Erased and Reborn: Rise of The Billionaire's Wife

Chapter 2

Her heart sank.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said desperately. “Please believe me. This is a misunderstanding. Please… ask Cl—”

“Ask me what?”

Claire stood up suddenly.

She stepped forward, placing herself deliberately between Jake and Laura, her eyes blazing as she pointed an accusing finger straight at Laura’s chest.

“What are you even doing here?” Claire snapped. “Haven’t you done enough already? You nearly killed my son, and now you show up pretending to care?”

“That’s not true!” Laura cried. “You know what you did… stop pretendi..!”

Before Claire could finish responding…

SLAP!

The sound cracked through the hallway.

Laura’s head snapped violently to the side as pain exploded across her cheek. Gasps rippled through the nearby patients and nurses.

She staggered back, one hand flying to her face, disbelief flooding her eyes.

Jake stood before her, with a heaving chest, his dark eyes uncontrollable with rage.

“You disgusting liar,” he barked. “How long are you going to hide behind that excuse?”

“Jake…”

“You’ve been jealous since the day he was born!” he interrupted. “Because you couldn’t give me a child. Five years, Laura. Five years!”

Tears burned her eyes, but she refused to look away.

“I loved him,” she said hoarsely. “I treated him like my own.”

Jake stepped closer, pointing at her with trembling fury.

“If anything happens to my son,” he warned, “I swear you will pay for it.”

Claire moved slowly, wrapping her arms around Jake from behind, her cheek pressed against his back.

“Please,” she murmured softly, loud enough to be heard. “This isn’t helping anyone. I know she’s hurting because she doesn’t have a child of her own… but she’s still your wife.”

Laura’s fingers curled slowly into fists.

Her lips trembled… not with pain, but with rage, the fact she could no longer bear her cruel act, she caught the faint curve of a smirk on Claire’s face before it vanished almost too sudden

You’re enjoying this, Laura realized.

You always have.

“Stop pretending,” Laura said aloud, her voice shaking. “You make me sick.”

Claire stiffened.

Before either of them could speak, the ward door opened.

A doctor stepped out, a file held firmly in his hand.

“Please keep your voices down,” he said calmly. “This is a private ward.”

Jake straightened immediately.

“I’m sorry, doctor,” he said urgently. “How is my son?”

The doctor hesitated.

“I’m sorry, but his condition is critical,” he said cautiously. “We managed to stop the internal bleeding, but there’s significant brain damage. He won’t regain consciousness anytime soon.”

The hallway fell silent.

For the first time, genuine panic flickered across Claire’s face.

She tried to rush forward, but Jake held her back, and the doctor gently blocked her path.

“Please remain calm,” the doctor urged.

Jake nodded stiffly and pulled Claire into his embrace.

Laura's knees buckled in despair. Hearing the doctor's words, something inside her shattered.

She collapsed onto the floor, unable to control the grief surging through her for a child who wasn't hers… yet felt entirely like her own.

Her mouth opened wide, but no sound emerged. Only silence filled the air.

The hours that followed blurred into a harsh cycle of blame and whispered accusations. People passing through the corridor slowed down, their gazes lingering on Laura as if she didn’t belong there; as if she were wearing grief that wasn’t meant for her. Each sharp word from Jake cut deep, merciless accusations hurled without restraint.

Laura remained silent.

She quickly learned that every word she offered only made things worse.

Jake finally left just before dawn, pointing an accusing finger at her one last time. As she watched him go, her lips moved in silent prayer… not because of Jake's words or the accusations directed at her, but because she loved him… she cared for him as if he were truly hers.

She had cradled him when he cried. Watched him sleep. Felt his small arms cling to her as if she were his safe haven. The warmth of that love still lingered painfully in her chest, hoping he would get better.

Eventually, the corridor grew quiet. Too quiet.

Laura sat rigidly on a cold bench, her fingers curled tightly into her palms and shoulders hunched forward as though bracing against an invisible weight. Across from her sat Claire, perfectly still with straight posture and hands neatly folded in her lap.

She hadn’t cried. Not once. For her own child.

The silence between them felt unsettling.

Laura avoided looking at Claire. Every time she did, something sour rose in her throat… a sense of unease and dread that she couldn’t quite explain.

How could a mother sit like that?

Her thoughts drifted… unwanted but relentless.The bruises she’d cleaned in silence. The nights she’d rocked the boy to sleep. The way Claire had snapped at him for spilling water… for breathing too loudly… for existing wrong. And yet every single time, the blame had landed on her.

Her chest tightened painfully at the thought, when the sound of approaching footsteps broke the silence.

Laura looked up just as the doctor emerged. One look at his face and she was on her feet.

“Is he—?” She rushed forward. “How is he? How's he doing now?”

Her eyes searched his face desperately, clinging to any glimmer of hope.

The doctor paused for a moment, saying nothing.

Then his expression softened with sorrow.

“I’m sorry,” he spoke gently. “We did everything we could, but we lost the child.”

The words didn’t register at first.

“We…we lost him?” Laura whispered.

“He couldn't pull through,” the doctor continued quietly. “The injuries were too severe…”

“No!” Laura screamed.

She didn’t wait for him to finish; she turned and ran, frantic.

Claire's head jerked up in disbelief as Laura vanished down the corridor.

In the next moment, the doors burst open as she stormed into the ward. The air was thick with antiseptic and something colder.

Death.

The child lay beneath a thin white sheet, impossibly still. His face was pale, with dry lips and lashes resting softly against his cheeks. He looked smaller now, quiet and far too still.

“No!—no, no, no…” Laura sobbed as she sank to her knees, pulling back the white sheet and clutching his small hand between hers.

“I’m here,” she cried. “I’m here now—please wake up… please!”

Her forehead pressed against his arm as her body shook violently.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I should have protected you better. I should have noticed sooner. Please don’t leave me.”

Memories crashed over her mercilessly: his laughter, his tiny fingers gripping her sleeve, the weight of him sleeping against her shoulder.

“I love you,” she whispered brokenly. “I love you so much.” Her cries echoed softly off the walls as the door opened behind her.

Laura didn’t turn or raise her head when footsteps approached slowly.

Claire stopped at the foot of the bed.

For a long moment, she said nothing.

She only stared at the small, still body, her expression unreadable—as if studying the end of a story she already knew by heart.

That silence shattered something inside Laura.

She turned to Claire, tears blurring her vision and anger cutting through her grief like shattered glass.

“You did this!” Laura screamed, her voice raw and ragged. “You hurt him. You blamed me to cover it up. You let them think I was cruel—let Jake believe it!”

Her knees nearly buckled as she staggered closer.

“How could you?” she sobbed. “How could you do this to your own child?”

Claire moved closer, stepping to the bedside and resting her hand on the boy’s arm. His skin felt cold against her fingers.

For a brief moment, something flickered across her face—perhaps recognition or calculation.

Then, unexpectedly, her lips curved into a smile.

The last trace of guilt faded away, replaced by a calmness so profound that it made Laura's breath catch painfully in her throat.

Claire exhaled softly, almost laughing.

“Cry?” she asked, finally lifting her gaze. “Why would I cry… for a child that was never mine?”