CHAPTER 136: BABY’S HEARTBEAT

A prolonged silence followed Daniel’s question — thick, suffocating, and far too heavy for the hour.

He hadn’t planned to ask her that. The words had slipped past his lips before he could pull them back, before reason could intervene. Now, as the quiet stretched between them, his heart pounded harder with every second that passed.

He could hear the faint rhythm of her breathing, could see the way her lashes trembled ever so slightly — but Anna said nothing. Not a word.

She just... looked at him.

And the look in her eyes wasn’t anger or confusion — it was something far more unsettling. It was as if he’d peeled open a wound she had spent years pretending didn’t exist.

Daniel’s throat tightened.

"Did something happen?" he tried again, voice softer this time, his hand still hovering near her abdomen. "For you to get this?"

He didn’t know what he expected — denial, maybe, or another sarcastic deflection — but instead, Anna blinked slowly and answered, her tone flat, almost eerily calm.

"It’s a surgery scar."

Daniel froze. His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across his face before he could hide it.

’A surgery...’ he repeated in his mind. She said it so plainly, so directly, that for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond.

"Why do you look so surprised?" Anna asked suddenly, snapping him out of his thoughts. Her gaze was sharp, questioning — too perceptive for his liking.

Daniel’s fingers, still resting near the scar, retreated immediately. "I just... didn’t expect you to tell me," he admitted, clearing his throat. His mind scrambled for composure. "Most people would’ve deflected."

She frowned. "Why would I? You asked."

He hesitated, his mind torn between curiosity and restraint. "H-how did it happen? I mean... why did you have to go through a surgery?"

The second the words left his mouth, Anna’s expression shifted. Her lips pressed into a thin line, her brows narrowing as she leaned back slightly.

"Daniel Clafford," she said slowly, "are you trying to interrogate me?"

Daniel blinked. Busted.

He coughed lightly, forcing a chuckle to cover his slip. "Hah—interrogate? Why would I do that?" He forced on his trademark smirk, trying to regain control. "I was just... curious. Wanted to know if my wife is healthy enough to bear my child."

The words came out before he could stop them. And the moment they did — he regretted it.

’Why would I say that?’ he mentally cursed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Anna’s expression instantly darkened. Her jaw tightened, and her voice dripped disbelief. "Daniel, don’t you think you’re taking this too far?"

She sat up straighter, glaring at him. "Why would you even bring that up — when you know exactly what I did with that bottle?"

Her tone was sharp, filled with the kind of frustration only Daniel seemed capable of invoking in her.

’Is this really the same Daniel Clafford people call ruthless and untouchable?’ she thought bitterly, narrowing her eyes at him. Because right now, he just sounds desperate.

Daniel, however, didn’t dare respond. Her gaze — assessing, suspicious, far too clever — made the back of his neck prickle.

’She’s onto something... damn it,’ he thought, recalling Henry’s warning about pushing too far.

Then, mercifully, Anna sighed, clicked her tongue, and looked away — clearly deciding he wasn’t worth the energy tonight.

Daniel exhaled, his shoulders finally relaxing.

"You definitely need to sleep," she muttered, lying back down and turning away from him. "If not to rest, then to save yourself from saying anything dumber."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he watched her pull the blanket up to her chin.

"Goodnight to you too, wifey," he murmured under his breath.

But even as he lay beside her, Daniel’s eyes remained open, his thoughts tangled in the mystery of the scar, the surgery... and the quiet strength of the woman sleeping next to him.

For a long time he couldn’t sleep, but when he finally did, he slowly found himself slipping back to the same dream he thought was just a illusion he could get over.

....

[Flashback]

"She had complications during her pregnancy, but they weren’t severe enough to cause a miscarriage," the doctor said softly, eyes lowering as though afraid to meet his patient’s gaze.

Across the desk, Daniel sat motionless. His face — once the picture of poise, dominance, and composure — now looked gaunt and hollow, his eyes sunken and bloodshot from too many sleepless nights. His knuckles were white where they gripped the edge of the chair, the only thing anchoring him to the present.

The words pregnancy and miscarriage rang in his ears like a cruel echo. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t possible. That there had to be a mistake.

But he couldn’t.

Because deep down, he already knew the truth.

Anna was gone. And so was their child.

The same child he hadn’t even known existed until it was too late.

The doctor’s words blurred together after that. Something about stress, internal bleeding, complications — Daniel heard none of it. His mind was somewhere else, replaying every last moment he’d had with Anna. Every cold word, every fight, every look of disappointment in her eyes.

Only if he had been honest with her from the beginning...

Only if he had told her everything instead of letting his pride lead...

Maybe — just maybe — she would still be alive.

Mariam’s voice from that dreadful day haunted him still:

"We found Madam lying in the bathroom, Master. There was blood everywhere..."

Daniel had refused to believe it then. He still did. Because nothing about her death made sense. Anna had been careful — obsessive, even — about her health. She had been quiet, withdrawn, but determined to live for something.

No. For someone.

For their child.

And he hadn’t even known.

He swallowed hard, forcing the tightness in his throat down, and rose slowly to his feet.

"Thank you for your time, Doctor," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper.

But just as he turned to leave, the doctor’s voice stopped him.

"Mr. Clafford," he said hesitantly, reaching into his desk drawer. "There’s... something your wife left behind."

Daniel turned, his brow furrowing.

The doctor handed him a small envelope — pale and delicate, the kind hospitals used for reports and scans. "These are the ultrasound images and her medical reports. Mrs. Anna forgot to collect them during her last visit. I thought you should have them."

For a moment, Daniel just stared at the envelope in his hand, unable to move, unable to breathe. His wife’s name — Mrs. Anna Clafford — was printed neatly on the corner. Seeing it felt like someone was slicing open his chest.

He forced a polite nod, muttered a stiff "thank you," and left the clinic.

He had no recollection of how he got home — how the car drove itself through the city, how the front doors of the mansion opened, how the servants greeted him. Everything passed in a blur until he found himself standing before the one place that still smelled like her.

Anna’s room.

He pushed the door open slowly. The faint scent of her lavender perfume greeted him immediately, wrapping around him like a ghostly embrace. The air was still — painfully still — yet her presence lingered in every corner.

Her hairbrush lay on the vanity. A half-burned candle sat by the window. A book she had been reading rested face-down on the bed.

Daniel’s chest constricted painfully.

He walked in, closing the door behind him, and sat on the edge of her bed, she used to sleep on.

The envelope trembled in his grip as he stared at it. He knew what was inside. He’d heard it from the doctor. But his hands refused to open it, because once he did... it would be real.

The last trace of his wife and child.

He finally tore it open.

Inside were a few ultrasound images — small, black-and-white — and a CD labeled in Anna’s handwriting: "Baby’s heartbeat."

Daniel traced her handwriting with his thumb, the edges of the label smudging slightly under his trembling touch.

He hesitated for several seconds before standing up and sliding the disc into the small player near her nightstand. A few clicks. Static. And then — A faint, rhythmic sound filled the room.

Daniel froze. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor.

That sound, that fragile, steady heartbeat was everything he never knew he wanted.

It was their child. Their love. Their chance.

And he had lost it all.

He pressed his palm against his face, stifling a broken sob, his other hand clutching the ultrasound like it was his lifeline.

Anna had been so happy, the doctor said. She used to talk to their baby during the scans, whispering softly that they’d be okay — that no matter what happened, she would protect their child.

But Daniel... he had done nothing except destroy everything she ever tried to protect.

For hours, he stayed in that room and when the recording finally ended, the screen went blank. He sat in the dark, head bowed, the silence pressing against his ears.

In that moment, he made himself a promise one born not of redemption, but of guilt so deep it carved itself into his soul.

He begged for a chance — a miracle, a way to undo everything he had ruined. He prayed to gods he didn’t believe in, cursed the fate he had once thought he controlled. But no matter how many times he whispered her name, no matter how much he pleaded for another chance to bring his Anna and their child back... the silence around him never answered.

Still, he couldn’t stop.

Daniel sat there, surrounded by the ghosts of what once was, the envelope trembling in his grip. His breath came in shallow gasps, his chest heavy with grief that refused to fade. But then his gaze drifted toward the remaining stack of papers — the medical reports the doctor had slipped into the file.

For a long time, he just stared at them.

They were Anna’s. Her name was printed on every page in neat, cold ink — Mrs. Anna Clafford.

And yet, seeing that name over and over again made his throat tighten. It felt wrong. Empty.

Still, instinct took over. His trembling fingers reached for the papers, unfolding them one by one — desperate to hold onto anything that once belonged to her.

But the moment his eyes skimmed through the lines of medical jargon, something in him stilled. And suddenly, the world around him blurred as the words jumped off the page.

"Patient history: Previous major hepatic surgery (donation of approximately 60% of the liver)."