Too Late for Sorry, Mr. Billionaire (Chasing my Wife Back) novel Chapter 91

GEORGE’S fingers tightened slightly around the towel at his waist.

“Wen… Wendy, you haven’t gone to bed yet?” he asked gently, carefully masking the tension that had risen in his chest.

She sat on the edge of his neatly made bed, hands folded in her lap, eyes lowered. The bedside lamp cast a soft glow on her face, and in that light he could see it clearly.

She had been crying.

He walked toward her slowly, each step deliberate.

“Come on,” he said softly, sitting beside her but leaving just enough space so she wouldn’t feel crowded. “You and the twins were laughing not long ago. I thought you would all fall asleep right there from exhaustion.”

There was no response.

Her silence unsettled him more than tears would have.

He leaned slightly closer, lowering his voice.

“Honey, tell me what it is. What is troubling you?”

Wendy’s small shoulders rose and fell with a quiet breath. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t answer.

Then she lifted her face.

Her eyes were glossy but steady.

“Who is my mom?”

The question hit him like a physical blow.

He blinked.

For a second, he genuinely had no words.

“Wendy…” he started, but his voice felt dry.

She didn’t look away this time.

“Who is my mom?” she repeated.

George swallowed.

“You know the story,” he said gently. “Your mother… she passed away when you were born.”

Wendy’s jaw tightened slightly.

“That is what you always say.”

Because it’s the truth, he wanted to insist. Instead, he nodded slowly.

“Yes. She died while giving birth to you.”

Wendy shook her head.

“No.”

The firmness in her voice startled him.

He frowned slightly. “No?”

“I don’t believe that.”

The room suddenly felt smaller.

George forced a calm expression.

“Why would you say that?”

She stood up now, pacing a little in front of him, small steps, restless energy.

“Because… because it doesn’t feel true,” she said, frustration rising. “You always say the same thing. The exact same words. Every time I ask.”

He exhaled slowly.

“Because the answer hasn’t changed.”

“But something in me says it has,” she whispered.

He looked at her carefully.

“Wendy…”

“When I see other kids at school talk about their moms,” she continued, voice trembling now, “when they complain about them, or laugh about them, or say their mom braided their hair or scolded them or hugged them…” She paused, swallowing. “Something inside me feels… weird.”

George remained silent.

“It doesn’t feel like she is gone,” Wendy said softly. “It feels like she is somewhere.”

His chest tightened.

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