Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 278

It had been a beautiful night—the kind of night that felt touched by magic. Perhaps that’s why their child chose that moment to arrive.

But Stewart learned about it all far too late.

Was this what people called karma?

Somewhere deep within the hallway of his dream, a voice echoed through the shadows—

“Stewart, you are the most despicable man I’ve ever known.”

“You’ve never once acknowledged the pain you and your family inflicted on me. From the very beginning, you only ever asked yourself two questions: ‘Can I use her?’ and ‘Will she take good care of Irwin?’ This marriage—what you needed wasn’t a wife, but a perfectly placed pawn.”

“In Ghana, there’s a divorce tradition: couples who once loved each other, after everything falls apart, return to the very place they wed, dressed in their wedding clothes. The idea is to go back to where love began and let everything go, ending things together.”

“But Stewart, we never loved each other. We never even had a wedding. So your grand divorce ceremony was doomed to be a farce from the start!”

“From this day on, Stewart, you’re nothing but the executioner who indirectly killed my mother. We’re better off strangers than ever meeting again!”

At the end of the corridor, Briony stood there in a white wedding dress.

He saw her and tried to reach her.

Briony turned away and ran out of the hall—

Stewart chased her all the way to the beach.

A heavy mist rolled in from the sea; Briony stopped, half-shrouded in fog. Her voice was cold and full of anguish—

“Why can’t you ever let me go, Stewart? The ones who gave me life, and the one I gave life to, all gone because of you. And now I’m gone, too. Is this what you wanted?”

“Stewart, if there’s another life after this, I pray I never meet you again!”

As her words faded, flames burst across her wedding dress.

Stewart’s eyes widened in horror. He rushed forward—

But fire consumed Briony and the dress before he could reach her.

“Briony!”

Stewart jolted awake, heart pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps as he stared at the ceiling.

“Mr. Wentworth.” Carl was at his side in an instant. “You’re finally awake.”

Seeing Carl, Stewart’s mind snapped into focus.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

He let out a heavy sigh of relief and slowly pushed himself upright in bed.

Glancing around the unfamiliar hospital room, Stewart pressed a hand to his aching brow. “What happened to me?”

“You collapsed, sir. You started coughing up blood and then slipped into a high fever. You’ve been unconscious for three days and nights.”

Three days and nights?

A new voice spoke from the doorway. “If you don’t trust anyone else, you should at least trust me.” Cedric Clarke stepped into the room, a heavy file in his hand. “See for yourself.”

For a moment, Stewart could only stare at Cedric, noting the black suit. He swallowed hard. “What is all that?”

“Briony’s and the baby’s medical records. Death certificates. Cremation documents from this morning. Even the burial plots for mother and daughter.” Cedric placed the thick folder in front of Stewart.

But Stewart’s hands wouldn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to take it.

Cedric’s voice was gentle but firm. “If you leave now, you can still make it to the burial service.”

Stewart squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m not going.”

Cedric frowned, set the file down, and gave Stewart’s shoulder a steadying pat. “Running away won’t change anything. The dead are gone, Stewart. Right and wrong don’t matter anymore.”

Stewart sat, head bowed, eyes squeezed shut, silent.

Cedric glanced at Stewart’s clenched fists, then sighed quietly. “Stewart, you have to look forward. There’s nothing left for you in the past.”

—

After the funeral, Gwendolyn White nearly fainted from crying. Carney helped her into the car.

As the door closed, her phone rang.

Gwendolyn wiped her tears and hastily answered. “Mr. Chadwick?”