had been misunderstandings between us five years ago. Misunderstandings that had driven a wedge between us just as we should have been celebrating new life.
I recalled arranging the best hospital, the finest doctors, the most comprehensive postnatal care for Olivia. I had been the first to hold Lily after her birth, cradling her tiny form with awe.
But my involvement had ended there. Preoccupied with pack business and… other matters, I rarely returned to Imperial Gardens. I had been largely absent from Lily’s life from the
beginning.
A mix of emotions churned within me as I clicked on another video, this one from when Olivia returned to Imperial Gardens after her post–birth recovery period. The timestamp showed it
was five years ago.
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I watched as Olivia paced the nursery, dark circles under her eyes as she soothed a colicky two–month–old Lily. Night after night, she went without sleep, tending to our daughter’s needs with unwavering devotion.
A memory surfaced–I had returned to Imperial Gardens once during that period after a business dinner. Olivia had greeted me with joy, her tired eyes lighting up at my arrival.
But my focus had been elsewhere. I had swept her into my arms without even glancing at the baby, instructing Martha Wilson to take care of Lily. My message had been clear: Olivia was mine for the night.
I had carried her into the master bedroom, locking the door and pulling her onto the bed with
barely contained desire.
The surveillance footage didn’t show what happened behind closed doors, but my memory filled in the blanks. I had been rough, demanding, releasing weeks of pent–up frustration on her willing body.
Midway through, I vaguely recalled a knocking at the door. The details were hazy now, lost in the fog of time and selective memory.
Olivia, initially compliant despite my rough handling, had tried to pull away when Martha
knocked. Caught in the moment, I had refused to let her go.
“Ethan, please,” she had begged. “It must be Lily crying. Martha can’t soothe her. Let me check
on her–I’ll come right back.”
But I had been deaf to her pleas, unable to comprehend why Martha couldn’t handle a simple situation with a baby. I had silenced her protests with demanding kisses, lost in my own
desires.
Only late into the night had I finally released her, satisfied and exhausted. Now, watching the
footage from the hallway camera, I saw what happened after I fell asleep.
Lily stood at the master bedroom door, her tiny face red and swollen from crying, her voice
hoarse from distress. Martha looked apologetic as she held the inconsolable infant.
After I left the next morning, the cameras captured Olivia–exhausted and moving gingerly- going to comfort our daughter, singing softly until Lily finally calmed.
I had always attributed Lily’s affection for me to our blood connection, assuming it was natural for a child to love her father. But the surveillance footage revealed a different truth.
I watched in growing disbelief as Olivia shaped Lily’s perception of me. From the time Lily was
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three months old and started recognizing faces, Olivia would hold her in my absence, showing
her my picture.
“This is Daddy!” she would say repeatedly, pointing to my image. “Daddy loves you very
much!”
As Lily grew, Olivia continued to fill the void left by my absence. She never spoke ill of me,
never let Lily see her disappointment or anger at my neglect.
I watched Olivia’s tears of joy as Lily spoke her first word: “Mama.” Any mother would have
been content with that achievement, but Olivia was determined that Lily would know her
father too.
She continued showing Lily my picture, teaching her to say “Daddy!” with tireless patience
until Lily finally learned the word.
“Daddy loves Lily very much,” Olivia would explain gently, “but Daddy is very busy, so he hasn’t
come back to accompany Lily.”
Lily, a blank slate eager to please, would echo her mother’s words: “Daddy loves Lily! Lily loves
Daddy!”
My throat tightened as I watched Olivia buying gifts, clothes, and toys for Lily in my name.
She would present them to our daughter, telling her they were from me.
Lily’s delighted responses, hugging the gifts and sweetly saying, “Love Daddy!” pierced my
heart like a silver blade.
I hadn’t fulfilled even the most basic responsibilities as a father, yet Olivia had tirelessly
maintained my image in Lily’s eyes. Because of her daily reinforcement, Lily held a positive
image of me despite my absence.
A particular memory surfaced–one I had almost forgotten. Lily, having just learned to walk,
had waited for me at the Stone Residence Entrance one evening when I returned unexpectedly.
Her face had beamed as I arrived, her tiny legs carrying her toward me as fast as they could.
She had hugged my leg, looking up at me with bright eyes that mirrored her mother’s.
“Daddy, hug,” she had said softly, her arms raised in expectation.
That moment had softened something in me. From then on, I had started noticing Lily,
acknowledging her presence when I visited Imperial Gardens.
I had always thought that moment was coincidental–that Lily happened to be there when I arrived. But the surveillance revealed the truth: she had waited at the door every day, filled
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with anticipation, hoping I would return.
+8 Points)
This realization brought a wave of tenderness over me. I remembered beginning to return to Imperial Gardens not just for Olivia, but to spend time with Lily as well.
This continued until Victoria returned with Emma. Their hardships abroad had fueled my
resentment toward Olivia, rekindling old feelings and grievances.
However, no longer indifferent to Lily, I had wanted her to get along with Emma. I envisioned them as playmates, perhaps even friends, creating a harmonious blended family.
But their first meeting had ended in disaster. I watched the footage of that day with growing
dread, knowing what was coming.
The camera captured Lily and Emma by the Moonlit Reflection Pool. One moment they were
standing together; the next, Emma was in the water, screaming.
In my anger, I had punished Lily without question, making her stand in a corner while I attended to the distressed Emma. Emma, shaken by the incident, would only sleep in my arms, clinging to me for comfort.
I didn’t even notice when Olivia took Lily home. Only later did Victoria inform me that they had
left.
What I hadn’t known–what the surveillance now revealed–was that Lily had developed a high fever that night. For three days and nights, she burned with illness while Olivia cared for her
tirelessly.
I watched Olivia’s exhausted form bent over Lily’s bed, applying cool compresses, administering medicine, whispering reassurances. Not once did she call me for help.
When Lily finally broke the fever, she cried in Olivia’s arms. “Mommy, I didn’t push Sister Emma. Sister Emma pushed me, and she fell into the pool herself.”
Lily insisted repeatedly that she wasn’t responsible. Olivia reassured her, stroking her hair. “I
believe you, sweetheart. I know you wouldn’t do that.”
But Lily continued to cry, heartbroken. “Why doesn’t Daddy believe me?”
This question-“Why doesn’t Daddy believe me?“–struck me deeply, echoing in my mind like
an accusation.