Chapter 120
"Victoria, I'm fine. I understand he's overwhelmed with work," Evelyn replied, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
That evening, she attended her prenatal class, focusing intently on the instructor's words about pregnancy care - a welcome distraction from her turbulent thoughts.
She needed this escape.
But fate had other plans. The next morning, while scrolling through newsfeeds, a headline stabbed through her carefully constructed calm: "Wealthy socialite Victoria Sinclair spotted ring shopping with mystery beau."
Her breath hitched.
Though the photo was blurry, Evelyn would recognize Nathaniel's silhouette anywhere.
The timeline mocked her. Mere hours after signing divorce papers, he was already choosing rings with Victoria. The speed of his betrayal left her reeling.
Shutting off her phone with trembling fingers, Evelyn buried herself in pregnancy literature. With no afternoon classes scheduled, she retreated to her studio - financial independence had become crucial now that Nathaniel's support was gone.
Days passed without Nathaniel returning to their shared home. Evelyn refused to dwell on his absence, maintaining strict routines: balanced meals, prenatal vitamins, and intensive research on newborn care.
When doctors moved Eleanor from ICU to a regular ward, Evelyn prepared her signature chicken soup and headed to the hospital.
The scene in the ward froze her in the doorway. Victoria and Beatrice flanked Eleanor's bed, with Nathaniel standing sentinel beside them. "I'll come back later," Evelyn murmured, already retreating.
"Don't be ridiculous, dear," Eleanor chided warmly. "Come in."
Victoria's smile didn't reach her cold eyes as she gestured to a chair. "Mrs. Whitmore, please sit."
Evelyn ignored the offered seat, placing her thermos on the bedside table instead. "Grandmother, I made your favorite soup. Please have some when you're hungry."
"How thoughtful," Eleanor beamed. "And how's my great-grandchild treating you? Any morning sickness?"
The question hung heavily in the sterilized air.
"The baby's been surprisingly gentle with me," Evelyn admitted, fingers unconsciously tracing her barely-showing bump.
Eleanor chuckled. "Just like Nathaniel's mother! Beatrice sailed through her pregnancy without a single complaint."
Beatrice preened momentarily before her gaze dropped to Evelyn's stomach. Her smile vanished as if remembering this child would carry Bowen blood, not Harrington.
Evelyn wondered if her baby's calm demeanor was genetic - a quiet rebellion against the storm of its parents' failed marriage.
"We should let Grandmother rest," Nathaniel's baritone cut through the tension.
Evelyn squeezed Eleanor's papery hand. "I'll visit again soon."
"Take care of each other," Eleanor insisted, deliberately pressing Evelyn's hand into Nathaniel's.
Their palms connected like live wires. Evelyn flinched at the familiar warmth of his touch, acutely aware of Victoria's glare burning into their joined hands.
"Enough of this charade!" Beatrice snapped, wrenching them apart.
Evelyn stumbled back, only to find Victoria suddenly at her side, linking arms with false sweetness. "Mrs. Whitmore, might we have a word in private?"