Clark didn't miss the look of utter shock on Darius's face when he saw them enter the room. In an instant, that fleeting surprise was replaced by a cold and hardened expression. But no matter how much he tried to hide it, the tension in his movements betrayed him. He sat in silence as the hospital personnel explained the results of their investigation, as well as the sanctions imposed on those involved in the case. In the end, they also explained why it was necessary for everyone to be present for this meeting.
Beside Darius sat his wife—a stunningly beautiful woman with a calm aura. Unlike her husband, who brimmed with suppressed anger and disappointment, she seemed entirely unbothered. It was as if the complications in the surrogacy process, they were pursuing as a couple meant nothing to her.
Meanwhile, Angela remained quiet throughout the discussion. She kept her head bowed, seemingly avoiding everyone's gaze. If Clark hadn't whispered the questions she needed to answer, she might not have spoken at all. And even when she did, her responses were barely audible, forcing Clark to speak on her behalf. Clark's mother held Angela's other hand, occasionally whispering to her, trying to soothe her. Even Clark's parents found themselves speaking for Angela—a gesture that clearly displeased Darius. Clark noticed, even if no one else did.
Darius. The man Angela once loved. And now, here he was, facing her alongside his wife—a famous model, graceful in both manner and speech. From her perfectly styled hair, her flawless skin, to the careful selection of her clothes, everything about her screamed sophistication. She was the kind of woman one wouldn't expect to mingle with ordinary people. They were the perfect couple—both from wealthy families, both seemingly flawless in the eyes of others. And Angela? Just a shadow from the past.
Until the meeting ended, the woman's poised demeanor never faltered. But for Angela, each second of that encounter grew heavier and heavier. Darius's eyes seemed to pierce through her, as if silently judging her every move. His wife's gaze was cold and indifferent, as though silently declaring that Angela had no right to anything anymore. The pain Angela felt wasn't just from physical exhaustion—it came from the deep sense of inadequacy in front of them. Though she remained silent, her mind was full of questions and long-suppressed dreams.
Each moment felt like the weight of Angela's buried questions pressing down on her chest. "Just when I've finally stopped thinking about him, why does he suddenly show up again? Why am I even here?" If she could've escaped every second of facing Darius, she would've. But she couldn't. The pain was like a wound that refused to heal.
When the discussion finally ended, they quickly exited the hospital. Clark's parents tried to convince her to join them for a meal, but she gently shook her head.
"Uhm, can you give me some time? I just want to be alone," she said softly to Clark, trying to steady her trembling voice.
The young man looked at her, concern written all over his face. "Okay, just call me." He had never forced Angela into anything, but he always stayed close, ready to catch her if she fell. Even though he often had doubts about their relationship, the truth was, he was always a partner willing to wait for the one he loved.
Clark let Angela walk away—but silently followed her from a distance. It wasn't the first time he'd done it. Angela had once walked off alone at the height of emotional distress, and he had learned it was better to be sure she was safe. He kept just far enough not to be noticed, but close enough to respond if needed.
The air was cold and the street was quiet, with hardly a soul around. The streetlights lit her path, but each of Angela's steps felt like a looming shadow slowly drawing closer. The sound of her shoes against the concrete echoed like the last sound before darkness takes over.
As she walked, her body began to give in, yearning for rest. But her mind was still overwhelmed by indescribable emotions—anger, sorrow, and fear. And the one question she still couldn't answer: when would she finally forget, or could she ever forget Darius and all the pain he left behind?
Angela could no longer hold back her tears. She had been fighting them off all this time, but with each step, the voice in her mind grew louder. The pain, the resentment, the anger—all of it swirled into a storm that engulfed her once more.
"Why did this have to happen?" The scream echoed only in her thoughts, never spoken aloud. "What do you even want from my life? You've taken everyone I ever loved, and now here you are again, bringing another storm. What do you really want from me? Haven't you had enough of making me suffer?"
She kept walking, directionless, uncaring of anyone around her. Until she reached a street corner. She hadn't thought of where she was going—she just turned, choosing the longer way home. She felt like she needed to be exhausted, to drain every ounce of strength so that when she got back to the apartment, she wouldn't be able to think anymore.
But she didn't expect that someone would be waiting on that road—someone she wasn't ready to face.
Angela stopped in her tracks when someone blocked her path. Her head had been bowed the entire time, so she hadn't noticed the presence until then. Slowly, she lifted her gaze—first to the chest, then up to the neck, and finally, she met a pair of eyes—red and brimming with emotion.
Those eyes… she had long tried to forget. But now, here they were again. And this time, she had no choice but to face them.
Darius. Her past. The shard from an old wound.
But the question echoing in Angela's mind was…
"Can I still face this?"