Too Late To Win Me Back, Mr. Blackwell.

Chapter 3

Nora’s POV

Silence descended upon the kitchen.

I remained on the cold, broth-stained floor, curled into a tiny ball, clutching my left arm. The pain in my skin was unbearable, but the hollow, gaping void inside my chest hurt so much worse. had walked out. They had taken Isla to the hospital without checking if I was alive.

"Mrs. Blackwell?"

A soft, hesitant voice spoke from the pantry door. It was Maria, one of the middle-aged housemaids. Her eyes were wide with shock as she took in the ruined kitchen. She rushed over, kneeling beside me, her hands hovering over my shoulder in panic. "Oh my God, ma'am! Your arm... your leg! They're severely burned!"

"I... I need..." My voice failed me.

"Don't move, ma'am. Let me get a blanket," Maria said, her eyes brimming with tears of pity. "I'll call a taxi. I'm taking you to the hospital right now." I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to tell her I would go alone, that I didn't want anyone to see me like this, broken and pitiful. But when I tried to push myself up, my leg buckled, and a groan of agony escaped my lips. I couldn't walk. I nodded weakly, letting Maria wrap a coat over my shoulders and help me out to a waiting cab.

The hospital room smelled heavily of antiseptic and burn ointment.

The doctor, an older man with graying hair at his temples, finished wrapping the final layer of gauze around my left forearm and hand. My left leg, from the middle of my thigh down to my ankle, was encased in white bandages. "Mrs. Blackwell," the doctor said, settling onto a stool beside my bed, his face grim. "The burns are severe, but manageable with proper dressing and antibiotics. However... I reviewed your medical file from your visit earlier this week."

I looked down at my bandaged hands, staying silent.

"Your body is already weak," he continued, his tone filled with concern. "The stress and physical trauma like this are accelerating the timeline. You were given three months, but if you continue to endure shocks like this without rest... you won’t last three months. Do you understand me? You need to rest, or you will die much sooner."

I looked at the white bandages wrapping my arm. Three months. My life was shrinking like water in a drying well.

"I understand," I whispered softly. "Thank you, Doctor."

After the doctor left, Maria helped me put on a loose coat over my bandages. My leg was stiff and burning, each step feeling like needles piercing my heart, but I insisted on walking out under my own strength. I didn't want to stay in that room a second longer. As Maria guided me down the hospital corridor toward the exit, a familiar figure near the VIP consultation rooms caught my attention.

My feet froze.

Standing near the main nursing station was Adrian. Beside him stood Isla, her hands wrapped in white gauze, resting comfortably against her waist. Helena was hovering over her, holding a cup of warm tea, while Natalia sat on a nearby bench, holding a teddy bear that Adrian must have bought from the gift shop to comfort her. They were laughing. Adrian had his arm resting gently around Isla’s shoulders, pulling her close to whisper something in her ear that made her let out a sweet, delicate giggle. Natalia reached up, tugging on Isla's coat, showing her something on her tablet. Isla leaned down and kissed the top of Natalia’s head.

They looked so happy. So complete. Like a picture-perfect family enjoying a quiet morning together.

A nurse stepped out from the consultation room, holding a clipboard, and walked up to Adrian and Isla.

"Mr. Blackwell?" the nurse called out politely. "Your wife's prescription is ready at the pharmacy downstairs. Mrs. Blackwell just needs to keep her hands dry for the next three days."

I held my breath, my heart pounding against my chest, waiting for Adrian to correct her. Waiting for him to say, 'No, this is a friend. My wife is at home.'

Adrian didn't say a single word.

He took the prescription from the nurse's hand with a polite smile. "Thank you, Nurse. I'll make sure she takes her medication on time." He didn't correct her. He accepted the title for Isla without a second thought, entirely erasing my existence in front of the entire hospital staff.

A cold, hollow numbness washed over me.

"Mommy?"

Natalia's voice broke the silence. She had turned around and spotted me standing a few yards away, leaning heavily on Maria, my arm and leg wrapped in bandages. Adrian, Helena, and Isla all turned to look at me. The smiles instantly drained from their faces, replaced by cold indifference and annoyance.

Natalia took a step toward me, looking at my bandages, then looked back at Isla, who was watching her with an innocent gaze.

"Natalia..." I rasped, taking a slow step forward, reaching out with my one uninjured hand. "Sweetie..."

Natalia pulled back, taking a step behind Isla's skirt, her small face hardening into a look of clear rejection.

"I don't want to talk to you," Natalia said, her voice loud and clear in the quiet hallway. "You tried to hurt aunty Isla. Isla's my friend, and you were mean to her. Go away."

The words hit me harder than Helena's slap. My hand dropped to my side, trembling violently. I looked at my eight-year-old daughter—the child I had given birth to, the child for whom I was enduring this living hell—and saw only disgust in her eyes. Adrian didn't say a word. He didn't ask how severe my burns were. He didn't even acknowledge the white gauze covering half my body. He simply wrapped his hand around Isla's waist, guiding her away from me toward the elevators.

"Let's go, Isla," Adrian said calmly, his back turned to me. "The car is waiting downstairs."

Helena took Natalia's hand, giving me one last disdainful glance before following them down the hall.

I stood there in the center of the bustling hospital corridor, supported only by the trembling hands of a maid, as my husband, my daughter, and the woman who had replaced me walked away, leaving me behind in the cold, silent dark.