Chapter 3

Giana's POV

I had my back to the ward door, lying on my side while taking the call.

When I heard the door open, I quickly hung up, put down my phone, closed my eyes, and pretended to be asleep.

Peyton walked in full of anger, but when he reached the bedside, I had my eyes closed with steady breathing.

He frowned and reached out to shake me awake.

"Giana, wake up. Were you having a nightmare? I heard you saying something about... not loving anymore?"

I slowly opened my eyes.

I lowered my gaze and said flatly,

"It's nothing. I just dreamed about our child who was five months along but never got to see this world. In the dream, he asked me why mommy didn't want him, asked if it was because we didn't love him."

Peyton's chest tightened, his breathing becoming somewhat stifled.

He sat down on the hospital bed and reached out to pull me into his arms, his voice somewhat strained.

"I know losing this child made you very sad, but we can have another one."

After a pause, he added, "In the future, however many you want, we'll have that many, okay?"

I didn't speak, only feeling that the warmth of that embrace could no longer melt the coldness in my heart.

We could have more children, but so what?

Having more could never bring back this child I had been so looking forward to.

Besides.

What Peyton didn't know was that after losing the baby last month, I had him unknowingly sign a divorce agreement and filed for divorce.

Soon, our divorce would be finalized.

I pushed him away and asked softly,

"Weren't you keeping Summer company? Why are you here? Is something wrong?"

"What are you saying?"

Peyton frowned in displeasure, scanning the bandages on my head and the cast on my left arm.

"You're my wife. You were in a car accident and hospitalized with injuries. How could I keep someone else company and leave you alone?"

I found his words quite laughable, because I'd already done the examinations myself, gone into the operating room alone to get stitches and have a cast put on.

Too lazy to argue with him, my tone remained flat.

"I'm not going to die. If you have things to do, go ahead. You don't need to worry about me. The nurses here are enough."

But Peyton didn't move.

We'd shared a bed for so many years. I could read him with one glance.

"Is there something else you want to say?"

Peyton's expression froze, his tone unnatural.

"Summer isn't feeling well. She wants to have the soup you used to make."

I stiffened. I was in a car accident and hospitalized with injuries, yet he came to ask for soup for another woman?

That soup was something I'd asked doctors about and tried making again and again, specifically to treat the stomach problems he'd developed when he was young.

Trying hard to suppress the emotions rising in my heart, I laughed sarcastically.

"Do you want me to go home right now and make soup for her?"

"...No, that's not what I mean."

Peyton also seemed to realize how absurd this request was. He quickly said,

"Giana, you don't have to do it yourself. Just tell me the recipe and I'll make it when I get back."

Five years of marriage, and he'd never cooked for me once. But now he was willing to make soup for Summer himself.

I tugged at the corner of my lips. "Fine. I'll tell you the recipe. Write it down."

Slowly and deliberately, I told him the recipe.

Peyton looked at me. "Giana, you..."

"Mr. Lancaster, Miss Summer says her wrist hurts terribly. Do you want to go check on her?" Just then, his assistant's voice came from outside the door.

Peyton's words were interrupted. He frowned, his tone impatient.

"I'm not a doctor. If she's in pain, can't you find a doctor to see her?"

Though he said this, he still turned and quickly left.

Watching the man's hurried departing figure, I couldn't describe what I was feeling.

Perhaps I was already so used to seeing him anxious about Summer that my numb heart couldn't stir up any waves.

After the soup was made, Peyton had someone bring me a serving too.

But I didn't have it. I lay in bed with my eyes closed, sleeping.

However, not long after, Peyton suddenly burst into the ward and yanked me up from the hospital bed.

"Giana!"

He was dark and menacing, his grip strong enough to crush my bones.

"What the hell did you put in that recipe? Summer had the soup and now her stomach hurts terribly! You'd better explain yourself!"