Better Late Than Never Loved

After leaving that street, I returned to my bookstore.

Seven years ago, after I left the Jackson family, it was my husband, Ian Parker, who took me in. He was also the one who opened this bookstore for me.

My fingers absentmindedly traced the wood grain of the desk as my thoughts drifted back to seven years ago.

Back then, I was pregnant with Timothy's child.

Esther's chest hurt, and Timothy insisted on staying by her side.

I grabbed his arm and told him I wasn't feeling well. I asked him to take me to the hospital.

However, he shook me off and impatiently said, "Naomi, why are you so dramatic? Esther isn't feeling well. What's wrong with me taking extra care of her?"

The force of his shove threw me off balance. I tumbled down the stairs.

My stomach slammed into the sharp edge of a step. Pain shot through me, and I curled up on the ground.

He didn't even look at me once before turning around and leaving.

Lying on the floor, I felt something warm flowing out of my body. There was more and more of it.

I called his name repeatedly, but he never answered.

When I looked up, I saw Esther sitting in the passenger seat of his car through the window. She was looking at me through the window too.

She saw me falling down the stairs, me lying on the ground, and the blood pooling around me.

Yet she never warned Timothy.

She simply watched. She then smiled and rolled up the car window.

Once their car was gone, I dragged my bleeding body toward the front door.

I clawed into the grout lines between the tiles until my nails broke.

Ian happened to be driving by. When he saw me crawling on the steps, he panicked.

He carried me into his car and ran red lights all the way to the hospital.

But it was too late. The baby was gone.

When I woke up after surgery, Ian was the only one sitting beside my hospital bed.

The moment he saw my eyes open, he said calmly, "The baby's gone."

I stared at the ceiling. I felt completely hollow.

The next day, Timothy was about to accompany Esther overseas for recovery.

I climbed out of my hospital bed, pulled the IV needle from my hand, and returned to the Gibson residence.

Timothy was packing his luggage. When he saw me standing in the doorway, he frowned.

"What are you doing here?"

"Don't go." My eyes welled with tears as I grabbed his sleeve.

"Timothy, please don't go."

He shook me off.

"Naomi, can you stop making a scene?

"Esther isn't well. She needs to recover overseas. I can't leave her alone," he said impatiently.

He never noticed that my stomach was flat.

He never noticed that my face was pale or that my legs were trembling just from standing.

All he thought about was Esther.

Standing there in front of him, I suddenly felt calm.

I retrieved the divorce agreement from my purse and handed it to him.

Without even reading it properly, he signed it and tossed it back to me.

"Naomi, stop using such pathetic tricks to keep me around."

He then wheeled his suitcase away without a single glance back at me.

I watched him disappear through the doorway. The signed divorce papers were crumpled in my hand.

That night, it rained. I stood outside the Gibson residence until I collapsed.

When I woke up, Ian was beside me.

He said, "Naomi, come with me."

I nodded.

"Mommy!"

A sweet little voice suddenly pulled me out of my memories.

I looked up and saw my phone screen light up. It was a message from Ian.

[I just picked David up from school. I bought some cake too. We'll wait for you before we eat.]

I looked at the screen and smiled.

David Parker was the son Ian and I had. He was five years old.

I replied with a simple 'okay' and slipped my phone back into my pocket.

Just then, the wind chime above the shop door rang.