She Turned Her Grief Into Wings novel Chapter 48

No time, no time, it was always *no time*.

She was utterly nauseated by those words.

“Caden.” Shera closed her eyes, her voice suddenly dropping to a whisper. “What is it you really want?”

The line went dead silent. It was quiet for so long that the hand gripping her phone began to shake. Finally, his voice came through.

“I want you to come home.”

The words were stiff and awkward, sounding almost forced, as if someone had held a gun to his back to make him say them.

Shera slumped weakly onto the couch. The glass window reflected her tear-streaked face.

Her throat felt as though it were stuffed with cotton, painfully dry. “Come home to what?”

“To go back to that mansion and play your maid? To keep listening to your relatives tear me down? To go back to begging for scraps of your time?”

“You know perfectly well that's not what I mean.”

“I don't know anything.” Shera cut him off sharply. “I have never known what you’re thinking or what you’re talking about.”

She gasped for air, her voice trembling violently. “We’ve been married for three years. I have asked you so many times if you felt anything for me, and you never gave me a straight answer. I asked why you married me, and you said it was for the company shares. I asked why you wouldn't even look at me, and you said you were busy. I asked why you gave my father’s surgical slot to someone else, and you… you said…”

Shera’s lips trembled uncontrollably. Gathering every last ounce of her strength, she choked out, “You said Helga's father's condition was more critical.”

“But.” She bit down hard on her knuckles, trying desperately to keep her voice from completely breaking. “But my dad was critical too. He was dying too, Caden.”

She finally broke down, sobbing uncontrollably. “Why did you do that to me? He was the only family I had left.”

The silence that followed was terrifying.

Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in his office, Caden’s jaw locked. A wave of suffocating bitterness clawed at his throat, knitting his brows together.

He wanted to explain. He had called the hospital beforehand to confirm the situation.

But as the words reached his tongue, they felt hopelessly hollow.

He had delegated the task. He hadn't verified it himself. He had arrogantly assumed she would understand his reasoning, that she would forgive his choice.

He had no idea how to explain it to her now, or how to make her accept what he had done.

At the time, Helga had called him in hysterics, crying that her father had collapsed and been rushed into the emergency room.

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