“Please Patrick… Please save me… Joseph is driving me mad. I can't take it anymore," Chloe sobbed, her voice filled with despair.
Her days had become unbearably painful, and she feared she could not hold on much longer.
Patrick glanced at Harold, who stood nearby with a serious expression. He hesitated before asking, "Have you and Mr. Joseph not reconciled yet?"
"No, he doesn't trust me, and I don't want him to trust me anymore."
Their relationship resembled a mirage—an illusory oasis in the desert. It seemed within reach, yet always slipped through their fingers. After the mirage disappeared, all that remained were incessant arguments and lingering doubts.
Chloe felt exhausted. If they could not find a way to sustain their relationship, perhaps it was time for them to let go. But unfortunately, even parting ways seemed like a luxury at the moment.
Patrick was caught in a dilemma. He looked toward Harold and silently mouthed, "What should we do, sir?"
"Ask Chloe if the child really is Joseph's."
Patrick was taken aback, finding it difficult to ask such a question.
Harold rolled his eyes, annoyed by his hesitance. At such an age, being timid was ridiculous.
After pondering for a minute, Patrick mustered up the courage and asked, "Please tell me honestly who is the father of the baby in your womb."
Harold's eyes widened in disbelief as he struggled to comprehend the way Patrick had posed the question after all that contemplation.
"If I say it's Joseph's, would you believe me?" Chloe said calmly though not really expecting much.
Having spent so many years in the Whitmans, Patrick surely would lean toward believing Joseph. She only decided to answer his question out of respect for his position as an elder. That being said, she no longer had the same desperate longing for someone's trust as before.
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