CHAPTER 159: CHAPTER 159- THE BABY

"I’m sorry..."

Her voice was small. Cracked.

Even though she couldn’t see, Janet knew he was bleeding. She had hurt him. Again.

And it was killing her.

Charles said nothing at first. Just held her tighter.

The regret in her voice burned deeper than the bite in his flesh.

She wasn’t just hurting herself anymore—she was dragging him down into the darkness with her.

"It’s me who should be sorry," he whispered. "If it hurts, you have to tell me. Scream. Cry. Just don’t shut me out. I’m here, Janet. I’m always here."

He brushed away the tears from her face with the back of his bloodied hand.

No matter how she lashed out—

As long as she was still holding on.

As long as she still remembered him—

He could take it.

"I... I can’t tell dreams from reality anymore..."

She nestled closer to his chest, breathing in the scent she had memorized long ago.

Charles.

Her Charles.

Time had become shapeless.

Every day blended into the next, and her world had been pitch black for so long now.

She didn’t know how much longer she could hold on.

"I’m scared... One day I might forget you. And if I do, I’ll die, Charles. I swear I will..."

Charles tightened his arms around her.

"Even if it’s a dream, I want you to dream of me," he said. "You’re not allowed to forget me, Janet. Ever."

Her eyes closed slowly, lashes still wet with tears that sparkled like morning dew.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead, then lay beside her—

Just watching her.

Watching the way her chest rose and fell, the way her lips parted slightly as she drifted off.

Blood was still trickling from his hand.

He didn’t even notice.

The wound didn’t hurt anymore.

"Boss, we might try acupuncture to block the pressure points triggering the pain," said the doctor, his voice calm but cautious. "Silver needles could help relieve her headaches temporarily... but it’s not a long-term solution. And it could affect the baby."

The baby.

Charles had called in some of the most respected neurologists in the field.

But no one could offer a solution that didn’t involve trade-offs.

Relieve her pain—or risk the child.

There was no middle ground.

What stunned them all, though, was how stubbornly the baby clung to life.

Even as Janet’s body withered from the illness, the child inside her had endured every episode, every seizure, every violent storm of pain.

And Charles couldn’t help thinking—

If the baby did start to harm her...

He would hate it.

He already did.

"Then what are you waiting for? Do it!" he snapped.

And without another word, he turned and headed upstairs.

Giles followed with the two neurologists in tow.

Janet was awake when they arrived.

"Charles... who’s here?"

Her voice was tight.

Fearful.

She sat up in bed, instinctively reaching out to sense the number of strangers in the room.

She hated having unfamiliar people upstairs.

Since her illness began, only Charles had been allowed into their space.

"No one dangerous," Charles soothed gently. "Just the doctors. Don’t be scared. They’re going to help you. It’ll be quick. Just a little pinch on your head, okay?"

She hesitated—until she caught the scent of strangers.

Janet’s fingers wrapped tightly around his hand.

"I’m here," Charles said softly, brushing her hair back.

"Don’t be afraid. I’m not going anywhere."

"...The baby," she whispered, curling into herself protectively.

She was scared they’d hurt it.

"She’s fine. No one’s going to touch her."

Charles ran his hand gently over her abdomen in reassurance.

"She’s safe. Close your eyes. It’ll be over soon."

Slowly, Janet relaxed.

She closed her eyes and lay back.

Then came the needles—light pricks on her scalp, cold and unfamiliar.

They hurt.

But not like the other pain.

This pain, she could handle.

The needle therapy lasted half an hour.

When the last silver pin was gently withdrawn, Janet had already drifted off to sleep again, her breathing soft and even.

Charles sat beside her and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her damp cheek before quietly rising to walk the doctors out.

"How is she?" he asked the moment they stepped into the hallway.

His voice was tight with urgency. "Can she still handle it?"

"This is the most conservative method," one of the neurologists replied. "The medications have stopped working, so acupuncture is the best we can do for now. But it can only be administered once a week, at most."

He hesitated before adding,

"She’s not at her worst yet, but Boss... you need to be prepared.

When the confusion starts to set in—when her consciousness begins to blur—that’ll be the critical moment. You won’t be able to wait anymore."

Charles stiffened.

"You mean... when she no longer knows who I am?"

That was his greatest fear.

The moment she would forget him.

He’d told himself he was ready—told himself a thousand times.

But the truth was, he wasn’t.

And when the day came, he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

"Yes," the doctor said solemnly. "But for now, while she’s still lucid, encourage her to interact with others. A lighter, brighter state of mind could help delay the decline."

Charles nodded.

"I understand."

He stood at the top of the stairs, unmoving, watching as Giles escorted the doctors out.

From above, the grand estate stretched before him.

He stood like a king in his crumbling castle, heart constricting with every passing breath.

So this day was coming, after all.

There was no escaping it.

He returned to her side.

For hours, he didn’t move—just watched her sleep.

Listened to the soft, rhythmic sound of her breath.

To him, it was the most beautiful music in the world.

As long as she was still beside him, still breathing, he could endure anything.

A tickle brushed his face.

Janet stirred slightly, her fingers brushing along his jaw.

She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was him.

And this time... when she woke, something felt different.

The crushing weight in her skull had lessened, like someone had removed a chain from her brain.

For the first time in days, she felt like she could breathe.

"You’re awake," Charles murmured, his voice rough with exhaustion.

"Does your head still hurt?"

Janet’s chest tightened.

She could hear the fatigue in him, feel it in the tremble of his voice.

He hadn’t slept.

Not properly.

Not since the pain had started.

He never left her side.

He’d wake at the slightest sound, murmuring soft reassurances, brushing her hair from her face.

And though he never spoke of it, Janet could feel the way she was slowly breaking him.

The scent of smoke clung to him now—he had started smoking, though he never used to.

He did everything she asked, never once bringing up her condition.

But she knew.

Her body was failing.

Sometimes, the pain was so sharp it felt like drowning—

Like she was reaching for a lifeline that kept slipping further away.

And then she’d hear his voice.

Pleading.

A man who never begged... begging her not to leave.

"Charles," she said quietly, "I’m okay now. I... I want to go outside for a bit."

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in bed.

But whenever she had the strength, she liked to make her way to the garden—the one place she still felt alive.

The scent of flowers, the chirping of birds, the creak of the wooden swing he had built for her—it all reminded her she still existed.

"Alright," Charles said gently, "I’ll carry you."

Before she could protest, he had already scooped her into his arms.

This time, Janet didn’t resist.

She had no strength to.

And... she didn’t want to.

She wanted to stay in his arms a little longer.

She didn’t know how much longer this warmth would still be there for her.