New beginning: Billionaire love story (Claire and Alex) novel Chapter 268

Alexander's voice echoed through the hall of the hospital, louder than intended. “Blood donor?”

The doctor nodded solemnly. Abigail's parents, Mary and Richard, traded anxious glances as Mary asked, “Doesn't the hospital have any blood in stock?”

The doctor sighed and looked genuinely regretful. “We're out of her blood type. Unfortunately, it's not a common one, and we don't have any left.”

Mary's face fell, and Richard laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. They both knew their blood types didn't match Abigail's, so they couldn't help. Joan, Alexander's mother, moved forward, putting a gentle hand on Mary's arm.

“I'm so sorry, Mary,” she told her. “If my blood were a match, I wouldn't hesitate for one second to donate.” Her voice was full of sympathy.

Mary nodded, welling up but not spilling. “Thanks, Joan.”

The two women hugged; the serious weight of the moment pressed heavily on those in the room. Alexander, standing aside, watched the tense and worried faces of Abigail's parents and Joan's silent apology. He could feel something inside him stir.

Without really giving too much thought, he blurted out, “I'll donate my blood.”

Everyone in the room turned to him in surprise. The doctor merely blinked at him, clearly appreciative, yet practical at the same time. “What's your blood type?” he asked.

Alexander froze. His face turned serious, his scratching at the back of his neck. “Uh. I don't actually know.”

The doctor's eyebrows rose slightly, but then he nodded. “Well, we can test your blood. The nurse will show you to a room where we can take a sample.”

As the doctor left them, Richard turned to Alexander; his face a mixture of gratitude and exhaustion, “Thanks, Alexander. We can't find the words to say just how much this means.”

Alex raised his hand almost diffidently: “Don't thank me yet. We don't even know if my blood type matches her.”

Richard gave a weak smile. “Still, that you offered. It means much.”

Alexander nodded, his face a little awkward from all this weight of appreciation. “Abigail is my childhood friend,” he said softly. “I could never ignore her when she needs help.”

But the moment the words had left his lips, his mind started to wander, and guilt slowly crept in to remind him that, in truth, there was at least one occasion when he had overlooked someone in distress who needed his help.

His mind began to flash three years back in time Claire-to the ways he had neglected her then, which, now in retrospect, made him cringe at the thought of all that cold indifference of which he had been capable.

One incident he remembered: Claire was trying to cook. She wasn't the best of cooks; that much he teased her for. Maybe he had teased too much. He knew he had told her she couldn't cook, that she was always reliant on the maid, and most cruelly of all, she wasn't ‘wife material.’ He hadn't been kind, nor even noticed when his words hurt her.

One day, Claire burned her wrist while cooking. He remembered seeing the burn but doing nothing to help her while he just sat there acting nonchalant, pretending it didn't bother him. She was trying so hard to prove herself from his harsh comments, and all he did was sit back and watch.

It wasn't even the worst, the burn on her wrist. She'd also cut her fingers more than once but never told him. Claire just kept smiling and serving him the food with bandaged hands, as if she didn't hurt.

His chest was now constricting in guilt as he reflected on how callous he had been. Every memory of how he treated Claire back then made him worse: How could he have been so heartless, so blind to what she needed?

Claire sat at her desk, staring down at her wrist. The faint scars from three years ago were still there, and no matter what she tried, they wouldn’t disappear. She’d used every ointment imaginable, but the wounds refused to fade, as if they were determined to stay and remind her of everything she’d been through with Alexander. The pain, the heartbreak, the endless cycle of hurt—it was all wrapped up in those small, stubborn scars.