He Realized My Worth, But I Chose Saving Lives

Sabrina had taught Noah well.

For someone so young, he already carried himself with an ambition that felt far beyond his years. It was hard not to notice how much he resembled Michael—not just in his features, but in how he carried himself.

The aloofness. The quiet arrogance. That unshakable confidence.

And honestly, I didn't hate it.

At least with that personality, he wouldn't cry for his mom when I left.

Just then, Michael's phone rang. He answered, spoke briefly in his usual clipped tone, and then turned toward me.

His expression was distant, his words colder still. "It's my mom. She wants to talk to you."

I glanced up at him, trying not to let my emotions show. It didn't matter how icy he was to me. Seeing his face still made my heart beat. That obsessive love I'd harbored for him back in university was a nightmare I could never quite shake, no matter how much I told myself I'd moved on.

I took the phone from him without a word, and he turned back toward the kitchen, leaving me alone with the call.

On the balcony, I pressed the phone to my ear and was greeted by his mother's familiar, cold voice, which sounded eerily similar to his.

"Don't think for a second that transferring a million dollars will change my opinion of you. Tell me, what's your scheme this time?"

Her words hit like a slap, but they didn't surprise me. I'd heard this tone before, over and over again. Michael's parents had never accepted me because I wasn't born into wealth. After all, I came from an ordinary family and had made my way as a self-made doctor.

I'd spent years trying to win their approval, jumping through hoops that never seemed to end. But no matter what I did, it was never enough. Their dislike had hardened into outright contempt.

Even the million dollars I'd sent for Noah—an amount meant for his future—was seen as some kind of manipulative ploy.

I kept my voice steady and patient. "Mom, I understand you and Dad have never been fond of me. You've always wanted someone like Sabrina for your son. And you know what? You were right. Sabrina is incredible. I see that now, more clearly than ever."

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

When she finally spoke again, her tone was sharp. "Eliza, what nonsense are you talking about? You're the one who's always too busy with your hospital work. We've never tried to break up your marriage. Have you told Noah about this?"

"No," I replied evenly. "Don't worry. I know what's appropriate to say and what isn't. The money isn't part of some scheme—it's for Noah. He'll need it for his studies and to live comfortably in the future. If Michael remarries, he might have his own children, and Noah might not get the same attention. I adopted Noah, so it's my responsibility to plan for him. I'm sure you and Dad, as his grandparents, understand that."

Her voice grew tense. “Are you… divorcing?”

"Yes," I admitted, my tone calm. "Probably in the next few days. Don't worry—I won't take anything from him. Not the house, not the shares, nothing. Everything will stay with Michael. All I ask is that you and Dad continue to look after Noah."

"This… this is ridiculous!" she snapped. “What on earth are you thinking? Noah has been practically raised by us. We'd never mistreat him. But what's your plan here? Do you have someone else lined up? Someone more powerful or influential? Is that why you're doing this?”

I didn't bother correcting her. "It doesn't matter what I do now. After all, things are finally moving in the direction everyone wanted, right?"

The line went quiet. I said a polite thank you and ended the call. There wasn't anything left to say.

Sabrina was at the piano with Noah when I stepped back inside, guiding him through a new song.

My gaze lingered on them a little too long, and Noah noticed. He squirmed uncomfortably and frowned at me.

"Aunt Sabby says this is about balancing work and play," he said as if to justify himself. "Playing music doesn't mean I'm not practicing."

I knew what he was really saying. Earlier, I'd overheard him telling Sabrina, "I don't want to play with Mom. I want to practice with Aunt Sabby."

I smiled faintly. I wasn't angry or even hurt. Noah was growing up to be a remarkable kid.

That was all that mattered.

At dinner, the table was covered in dishes that Noah and Sabrina liked—perfectly cooked steaks, delicate salads, everything laid out just so.

"There's still a box of tiramisu in the fridge," Michael said as the meal ended. He started to rise. "I'll go grab it.”

"I'll help you plate it," Sabrina offered quickly, her voice bright.