THE LOST HEIRESS RETURNS AFTER DIVORCE
Chapter 133: If I Hadn’t Called

Chapter 133: If I Hadn’t Called

Heather stood by the window of the hospital room, staring at Caius through the glass. She could barely hear what the doctor beside her was saying. She had completely zoned him out.

Her eyes stayed fixed on Caius.

It felt strange to see him like this—lying there, so still, so... human.

Caius always carried himself like nothing could touch him. He was untouchable, invincible in a way. He carried that air everywhere he went. And for the longest time, she believed it too.

But now... now he looked small, vulnerable. His face was bruised, cuts scattered across his skin, a bandage wrapped around his forehead.

Wires and tubes were attached to his arms, monitors beeping quietly beside the bed.

Her chest tightened with a guilt she couldn’t shake.

If she hadn’t called him again... if she’d just left things the way they were, maybe none of this would’ve happened.

But Alex had been crying, throwing a tantrum in Jake’s car, saying he didn’t want to leave with Jake. He wanted to be with his dad.

She just wanted to make her son happy. That’s why she called Caius. To tell him they were staying, that they’d wait for him to arrive.

That’s when it happened.

The sound still echoed in her ears—the chaos on the other end of the line. She lost control of her body in that moment. She could barely breathe, barely think.

"Heather?" The doctor’s voice cut through her fog.

She blinked, turning toward him. "Huh?"

"I’ve been calling you. You drifted off," he said gently.

Heather glanced between him and Adams, standing beside them. She realized she hadn’t heard half of what they’d been saying.

Adams cleared his throat, stepping in to cover for her. "Mrs. Thorne’s had a long night. She’s just... overwhelmed."

The doctor studied her for a moment, his expression softening. But then his eyes narrowed slightly as they dropped to her hand.

"You’re bleeding," he pointed out. "Are you hurt?"

Heather lowered her gaze to her palm. The deep cut from earlier was still there. She had completely forgotten to get it cleaned. She didn’t even feel anything now.

"It’s nothing," she muttered, curling her hand into a loose fist. "What did you say about my husband?"

The doctor hesitated, glancing at her hand again like he didn’t quite believe her. But he let it go.

"Mr. Thorne sustained critical injuries," he explained carefully. "The impact affected several parts of his body... but what concerns us most is his leg."

Heather’s chest tightened further as she listened.

"I read his treatment history; his family has a history of knee complications," the doctor continued. "He underwent an intensive surgical procedure when he was eight years old to repair a severe tissue injury. It was a complicated, high-risk surgery. They warned him then that his knee wouldn’t survive another major trauma."

Her stomach twisted.

"He’s torn through that tissue again," the doctor said softly. "The damage is... extensive. He’s going to be crippled for a long time."

Heather swallowed hard. She felt herself zoning out again, her mind drifting, pulling her eyes back to the window, back to Caius lying there, hooked up to machines, motionless.

How was she supposed to explain this to Alex? How could she look at their son, full of so much love for his father, and tell him the man who always seemed invincible might never walk the same again?

She barely noticed when the doctor kept speaking.

"We’re still assessing the full extent of his injuries," he added. "There’s internal bruising, a concussion, fractured ribs... but we’re confident he’ll survive."

She forced herself to refocus. "But the leg...?"

"It could take six months. Years. Maybe longer," the doctor admitted. His voice was steady, matter-of-fact, but not unkind. "In some cases... permanent damage is possible."

Heather glanced at Adams, whose face had paled slightly. He hadn’t expected that either.

Her mind flashed back to what people had said after the accident. Witnesses mentioned the truck that hit him didn’t look like a regular truck. Some said it had a bulldozer attachment at the front.

A bulldozer... on the private road.

That road was restricted. Only family members, employees, or trusted contractors had access. The Thornes kept their circle tight, and yet...

Why was a vehicle like that even there?

She’d seen Caius’s car herself. Crushed like tin foil. The front end was obliterated, glass shattered, metal bent in ways it shouldn’t have been. Looking at the wreckage, it didn’t seem possible anyone could’ve survived.

But Caius did. Somehow.

The doctor’s voice pulled her back. "You should have that hand checked before you leave."

Heather nodded vaguely as the doctor walked away, disappearing down the corridor. This hospital wing belonged to the Thornes—custom-built.

Grandma Ellie was just a few rooms down, but there was no way Heather could face her right now.

Adams offered a small, strained smile. "Master Caius... he’s strong. He’ll get through this."

Heather didn’t say anything. She just yawned, exhausted, her entire body aching with stress and tension.

"You should get some rest," Adams suggested gently. "I’ll stay with him tonight."

Heather hesitated, but the offer lifted some of the weight off her shoulders.

"You sure you’re okay staying?" she asked, even though deep down she was relieved he offered. It was the polite thing to ask, after all.

"I’ll be fine," Adams assured her. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but he meant well.

She watched him slip into Caius’s room, settling into the chair beside the bed.

Taking a breath, she pushed open the doors at the end of the hospital wing. The hallway beyond was flooded with reporters, their cameras flashing, their voices a constant hum of questions.

Heather stood still.

These people had no shame. Yes, it was their job—but couldn’t they give it a few days? Maybe wait until the family could breathe before shoving microphones in their faces?

Jake’s voice broke through the noise. "You okay?"

She turned toward him, drained. "I think so."

Jake didn’t push for details. He just placed a steady hand on her back and guided her through the crowd, keeping her shielded as best he could.

The next morning, when Heather returned to the hospital, she found Adams slumped in the chair outside Caius’s room, his long legs awkwardly bent, his face tight with discomfort.

She gently tapped his shoulder, waking him.

His eyes fluttered open, groggy, surprised to find her standing there with a faint smile.

"Go home, Adams," she said softly. "Get some proper rest."

"You sure?" Adams asked, even though his body sagged with relief at the suggestion. His politeness made him ask—but his posture said he couldn’t wait to get off that chair.

"Go," she insisted with a knowing smile.

The bed they’d brought him was too small. His tall frame didn’t fit, and he spent the night sit-sleeping, his body cramped and sore. He’d never slept so uncomfortably in his life.

Once Adams left, Heather stepped into Caius’s room. The air smelled of antiseptic and sterile fabric. Machines beeped softly in the background.

Caius looked... broken.

His face was bruised, stitched in places, thin white bandages covering cuts along his jawline and brow. His leg—both legs—were wrapped in medical gauze, his right knee heavily braced.

Heather’s heart sank.

She sat beside him, reaching for his hand, her fingers brushing the rough edges of his knuckles.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice cracked with the weight of everything she’d been holding in.

She was tired of fighting him. Her reaction last night wasn’t just about fear—it was frustration, hurt, years of his choices stacking one on top of the other.

And yet, looking at him now, she realized... no one was immune to tragedy. Not even Caius. He wasn’t untouchable, no matter how much he wanted the world to believe it.

She traced her eyes down to his legs again, remembering what the doctor said.

If only he’d told her about his knee... but deep down, she knew she probably wouldn’t have cared the way she cared now.

Because now, she understood how easily life could be snatched away.

No matter how angry she was, she never wanted him dead.

That would break her Alex. And Alex... Alex was all she had left to protect.

Heather leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please... just wake up."

And for the first time in a long time... she meant it.