Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 80

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Claire crawled forward on her knees, clutching at Amelia’s dress desperately

*Sis, please, I’m sorry,” she wept. “I regret it, I regret everything, I didn’t think it would go this far. I was stupid, jealous, blind Please, forgive me…”

Amelia pulled back, staring down at her with wide, tear-streaked eyes. Her voice was raw, hollow.

“Forgive you?” she whispered “Claire, you broke me. You shattered me. You planted poison in my home and watered it until it grew into destruction. You have destroyed everything I built. How do I forgive that?”

Claire collapsed fully, her forehead pressed to Amelia’s knees, her cries loud and desperate. Mrs. Harlow joined her, both women at Amelia’s feet, pleading, begging, drowning in regret.

But Amelia only shook her head, rocking back and forth as her tears fell like rain. Reality crashed down on all three women: betrayal, regret, and pain interwoven into a knot too tangled to undo.

The room was thick with cries, the cries of a sister who had been wronged, a mother who had failed, and a daughter who could never look at her family the same way again.

Days had turned into weeks. Amelia had spent them all, thinking.

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She walked into her bedroom and shut the door quietly behind her. The soft click echoed too loudly in the stillness, making her close her eyes for a moment. Her body sagged against the wooden frame as if she had been carrying the whole world on her shoulders. She let out a long breath, then opened her eyes, her hand instinctively falling to her belly. The gentle swell beneath her palm seemed bigger than the day before, pulsing with life even as her own heart felt fractured.

She began pacing slowly across the room, her bare feet brushing against the rug, her gown swaying faintly with each step. The room looked the same as it always had, neatly arranged, peaceful and almost serene, but her spirit was far from it. Her movements betrayed her inner turmoil: two steps forward, a pause, then a sharp turn, two steps back. She couldn’t stop moving, as if stopping meant she would crumble right there on the spot.

Her eyes landed on the crib standing quietly in the corner, a soft pastel blanket already folded neatly inside. She froze. For a heartbeat, her lips parted, and her hand gripped tighter on her belly. The sight was both a promise and a dagger, it was hope for the future, but also a reminder of the wreckage left behind her.

Her phone began to ring from the nightstand. Its sharp tone shattered the silence. She turned her head, staring at it, her expression unreadable. The name flashed boldly on the screen, but she didn’t move. She let it ring. And ring

Instead, she walked to the window, pushing the curtain aside. The world outside seemed indifferent to her pain. The night breeze brushed faintly against the glass, carrying with it the scent of rain, and the city lights twinkled as if mocking her solitude. She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, her palm resting firmly against her stomach as though anchoring herself to the little lives inside her.

The phone rang again. She closed her eyes, willing it to stop. But it didn’t. The sound carried across the room, constant, relentless. It felt like a knock at the door she wasn’t ready to open.

Her throat tightened as she turned back to the nightstand. Her steps were slow, heavy and deliberate, like walking toward something inevitable. She hovered for a moment, staring down at the screen. Her reflection shimmered faintly on the glass, her face pale, eyes red-rimmed, lips trembling.

Finally, she reached out. Her hand hesitated midair, fingers hovering above the screen before she swiped. She

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lifted the phone, pressing it against her ear.

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