His Last Command Came Back to Kill Him novel Chapter 129

She talked about the local culture over there, the industry conferences, the things she had seen—chattering away with a bright, joyful energy.

When she talked about her time overseas, her eyes sparkled. She and Clive had an endless supply of shared interests. They played off each other flawlessly, looking vastly more intimate and familiar than an actual married couple.

Clive would occasionally chime in, his deep voice carrying a relaxed tone. Whenever Yelena hit a particularly funny point, the corner of his mouth would even curve up into a faint, genuine smile.

To Whitley, that subtle shift in his expression was blindingly sharp.

In all their years of marriage, he had never shown her an ounce of that patience. He had never actively listened to her talk about her field or her dreams, and he had certainly never smiled at anything she said.

Yet for Yelena, he had bottomless patience and endless interest.

Whitley leaned against the backseat window, watching the scenery blur past, remaining entirely silent the whole way.

She didn't interject. She didn't look at them. She showed zero emotion.

She felt like a complete stranger who had just hitched a ride, entirely disconnected from the 'perfect couple' up front.

The car pulled into the Sherwood Manor and parked in the courtyard.

The manor's gardens were bursting with spring colors. The Sherwood matriarch, Bonnie, was already waiting by the entrance.

Seeing the car park, a warm, affectionate smile spread across her face. Her eyes immediately bypassed the front and landed squarely on Whitley in the back.

Before Whitley even stepped fully out of the car, the older woman hurried over, her voice thick with concern. "Whitley, you're finally here."

"I heard you went to the hospital the other day? Is everything okay? You're not seriously ill, are you?"

That single sentence of care sent a brief wave of warmth through Whitley's chest.

In the entire Sherwood family, this elderly woman was the only one who would ever genuinely ask about her well-being.

It was as if she, as a human being, didn't matter at all.

The only thing that mattered was her uterus.

Whitley's hands slowly balled into fists by her sides, her knuckles turning white.

The dull, lingering ache from the chemo still gnawed at her insides, but the icy realization spreading through her chest was far worse.

She looked at the kindly but incredibly traditional grandmother in front of her, then glanced over at Yelena, who was leaning affectionately against Clive, looking the picture of shy bliss. The sheer absurdity of her reality felt suffocating.

So, to this family, from the very beginning, she was just a baby-making machine?

And now... she couldn't even do that.

She had lost the chance to be a mother forever.