His Merciless Redemption novel Chapter 139

Chapter 139

Dominic’s POV

When the nurse told me Alessia was awake, my stomach dropped.

I didn’t realize I had been bracing myself for this moment.

For the conversation.

For the look in her eyes.

I stood outside her hospital room for a second longer than necessary, my hand hovering over the door handle.

Then I went in.

Alessia looked small in the hospital bed. Too small.

Her skin was pale. There were dark circles under her eyes. An IV ran into her arm. The steady beep of monitors filled the room with mechanical life.

Her eyes were open.

And the second she saw me, she broke down.

“Dominic.” Her voice cracked violently, and then she was sobbing. Not quiet tears. Not restrained grief.

It was guttural. Broken.

“My baby,” she choked. “My baby is gone.”

The sound of it split something open in my chest.

I crossed the room in two strides and sat beside her, pulling her into my arms carefully.

“I know,” I said hoarsely. “I know.”

She clung to me like she was drowning.

“I felt it,” she cried. “I felt something tear. I knew I knew-”

Her fingers dug into my shirt.

“It’s gone,” she whispered again, as if saying it out loud might somehow make it less real.

There is no way to console someone who has just lost a child.

No sentence that fixes it.

So I held her.

“I’m here,” I said. “I’m here.”

“I wanted it,” she sobbed. “I didn’t think I did at first but I did. I wanted it.”

The confession twisted something in my gut.

I swallowed hard.

“I know,” I repeated.

And I did know.

Because somewhere along the way, without planning it, I had wanted it too.

Even if I hadn’t admitted it.

Her sobbing grew more violent.

“It’s my fault,” she cried. “I slipped- I should have been more careful—”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said firmly.

Before I could say more, the door opened quietly.

Isabella stepped in.

She looked fragile. Her eyes red. Face pale.

“I called Caterina,” she said softly. “She’s on her way.”

Alessia turned her head.

And the moment she saw Isabella, something in her snapped.

Her entire body stiffened in my arms.

“You,” she whispered.

Then louder, “Why didn’t you save me?”

The room went very still.

Isabella froze.

Alessia’s voice rose, raw and jagged. “You were right there! You could have grabbed me! Why didn’t you grab

me?”

Her nails dug into my arm.

“You let me fall!”

“Alessia-” I started.

But Isabella shook her head slightly.

Don’t.

I understood immediately.

This wasn’t logic.

This was grief.

“I tried,” Isabella said, her voice trembling. “I did try.”

“You didn’t try hard enough!” Alessia screamed. “You hate me! You didn’t want this baby!”

The words were wild.

Cruel.

Unfair.

I felt Isabella flinch.

She didn’t defend herself.

She didn’t fight back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I couldn’t hold you.”

“You could have!” Alessia sobbed hysterically. “You could have saved my baby!”

Her entire body shook with the force of her crying.

I tightened my hold on her.

“Alessia, listen to me,” I said quietly but firmly. “It was an accident.”

She didn’t hear me.

Or she couldn’t.

Grief had swallowed her whole.

“I lost my baby,” she kept repeating. “My baby is gone.”

Isabella’s tears fell silently now.

And something about that hurt me more than Alessia’s screaming.

She stood there, absorbing blame she did not deserve.

Not because she believed it.

But because she understood the depth of the loss.

The door opened again, and two figures stepped inside.

Alessia’s parents.

Her father filled the doorway first. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Silver threaded through dark hair. His presence was commanding even in devastation.

Her mother followed, elegant as always. Impeccable even now. But her eyes, they were red-rimmed, like she’d been crying on the way over, shattered.

“Papa,” Alessia whispered.

And then she broke all over again.

Her mother rushed to her side.

“Oh, my darling!”

Her father stood still for half a second, jaw clenched tightly, absorbing the sight of his daughter like it was physical pain.

Then he stepped forward too.

The room became too full, too heavy.

I looked at Isabella.

She looked back at me.

We didn’t need words.

We slipped out quietly.

The hallway felt colder.

Isabella leaned back against the wall.

For a second, neither of us spoke.

Then I stepped towards her.

“It wasn’t your fault,” I said immediately.

Her chin trembled slightly. “I don’t think she meant it,” she said softly. “She’s in pain.”

Chapter 139

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“I know why you stopped me from correcting her,” I continued. “But don’t carry that. Don’t even let a part of you carry it.”

She nodded slowly.

“I tried to grab her,” she whispered. “I really did.”

I cupped her face gently. “I know you did.”

She exhaled shakily. “I can’t imagine what she’s going through,” she said. “Or what you’re going through.”

The fact that she said that, that she included me in it, nearly undid me.

“I didn’t know I cared this much,” I admitted quietly.

She nodded. “That’s how it works,” she said. “You don’t know until it’s gone.”

We stood there.

And then she stepped into me.

I wrapped my arms around her again, not out of passion, not out of reconciliation, but out of shared grief. Shared shock.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“For what?”

“For all of it.”

I shook my head. It wasn’t her fault. It was no one’s fault, really. It was just I’ll fate. An accident. And nothing could be done about it now.

A nurse approached us carefully.

“Mr. Russo?”

I stepped back slightly. “Yes?”

“There are some formalities we need you to complete. Discharge details for the procedure. Blood transfusion documentation.”

Of course.

Paperwork.

Life continued, even when it felt like it shouldn’t.

“I’ll be right back,” I told Isabella.

She nodded.

I

A lost child.

A grieving mother.

Another one who had just been blamed for something she didn’t do.

And somewhere beneath all of it was a growing certainty.

Nothing in my life was as simple as it once seemed.

And this seemed like it was only the beginning of the fallout.

田

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