The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 30

Borrowed Time

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Borrowed Time

At five in the morning, a soft knock on the door woke Alina from sleep that had never really come.

She’d been awake since three. Lying in bed with eyes open, staring at the ceiling, waiting for morning to arrive.

Waiting for the chance to see Junior.

“Mrs. Blackwood?” Mrs. Helen’s voice from outside. Soft. Careful

Alina rose–too quickly–until her head spun slightly. She opened the door.

Mrs. Helen stood there with a gentle expression. The old woman’s eyes glistened seeing Alina’s condition–swollen eyes, pale face, disheveled hair.

“Mr. Blackwood is allowing you to go downstairs now. To see Young Master Junior.”

Alina didn’t wait for the sentence to finish. She stepped out with feet that almost ran.

“Mrs. Blackwood, slow down-“Mrs. Helen tried to remind her, but Alina was already at the stairs.

Descending with hurried steps. Almost tripping on the last step but didn’t care.

Junior’s room was on the ground floor–east wing, far from Daniel’s master bedroom.

Alina stopped in front of the familiar wooden door. Her hand trembled as she touched the handle.

Two days. Only two days since she’d last entered this room. But it felt like forever.

She opened the door–slowly, carefully–afraid of waking Junior if the child was still asleep.

The room was still dark. Curtains closed. But there was dim light from a moon–shaped nightlight in the corner–a gift for Junior’s fourth birthday.

Alina stepped inside. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light.

And she saw him.

Junior. In bed. Curled up in the middle of a mattress too big for his small body.

Hugging a bunny doll- a doll Alina had sewn herself when Junior was still a baby. A doll that was already worn, had been washed countless times, but Junior never wanted to replace with a new one.

Alina stepped closer. Tears were already falling before she realized.

Junior slept in a position that somehow looked defensive. Knees pulled to chest. Doll clutched tight. Face buried in the pillow.

Alina sat on the edge of the bed–slowly, so the mattress wouldn’t move too much.

Her hand lifted, trembling, touching Junior’s face gently.

Swollen. The child’s face was swollen–even in sleep.

Dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Eyes slightly puffy.

Junior had cried before sleeping. Cried for a long time. Until exhaustion finally put him to sleep.

Alina knew. She recognized all those signs.

“Forgive Mama, sweetheart,” she whispered. Voice broken. “Forgive Mama.”

Her fingers stroked Junior’s face–gentle, careful. Swept the disheveled hair from his forehead.

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Junior moved slightly. Groaned softly.

Eyes slowly opened–still half asleep, confused.

Blank gaze for a moment. Then focused.

On Alina.

But there was no reaction. No smile. No hug.

Junior just stared. Silent. Unmoving.

Like he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

Or afraid that if he moved, this apparition would disappear.

They looked at each other. In a silence that was somehow more painful than crying.

Junior stared without blinking. Those small eyes traced Alina’s face–like trying to make sure this was real.

Alina couldn’t stand it anymore. “Junior, sweetheart. It’s Mama.”

Her yoice trembled. Gentle.

Junior’s expression changed. Slowly. Like something inside the child was melting.

He sat up–movement stiff, hesitant–still staring at Alina with eyes beginning to glisten.

“Mama?” His voice was hoarse. Small. Full of disbelief. “Is… is this really Mama?”

Alina’s tears flowed harder. “Yes, sweetheart. It’s Mama.”

Junior stared longer. Like still unsure.

“Is Junior dreaming?” He whispered. “Junior often dreams Mama comes. But every time Junior wakes up, Mama’s not there.”

Those words stabbed deeper than anything.

Alina shook her head quickly. Reached for Junior’s hand–small, cold–and held it tight.

“This isn’t a dream, Junior. This is real. Mama’s here. Mama’s really here.”

Junior looked at their joined hands. Then at Alina’s face again.

Tears began falling from his small eyes.

“Mama… Mama’s really here?” His voice cracked now. “Mama won’t leave again?”

“Mama’s here, sweetheart.” Alina pulled Junior into an embrace. “Mama’s here now.”

And Junior cried.

Not loud. Not like yesterday’s tantrum.

Soft crying. Broken. Like something inside the child finally collapsed after being held too long.

“Mama…” He hugged Alina with desperate strength. Face buried in her shoulder. Small hands gripping Alina’s clothes like afraid she would disappear. “Mama… Mama…”

He just repeated that word. Over and over. Like a mantra. Like a prayer.

Alina hugged back–tight–with one hand on Junior’s head, one hand on the small back that trembled.

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“Mama’s here,” Alina whispered. “Mama’s not leaving. Mama’s here.”

Junior cried harder–but still muffled. Still afraid that if too loud, someone would come and separate them again.

“Forgive Mama,” Alina whispered between her own tears. “Forgive Mama for only being able to see you now. Sorry for making you cry. Sorry for making you lonely.”

“Junior wasn’t lonely,” Junior whispered–an obvious lie. “Junior… Junior just missed Mama. Missed so much.”

Alina closed her eyes, hugging tighter. “Mama missed Junior too. So much.”

They sat like that—hugging, crying softly–until morning light began entering through the curtain gaps.

Until Junior’s crying slowly subsided into broken sobs.

Alina pulled back slightly enough to see Junior’s face.

Red eyes. Wet cheeks. Trembling lips.

But there was something in the child’s eyes now. Something that had disappeared yesterday.

Hope. Small. Fragile. But there.

*

“Mama won’t leave again, right?” Junior asked. Voice still shaking. “Mama will stay with Junior?”

Alina wanted to say yes. Wanted to promise that.

But she couldn’t lie to Junior.

“Mama will be there for Junior,” she said softly. Choosing words carefully. “Every morning before Junior goes to school. Every afternoon when Junior comes home. Mama will be there.”

Junior looked at her. Digesting those words.

“But… Mama won’t stay in Junior’s room anymore? Like before?”

An innocent question. But piercing.

Alina shook her head slowly. “No, sweetheart. Mama can’t. But Mama will still be here. Mama promises.”

Junior was silent for a moment. Then nodded–accepting though clearly he didn’t fully understand.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Junior’s happy as long as Mama’s here. Junior doesn’t want Mama to leave again.”

Alina hugged Junior again–quick, tight–before the child could see the new tears falling.

Because Alina knew. She would leave. Slowly. Piece by piece.

She would push Junior toward Clarissa. Would encourage him not to depend too much on Alina.

Would slowly erase herself from this child’s life.

But not now. Not this morning.

This morning, she just wanted to hold Junior. Wanted to memorize the feeling of the small body in her arms. Wanted to

remember what it felt like to be Mama.

Before it was all taken away.

Before she had to start the painful process of letting go.

“Mama loves Junior,” she whispered. “So much. Never forget that.”

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Junior nodded against her shoulder. “Junior loves Mama too. Most of all.”

And in that quiet morning, they sat in an embrace–mother and child slowly being separated by contract, manipulation, and cruelty wrapped as “family welfare.”

But for now–for these precious few minutes–they still had each other.

And that had to be enough.

Because maybe, very likely, this was the beginning of the end.

D