The Billionaire's Insignificant Wife novel Chapter 94

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The Pieces Left Behind

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Daniel was still sitting in the driver’s seat. The engine was off, but his hands hadn’t left the steering wheel–his knuckles white from gripping too hard. Ahead of him, the mahogany door had shut firmly after Alina disappeared behind it moments ago.

He knew Alina was probably climbing the stairs to the bedroom on the second floor by now. A wide room, and far too quiet for one person.

Daniel drew a deep breath, but the air felt like needles. His chest was tight, as if a stone were slowly pressing down on it. His eyes didn’t leave the door–the place where Alina had vanished just minutes before.

He could imagine what Alina looked like right now. Sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the bandage on her hand, perhaps crying quietly so no one would hear.

And Daniel had let her face it alone.

Again.

Daniel’s hands slipped from the wheel and rose to rub his temples, which throbbed faintly.

“Damn,” Daniel muttered to himself, barely audible.

Then a memory from three years ago surfaced–sharp and uninvited.

Three years ago. A night of heavy rain. Junior had just turned two, burning with a fever that wouldn’t break. Alina had barely slept in three days. Her eyes were sunken, her hair disheveled, but she still sat in the chair beside the baby’s crib, pressing a cool cloth to Junior’s forehead, softly singing the same song on repeat even though her voice had gone hoarse.

Daniel had come home late, his suit still soaked from the rain. He walked into the nursery with a tired, irritated expression–his schedule had been thrown into chaos. Seeing Alina like that, instead of helping, he had snapped

at her.

“Why didn’t you call the doctor and a nurse? You’re not a doctor, Alina. Let the professionals handle it.”

Alina turned. Her face was pale, but her eyes flickered faintly.

“I already called the doctor twice today, Daniel. What he needs right now isn’t a doctor anymore. He needs me herè.

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Daniel fell silent. He wasn’t used to being challenged like that. But that night he didn’t respond. He simply stood

at the doorway, watching Alina hold the restless Junior. He watched that small body slowly settle, tiny hands clutching Alina’s shirt as if unwilling to let go.

For the first time, Daniel felt left out. Like a stranger in a home he himself had built.

That night, Daniel slept in his study. By morning, Junior’s fever had broken. Alina never brought it up again. But that small crack never truly disappeared.

And now? He was repeating the same thing. Forbidding Alina from seeing Junior.

The reason he gave himself sounded logical: Alina had just recovered from an infection, had just been given a heavy course of antibiotics. If she pushed herself, her condition could deteriorate again.

It made sense.

But behind that logic lay something darker: jealousy.

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Jealousy of how Alina could love Junior so completely that she forgot herself entirely. Jealousy because “Mama” was always the first word out of Junior’s mouth every morning. Jealousy because Alina had a place in that child’s heart that he could never fully reach.

Daniel started the engine again. Not toward the pharmacy, as he had said earlier.

The car rolled out through the gate, heading toward the hospital.

The whole way, Daniel’s thoughts kept fighting each other.

A cold voice in his head whispered, This is for Alina too. She needs to rest. If she goes to the ward now, she’ll only cry in front of Junior–that will just make the boy more anxious.

But another voice shouted louder, You’re lying. You’re afraid. Afraid that if Junior sees Alina, he’ll reach for her hand and never let go. You’re afraid Alina’s attention will be entirely consumed by Junior.

When he arrived at the underground parking lot, Daniel took the private elevator up to the VIP floor.

The moment the door to Junior’s room opened, what he saw struck him like a blow.

Junior was already awake, sitting propped against the pillows, his eyes half–open but his gaze hollow. Clarissa sat beside the bed, holding Junior’s hand, speaking softly in tones that were too smooth, too practiced. Margaret stood near the window, watching her grandson with a flat expression.

Daniel entered without a sound.

Junior didn’t turn. There was no small smile, no greeting. Only silence. The small body curled inward slightly, as if wishing to disappear from the room.

Clarissa looked up, and a smile appeared instantly–too quickly, too perfect.

“Daniel. You came. I thought you were busy today.”

Margaret followed, “You need to come here more often. Your son needs his father.”

Daniel approached the bed. He reached for Junior’s hand. Cold. Too cold for a child his age.

“He hasn’t said anything since he woke up,” Clarissa said quietly. “The doctor says it’s normal after trauma. He just needs time.”

Daniel didn’t respond. He only looked at Junior.

The boy stared straight at the white wall in front of him. He didn’t ask where Alina was. He didn’t call for anyone. Just silence. Like a doll that had forgotten how to breathe.

Anxiety crept through Daniel’s chest like slow–acting poison. This wasn’t the Junior from before- the one who always laughed when Alina tickled his belly, who clung to her wanting to be carried even though he was perfectly capable of walking.

Now there was only stillness.

Daniel leaned down and kissed Junior’s forehead–a gesture he almost never made. The child’s skin was faintly warm, the remnant of a fever not yet fully gone.

“How are you feeling, son?” Daniel whispered, even though he knew Junior might not answer.

Silence.

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Junior didn’t react at all.

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Daniel studied his son. “Is anything still hurting?”

Junior still said nothing. Not even a flicker of response.

Clarissa leaned in too, touching Junior’s cheek gently. “Sweetheart, Papa is here. Do you want to say something?”

No answer.

Margaret stepped closer, her voice firmer. “Junior, don’t be like this. Papa came all this way. You should at least say hello.”

Still silence.

Daniel felt something cold crawl along his spine. This wasn’t just ordinary quietness. It was different. Junior wasn’t sulking or frightened. His eyes were vacant. As if he didn’t recognize this room. As if he didn’t recognize any of them.

Seconds passed like molten lead.

Then Junior’s small lips moved.

“Why am I here?”

The voice was faint, but it sounded strange. Flat. Without the intonation of a normal child.

Daniel flinched. Clarissa pulled her hand away from Junior’s cheek, eyes widening. Margaret turned sharply from the window.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?” Clarissa asked carefully, her voice beginning to tremble.

Junior looked at his own hand, the one with the IV line. Then up at the white ceiling. At the green–blinking monitor beside him. And finally at Daniel.

That gaze was empty.

“What happened to me?”

The question came out with a calm that was far too steady for a five–year–old who should have been confused and frightened.

Daniel froze where he stood.

Clarissa rose from her chair, her hands trembling. “Junior, you… you fell, sweetheart. At home. From the

bookshelf. Do you remember?”

Junior shook his head slowly. Not quickly. Not in panic. Just a slow shake, like someone trying to recall something distant–and failing.

“I don’t remember.”

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What Memory Holds

Margaret moved first.

Crossed the distance to the bed in three sharp strides, reaching for Junior’s small shoulders with hands that trembled despite her iron composure.

“Junior, look at Grandma. You remember Grandma, don’t you?”

Junior turned his head slowly. Looked at Margaret with eyes that held recognition of a face but nothing deeper. No warmth. No familiarity beyond the visual.

“You’re Grandma,” he said. Statement of fact. Not connection.

Margaret’s face went pale. “Yes. And you remember our house? The big house with the garden where you play?”

Junior’s brow furrowed. Small lines appeared between his eyebrows as he tried to reach for something that wasn’t

there.

“I… there’s a garden. I think.”

Clarissa stood abruptly, moving to the other side of the bed, voice rising with barely controlled panic.

“Junior, sweetheart, what about Mama? You remember Mama, right? I came back for you. We’ve been spending time together. Reading stories, playing with new toys-”

Junior’s expression clouded further. His hand moved to his head, fingers touching the edge of the bandage wrapping his skull.

“My head hurts,” he whispered.

“Junior, please,” Clarissa pressed, desperation creeping into her carefully modulated voice. “Think harder. Remember the robot toys I brought? The books we read together?”

“Stop.” Daniel’s voice cut through. Sharp. Commanding.

But Clarissa didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The careful construction of the past weeks, all those hours spent trying to build a bond with Junior, couldn’t just vanish into blankness.

“What about the park, Junior? We went to the park last week. You rode the swings and—”

“My head hurts!” Junior’s voice rose, small hands pressing against the bandage now, face twisting with pain.

Margaret reached for his hands, trying to pull them away from his head. “Junior, don’t touch-”

“It HURTS!” Louder now. Distress breaking through the emptiness.

Daniel was already at the door, yanking it open.

“Get Dr. Emily. NOW.”

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