The Billionaire Ex-Wife's Return (Cynthia and Ethan) novel Chapter 163

Chapter 163

Cynthia’s POV

The nurse looked between us, her eyes moving from Ethan’s rigid frame to my face, clearly unsure of who the question was meant for — or if there even was a question yet.

“Uhm…” I heard my own voice before I fully registered the decision forming in my head. “In that case, I would donate the blood. I’m a universal donor — blood type O. I can do that, right?”

The words surprised even me.

The nurse blinked, then nodded slowly, processing. “Yes,” she said carefully. “Type O negative is universal. But…”

Her gaze flicked to Ethan instinctively, as though seeking confirmation, permission, or perhaps simply bracing herself for an objection.

Ethan turned to me so fast it startled me, like he was just understanding what I had said.

“What?” he asked, his voice low but sharp. “Cynthia… are you sure?”

There it was. Concern. Raw and unfiltered. His eyes searched my face like he was looking for cracks, hesitation, something he could grab onto and use to stop me.

I held his gaze.

“Yes,” I said simply.

Not because of Grace.

Not because she was his mother. Not because of what she’d done or what she might have planned or the words she’d spoken that still echoed in my head like poison.

I was doing this despite her.

Because I refused to be the woman who stood by and watched someone bleed out when I had the power to stop it.

Because no matter how ugly the truth was, no matter how twisted her intentions had been, I could not live with the weight of knowing I let her die when I could have saved her.

I would not carry that guilt.

The nurse straightened, professionalism snapping back into place. “Alright. We’ll need to run a quick screening first, but if everything checks out, we can proceed immediately.”

She turned and gestured down the corridor. “This way, ma’am.”

Ethan was still looking at me.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly, his voice strained now. “There are other options. We can find another donor. I’ll pay for…”

“This isn’t about money,” I interrupted softly.

I hadn’t meant for my tone to sound so final, but it did.

He swallowed.

For a brief moment, I almost faltered.

Because standing there, under those fluorescent lights, with his eyes holding mine the way they used to, I felt the weight of everything we were and everything we were no longer supposed to be.

I felt the pull.

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “It’s just blood.”

It wasn’t, though.

“Any recent illnesses?” the nurse asked.

“No.”

“Any medications?”

“No.”

“Have you eaten today?”

I hesitated. “Earlier.”

“That’s fine.”

She tied the tourniquet, and I watched my vein rise beneath my skin. A strange calm settled over me.

As the needle pierced my skin, a sharp sting flared, then faded. Dark red flowed through the tubing, steady and sure.

I exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling, tracing invisible patterns, grounding myself.

I wondered what Ethan was doing out there in the lobby.

Pacing, probably. Running his hands through his hair. Blaming himself. Replaying every memory he’d ever had with Grace, trying to reconcile the mother he loved with the monster she’d become.

It baffled me what Ethan said earlier about being Type A when his father is a Type B and his mother is Type O.

I felt the urge to call Julian, he is a doctor so he should know, I wanted to ask him to explain if that was biologically possible, but I must have left my phone in Ethan’s car.