The Plane Tickets He Hoarded The Wife He Hid novel Chapter 220

220 Chapter 220 Cold As Jerry

Blanche’s POV

I stared into Zain’s eyes, catching that probing, hunting look burning there.

I wasn’t entirely sure what he was getting at, but the stabbing pain tearing through my lower belly made one thing crystal clear–this wasn’t my monthly cycle.

Still, I held my ground. “Just cramps. That’s why I passed out.”

Zain’s gaze sharpened, his voice dropping to a dangerous rumble. “Think real carefully. You hiding something from me?”

I caught the loaded meaning behind his words and snapped back, “Zain, if you’re gonna blow up, just get out. I don’t have the strength for your drama.”

After that outburst, I felt completely drained, sweat breaking out everywhere, the pain in my stomach twisting even deeper.

Without thinking, I pressed my hand against my belly, the sharp agony telling me this was way more than

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cramps.

The uncomfortable sensation between my legs served as a brutal reminder–I might’ve had surgery.

Deep down, I knew the truth, but I just wouldn’t let myself face it.

Zain lifted his freezing stare, the chill in those eyes eating away at me. His voice went cold and heavy. “Blanche, I’m giving you time. Think it through and give me an answer when you’re ready.”

I couldn’t hold back anymore. Using what little strength I had left, I demanded, “What the hell are you trying to say?”

Zain’s eyes went narrow, his tone arctic. “Oh? Starting to remember now?”

I slumped back against the bed frame, my face ghostly white. I glared at Zain, my eyes burning red, blood vessels threading through them like spider webs.

I couldn’t find an ounce of energy, and every tiny shift sent sweat pouring off me like I’d been caught in a downpour.

Zain’s presence was so crushing I could barely draw

breath, yet he still wouldn’t just spit it out.

After endless rounds of this standoff, I thought to myself: ‘I get it. I know exactly what he’s driving at. I think I know what they did to me!

When Zain still wouldn’t say it outright, I finally cracked, my voice breaking. “Zain, you keep grilling me like this. Isn’t this all because you think I terminated your baby?”

The moment I finally confessed, Zain’s eyes went cold and black. He suddenly whipped out a thick stack of papers from behind his back, hurling them straight at my face.

“Blanche, how could you? That was my child! How

could you treat it like nothing–just gone, like it never existed?”

My eyes locked onto those papers. I saw instantly what they were–my medical records, proof of the second child I’d lost.

Facing Zain’s brutal interrogation, I shot him a bitter smile. “And why shouldn’t I? Zain, I’ve got every right to make decisions about my own body. Whether I kept that baby or not–that was always my call.”

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Zain stared me down, his cold laughter echoing. “And me? Don’t I deserve to know the truth at all?”

I felt my chest constrict, glaring at him with furious, bloodshot eyes. “What’s the point of all this? You couldn’t have changed a damn thing.”

Even propped against the bed frame, I felt like I could crumble any second my strength barely keeping me upright.

Sweat drenched me, yet my entire body felt ice cold.

Seeing me so defiant, so completely without remorse, Zain was boiling with rage. “Blanche, you took our child from us, and you can just stand there, cold as

stone?”

I let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, I did. What’re you gonna do about it?”

Zain finally lost it. He lunged forward, one hand wrapping around my throat and yanking me close, his grip firm but not quite choking–pulling me until we

were nose–to–nose.

He pressed his forehead against mine, voice tight with fury as he growled, “Blanche, you trying to get yourself killed?”

I fought to breathe, my bloodshot eyes glaring defiantly at him. “You only ever gave a damn about Joanna. My life means nothing to you. So why should I risk everything to carry your child? Why put my life on the line for someone who doesn’t care if I live or die?”

Zain’s grip tightened further, his eyes reddening with rage and anguish. His voice was low and throbbing, each word dripping with accusation. “You carried my child, then went and destroyed it like it was trash, behind my back–and you think that’s any different from murder?”

Somehow, I found the strength to claw at his hand, my voice loud and unwavering. “I don’t regret it. Not for one damn second.”

Ever since I’d ended the pregnancy, I hadn’t felt the tiniest bit of regret—not even once.

Part of me even felt strangely relieved–the fetus had still been so small, and at least I’d woken up in time.

As those words left my mouth, Zain flung me aside with sudden, violent force.

I went sprawling, my head crashing into the metal rail of the hospital bed.

Zain shot me an icy glare and roared, “Blanche, you’ve lost your mind.”

Then he stood up, not even looking at me–ignoring that I’d just had surgery, ignoring the blood streaming from my split forehead.

Without a backward glance, he walked out, silent as death.

I lay crumpled on the bed, my forehead pressed

against the rail. I had no strength left to fight, and as I turned my head, Zain’s retreating figure vanished from my sight.

I let out a bitter laugh.

I stayed frozen in that position, time becoming meaningless.

Minutes or hours dragged by until I was numb all over, and only then did the doctor finally enter, pushing through the door.

Seeing me slumped like that, the doctor rushed over, concern written across his face, gently lifting me upright and tucking the blanket around me.

As he worked, he asked softly, “Are you okay?”

I shook my head numbly, not saying a word.

The doctor looked troubled, then explained, “Not everything was removed completely, which caused the severe bleeding. Fortunately, you were brought in immediately–after clearing everything out and stopping the hemorrhage, we managed to save your life.”

As a doctor myself, I understood exactly what had happened. Still, after his explanation, I only nodded, my voice flat. “Okay.”

The doctor hesitated, reluctant to make things harder on me, but finally said it anyway: “Due to the procedure, your uterine lining is now thinner. It might be more difficult for you to conceive in the future.”

Even as a pediatric surgeon, I knew the basics–none of this was news to me.

I didn’t react at all, answering calmly, “Alright.”

The doctor seemed taken aback by how composed I appeared, left completely speechless.

Once he’d finished examining me, he quietly slipped

out of the room.

I curled up under the covers, silently wiping away my tears–I didn’t dare make a sound.

A little while later, the nurse came in again.

Hearing my muffled sobs, the young nurse spoke up, her voice filled with concern. “You just had a D&C procedure, and you’re in recovery now. Crying is the worst thing for you–if you keep this up, when you’re older your eyes will water at the slightest breeze.”

I listened to the nurse’s gentle worry and managed a choked “Mm.”

After the nurse left, I felt even more wounded–all the injustice crushing down on my heart.

The blood on my forehead had already dried and crusted over; I couldn’t even feel the pain anymore.

It was going to be a sleepless night.

Lying in bed, I kept tossing and turning, but no matter what, sleep wouldn’t come.

I replayed Zain’s words over and over in my head, frustration eating at my heart. What the hell does he even want from me? After everything that went down, I just… don’t understand, I thought, rubbing at my

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eyes.

I tossed restlessly until two in the morning, when exhaustion finally dragged me under and I fell into a fitful sleep.

I’d barely drifted off when someone ripped my blanket

away.

A blast of cold air shocked me awake.

My eyes focused, and I realized it was Ophelia.