Regretting the Wife He Threw Away novel Chapter 280

She glanced at the master bedroom door, shut tight as always, and a flicker of disappointment passed over her face.

Ever since Irwin started elementary school, Stewart had come home less and less.

Irwin, at least, tried to be understanding. He knew that Stewart had become even busier after taking over The Wentworth Group, and so he stopped crying and pleading for Stewart to come home to spend time with him.

When Stewart did come back, he’d talk with Irwin for a bit, and then either retreat to his study or lock himself away in the master bedroom.

Jeannie barely got a chance to exchange a few words with him.

Thinking about it, Jeannie sighed quietly to herself.

…

Inside the master bedroom, Stewart stepped out of the bathroom, fresh from his shower, just as his phone began to ring. Cedric Clarke’s name flashed on the screen.

He answered, and Cedric’s voice came through immediately. “Lauren came in for tests at our hospital today. It’s late-stage pancreatic cancer.”

A faint smile tugged at Stewart’s lips. “Does Gavin know?”

“She went alone—she’s HIV-positive, there’s no way she’d let Gavin come to the hospital with her!”

Cedric paused, then added, “But she’s been with Gavin for four years. Odds are, he won’t escape unscathed either. I’m not saying I feel sorry for Gavin, but honestly, I do pity Mrs. Prescott a little.”

“I warned Jason,” Stewart replied coolly. “If he’s not a fool, he’ll know to make arrangements for Mrs. Prescott in advance.”

Cedric let out a sigh, about to say more, when the wailing of a child echoed in the background.

“Gotta go. The baby’s crying again—I need to calm him down…”

The call ended abruptly.

Stewart stared at his phone, the sound of the child’s sobs lingering in his ears.

He raised a large hand to cover his eyes.

The night stretched on, long and merciless.

—

Silverlake Town.

At dawn, the first gentle rays of sunlight parted the night’s veil, and the old town slowly woke from its slumber.

Morning light pierced the thin mist, scattering across the uneven rooftops of brick and slate.

Deep in the winding alleys, the occasional crow of a rooster or bark of a dog mingled with the faint rush of the river nearby.

Along the riverbanks, families set breakfast fires, the smoke curling into the morning fog, filling the air with the comforting scent of home.

In a townhouse draped with bougainvillea, on the east side of the second floor, an alarm sounded from the bedside table—its recording was right on cue: “Ring ring, ring ring—Little Nina, time to wake up!”

The cheerful, childish voice was full of life.

On the big bed, a little girl frowned in her sleep, rolled over, and snuggled deeper into her mother’s arms.

Briony, eyes half-closed, hugged her daughter close and pressed a gentle kiss to her hair. “Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Your sweetheart is still sleepy!”