Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 276

Tears the size of pearls streamed down Briony’s cheeks as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Worried she might collapse from overwhelming grief, the nurse murmured a few words of comfort before gently leading her out.

The moment Briony left the ICU, Gwendolyn White hurried over to support her.

“Bryn, you’ve seen the baby. Let’s go back to your room, okay?”

But Briony brushed Gwendolyn’s hand aside and, with slow, deliberate steps, walked straight toward Stewart.

Each movement was heavy and labored—her stomach still throbbed from the surgery, and the hospital gown hung limply on her gaunt frame, swallowing her up.

Stewart stood a few yards away, watching as Briony approached. Strangely, despite the shrinking distance, he felt as if she was drifting further and further from him.

James made a move to follow, but Gwendolyn quickly caught his arm.

“Leave her,” she whispered. “Bryn has something she needs to say to Stewart.”

James raked a frustrated hand through his hair, clenching his jaw.

Briony stopped in front of Stewart. Her face was drained of color, her eyes red-rimmed and utterly devoid of light. She stared at him as if she were looking straight through him—at something cold and lifeless.

“Stewart,” she rasped, her voice hoarse, “I didn’t even get to see my son one last time. Are you satisfied now?”

Stewart’s expression faltered.

He frowned. “I only brought him home so he could be laid to rest as soon as possible. I never meant to hurt you.”

“And what?” Briony’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Am I supposed to thank you? Thank you—the heir to the Wentworth family—for acknowledging my child, for allowing him to be buried in your precious family crypt? Should I get down on my knees and bow my head in gratitude?”

“Briony.” Stewart’s brow creased. “He was my son, too. Do you think this is what I wanted?”

“Wasn’t Irwin always your only son?” Briony’s gaze was icy, her words bleeding with pain. “Do you really believe that burying him somehow erases the fact that he died because of you?”

Stewart was stunned.

“You don’t deserve to be his father!”

Briony raised her hand and slapped Stewart hard across the face—the sound cracked through the corridor.

“You’re a hypocrite! If it weren’t for you and Rosita, none of this would’ve happened to him. That was for my son!”

Smack. She struck him again.

“That one’s for my mother!”

Smack. A third slap followed.

“And this one’s for me!”

Stewart stood there, head bowed, fists clenched at his sides—enduring each blow in silence, his usual pride stripped away.

Briony’s chest heaved as her breath came in ragged bursts. If she’d had a knife at that moment, she wouldn’t have hesitated to plunge it straight into Stewart’s heart.

She hated him—hated him so fiercely she wished he’d vanish from the world altogether.

“Stewart, you took my son from me. Fine. But you have no right to take my daughter, too. After tonight, there’s nothing left between us. My daughter and I are done with you—forever.”

Without another glance, Briony turned and walked away.