“Julian…”
Queenie’s voice trembled from his arms, so weak it was barely audible, laced with tears and broken sobs.
“Our baby… Julian, our baby… I’m so scared… It’s all my fault… Maybe if I’d held onto Gwyneth’s hand tighter… maybe this wouldn’t have happened…”
Her feeble, halting attempt at an explanation was like gasoline on a fire, instantly igniting the frustration and helpless panic that Julian had been fighting to keep in check.
Didn’t hold on tight enough?
Was that supposed to make sense, after what he’d seen so clearly in that video?
“Enough,” Julian growled, his voice rough with exhaustion, “Just focus on yourself and the baby.”
He shot a glare at Gwyneth, who was still standing on the stairs above, watching the chaos unfold with a smug smile. Without another word, he gathered Queenie up in his arms and rushed toward the car.
Desiree’s carefully applied makeup was already ruined, smudged and streaked from her anxious fingers. She didn’t understand how Gwyneth always managed to slip through every trap, always emerging untouched. As she looked down at Gwyneth’s calm, almost triumphant expression, the resentment inside her twisted even deeper.
——————
At the hospital.
Julian burst into the emergency room, carrying Queenie in his arms. Her face was as white as a sheet, and she was clutching her stomach, groaning and writhing in pain.
“Doctor!” Julian shouted, his voice raw and desperate. “Please, help her! Help the baby!”
The shock and suspicion from that video he’d seen earlier faded for the moment, swept away by the sight of the dark red stain spreading across Queenie’s dress and the agony twisting her face.
A strange sense of responsibility settled over him. He hadn’t exactly been looking forward to this child, but still—it was his child.
Queenie had planned everything in advance. The doctor she’d arranged slipped through the doors, quickly ushering them into a side room. After a rushed examination, the doctor’s expression grew grave. He pulled Julian aside.
“Mr. Locke, I’m very sorry…” The doctor adjusted his glasses, voice low and somber. “Queenie’s condition is critical. The impact caused a placental abruption, and the bleeding is severe. We did everything we could, but the baby… there was nothing we could do.”
“Nothing you could do?”
It was as if something heavy had slammed into Julian’s skull, leaving his mind ringing and empty.
The child had come and gone in the blink of an eye.
The doctor shook his head with a sigh. “I’m sorry for your loss. Queenie herself has suffered some injuries and needs rest.”
Julian moved through the hospital corridor in a daze, barely aware of the world around him.
Inside the hospital room, Queenie lay on the bed, her face bone-white, lips devoid of color. She stared up at the ceiling with empty eyes, silent tears tracking down her temples. She looked so fragile, as if she might shatter at the slightest touch.
Seeing her like this, every accusation Julian had been ready to hurl stuck in his throat, refusing to come out.
“Julian…”


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