Walking Away While Pregnant: Dear Ex-Husband, I Don't Love You Anymore novel Chapter 88

Chapter 88: Chapter 88

The rehabilitation specialist immediately realized she had stepped onto a minefield. "Oh—I’m so sorry. I didn’t know."

"It’s fine." Elise closed her eyes, her voice smooth, level, and entirely devoid of tremors. "That was a long time ago."

Standing nearby, Dylan watched her silently. His tall frame seemed frozen in place, his dark gaze pinned to her calm face.

For five grueling years, this was exactly what Dylan had wanted. He had wanted her to move on. He had wanted her to stop torturing herself with a past that couldn’t be undone. Yet now that she had finally achieved that detachment, an inexplicable, suffocating weight settled over his chest.

She no longer cried. She no longer broke down. She no longer spoke of their lost children with that raw, agonizing vulnerability. And somehow, seeing her like this felt entirely wrong. Or perhaps it wasn’t wrong—perhaps it was simply that he no longer understood her at all.

Their marriage had begun as a calculated business alliance, but everyone in their circle knew the real story. The Harper family had originally intended for Elise to marry Steven—the favored son who held Old Master Bennett’s affection at the time. Yet, defying her family’s fierce objections, Elise had chosen him.

Everyone knew she loved him. No one knew it better than Dylan himself.

Because of that love, their marriage had been a quiet, peaceful sanctuary. He had given her the respect and status befitting Mrs. Bennett, and she had poured her heart into being the perfect wife.

Even after the kidnapping orchestrated by his business rivals—the tragedy that cost them their unborn twins—she had never once blamed him. Not openly. Not even in her darkest, most grief-stricken moments.

But now... the warmth that used to flood her eyes whenever he walked into a room had vanished completely. In its place was a barren landscape of hidden pain, quiet resentment, and a vast, icy distance.

A sudden, jarring thought struck him without warning: She doesn’t love me anymore.

The realization felt like a physical blow. His heart clenched sharply; his throat grew tight and dry.

After concluding the examination, the rehabilitation specialist recommended prenatal yoga and targeted pelvic exercises, emphasizing they must be done under professional supervision. The doctor then conducted a meticulous prenatal checkup.

The fetus was developing healthily, but Elise herself was the concern. She was severely underweight, physically depleted, and her blood pressure was critically low.

The doctor prescribed iron and calcium supplements, strictly instructing her to follow the nutritionist’s meal plan and eat smaller, frequent portions to safely gain weight.

Once the medical team departed, a heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the lounge.

Elise leaned back and closed her eyes. "I’m going to rest for a while," she said, her tone polite but entirely closed off. "You should go check on Robin."

Another dismissal. Another quiet wall built to push him away.

Dylan knew she was still furious, but communication had never been his strength. Throughout their five-year marriage, Elise had always been the one to reach out first. She was the one who initiated conversations, bridged the gaps, and laid her feelings bare. He had merely existed within the marriage, fulfilling what he deemed his duties as a husband.

So he stood there, painfully awkward. One minute ticked by, then another. Several times, his lips parted as if to say something—anything—to break the ice, but the words died in his throat. Eventually, he gave up.

Letting out a quiet, defeated sigh, he turned and walked out without a word. The door clicked shut, and slowly, the crisp scent of juniper faded from the room.

Only then did Elise open her eyes. She stared blankly at the ceiling as a single, silent tear slipped from the corner of her eye.

No matter how pristine her armor appeared, the agony remained. The twins would always be the deepest, most jagged wound in her soul. The only difference now was that she no longer expected anyone to share the burden of that pain.

In the past, she had desperately craved his grief. He was her husband, the father of those babies. She had stubbornly, naively hoped they could mourn together, keeping the memory of their children alive as a team. But he had viewed her mourning as an illness. He had accused her of wallowing, urging her to just move forward.

Now, she expected nothing. And without expectation came a cold, liberating acceptance. It didn’t matter if Dylan remembered them anymore. Even if the entire world forgot, she never would.

She was their mother. There would always be a sacred, unyielding space reserved for them in her heart, and she would carry that love for the rest of her days—living stronger, living better, living enough for all three of them.

When Elise woke again, night had fully fallen, casting deep shadows across the room. Muffled voices drifted in from the adjacent suite. Pushing herself up, she rubbed her face and sat quietly until the fog of sleep cleared before stepping next door.

In the main hospital room, Robin was awake. Mrs. Lander was sitting bedside, carefully spooning warm porridge into his mouth.

The moment the little boy spotted her, his dull eyes instantly ignited. "Mommy!"

Mrs. Lander turned around, offering a warm smile. "Madam, you’re awake."

Elise nodded and walked over. The boy looked remarkably better; color had returned to his cheeks, and he was eagerly swallowing mouthful after mouthful of porridge. A wave of relief washed over her—children really did heal with astonishing speed.

Robin swallowed his food and looked at her with immense gravity.

But Dylan had never been the type to care whether his arrangements made her uncomfortable. There was no use dwelling on it now. Without saying another word, she walked over to the sofa, pulled out her phone, and dialed a number.

A few rings later, Zoey answered. "Elise? Is everything alright?"

"When do you get back to the city?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," Zoey sighed over the line. "Though I doubt I can come see you right away. Oliver mentioned Dylan flew abroad, and I’m expected to report directly to the corporate office the second my flight lands."

"I know," Elise said quietly, lowering her eyes. "I was just checking."

A brief, heavy pause stretched over the line. Then, Zoey’s voice dropped, softening with genuine concern. "How are you holding up, really? I mean... what is the plan between you and Dylan now?"

Elise glanced back at Mrs. Lander, who was entirely focused on Robin. Standing up, she quietly slipped out of the room, walked down the sterile hospital corridor, and stepped into the isolated concrete stairwell.

Only when she was certain she was entirely alone did she speak into the receiver.

"Start listing the overseas properties for sale," she commanded, her voice terrifyingly calm. "And cancel all the hidden identity arrangements we made."

She paused, her eyes narrowing in the dim light of the stairwell. "Make the paper trail sloppy. I want Dylan’s people to intercept it. I want him to hear about it."

Zoey fell silent for a heartbeat, the tactical shift instantly clicking in her mind.

A faint, chilling smile touched Elise’s lips.

"For now, I’ll play the part of a mother who has compromised for the sake of her unborn child. Robin’s memory is fragmented, and he genuinely believes I’m his mother. If I act soft-hearted, cooperative, and compliant, Dylan will believe his trap worked. He won’t suspect a thing."

She looked out the small window of the stairwell, watching the distant city lights.

"Once he completely lowers his guard..." She let the sentence hang, her tone turning razor-sharp. "That’s when we make our real move."