The Unwanted Wife's Return (Ex-Husband Wants Me Back) novel Chapter 396

Beyond Forgiveness

MARY’S POV:

I watched the expression on her face change second by second. The intense anger that had been driving her all night slowly drained away, replaced by something far worse. It was a look of deep, crushing grief. Her hands began to shake violently, the pages fluttering in her tight grip like dry leaves in a windstorm. Her eyes darted back and forth across the black text, reading the same lines over and over again, as if she were desperately praying that the words would somehow magically change into something else.

Out of every single person standing in this room, she was taking the news the hardest.

A deep, dull ache began to rise inside my chest.

It had absolutely nothing to do with Alistair anymore. I had already accepted the brutal truth that my husband was completely lost to me. The man I had married years ago was long gone, replaced by a cold, selfish stranger who just happened to wear his face. The deep ache in my heart was entirely for Beatrice. This was the woman who had stood up for me when nobody else would, who had defended me against her own family, and who had been a true mother to me when my own parents were nowhere to

be found.

Once the divorce papers were signed and everything was over… would I have to walk away from her too?

The mere thought of losing her was almost too much to bear. She had been my absolute rock through every storm in my life. She was my anchor, the one person in that wealthy, judgmental family who had never once made me feel like an outsider or a charity case. She had held my hand in the delivery room when I was screaming in pain, stayed up with me through endless sleepless nights when Elowen was sick, and held me close while telling me I was strong whenever I felt like completely breaking down. She had been right there for every single important moment of my life, sharing in every bit of my joy and every bit of my heartbreak.

I could not bear the thought of hurting her.

Moving slowly, I reached out and gently rested my palm against Beatrice’s upper back. It was a small, quiet gesture, something done almost purely on instinct after years of us comforting each other. Her body felt completely rigid underneath my hand, her back muscles locked tight with stress, and her breathing shallow and fast. I could feel the intense heat radiating right through her fine clothes, the heavy weight of her barely contained sadness and rage pressing against my skin.

Beatrice immediately reached up and grabbed my hand with desperate strength.

Her fingers wrapped around mine, squeezing so hard that her nails bit into my skin, as if she were trying to pour every single drop of her remaining strength right into my body. I could feel a fine, terrible tremor running through her arm. She did not look up at me. She kept her tear-filled eyes locked onto the medical paper, staring at the typed diagnosis as if she could burn the words off the page through sheer force of will.

I squeezed her trembling fingers right back.

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I did not say a word. There was really nothing left to say anyway. The paper was right there in her hands, serving as absolute, undeniable proof of something I had suspected in the dark corners of my mind for months, but had been too terrified to actually voice out loud.

Meanwhile, Alistair was already stepping right back up to Vesper’s side, his voice dropping into a soft, coaxing tone that made my blood run cold. He moved so quickly, so naturally, that he was beside her bed before I even noticed him walk across the room. He reached out and placed his large hand on her narrow shoulder, his fingers moving in small, soothing circles against her gown. It was an intimate, deeply practiced gesture, the type of quiet comfort that only comes from months of secret closeness.

“Stop crying now,” he told her in a low murmur. “You know it is not good for the baby if you get this worked up.”

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