Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 153

Doctor’s Office.

Inside, the atmosphere was so heavy you could almost taste it. Quentin, Stewart, Dr. Cedric Clarke, and Rosita’s psychiatrist were all present, tension thick in the air.

The psychiatrist broke the silence first. “Given the current situation, Rosita’s mental illness has become quite severe. Based on your account, Mr. Wentworth, my preliminary assessment is that she’s experiencing psychogenic amnesia—possibly linked to depression, though her brain tumor may also be a contributing factor.”

She turned to Dr. Clarke. “Dr. Clarke, you’re an oncology specialist—what’s your opinion?”

Cedric Clarke cleared his throat. “While oncology is my field, I don’t specialize in neurology. Rosita’s case is complicated, and at this point, I can’t say for sure whether her memory loss is psychological or caused by the tumor.”

Quentin shot a look at Stewart. “So, what are you planning to do now?” His tone was stern, bordering on confrontational. “Rosita can’t take any more shocks. Honestly, I think her memory loss might be a blessing in disguise. But that tumor…”

He scowled. “No matter what it takes, I’m going to get her the help she needs. I’ll make sure Rosita gets better—even if it costs me everything.”

The tumor in Rosita’s brain, judging by its appearance, was almost certainly malignant. In other words—brain cancer.

Cedric Clarke held the MRI up to the light, his brow furrowing deeper the longer he stared at it. “The tumor’s in a very tricky spot,” he said at last. “If we operate, the risks are extremely high. There’s a real chance she might not survive the surgery.”

Stewart’s voice was quiet but steady. “If we don’t operate, how long does she have?”

Quentin suddenly exploded, leaping to his feet. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He lunged at Stewart, fists clenched.

“Calm down!” “Director Lockwood, please, let’s not do this!” Cedric Clarke and the psychiatrist both rushed to hold Quentin back.

Stewart kept his head down, unfazed by Quentin’s outburst.

Quentin glared at him. “Rosita gave birth to your son without a name or a title. Stewart, if you had a shred of decency, you wouldn’t abandon her now!”

“That child isn’t even—”

Stewart cut off Cedric Clarke with a sharp look. “Let’s get one thing straight, Quentin. Whatever’s between me and Rosita, it’s none of your business. Just because she calls you ‘big brother’ doesn’t mean you get to dictate how she lives her life. You Lockwoods don’t have that right.”

Quentin’s jaw tightened. “We raised her. Why wouldn’t we?”

Stewart stared at him coldly, contempt in his gaze. “Maybe her memory loss is for the best,” he said, standing and straightening his suit jacket. “At least now, all she remembers is the Lockwoods’ kindness. That works out well for you, doesn’t it?”

Quentin frowned, thrown by Stewart’s words.

Without another glance, Stewart strode out, letting the door swing shut behind him.

Cedric Clarke and the psychiatrist exchanged a wordless nod and quickly followed.

—

Up on the rooftop, the wind was biting cold. Cedric Clarke stuffed his hands into the pockets of his white coat, hunching his shoulders against the chill.

“So you’re really going to marry Rosita?” he asked.