Han Chen stood near the bed in the sterile, white hospital room, his hands casually tucked in his pockets as he glanced down at the woman resting there. An IV was attached to her hand, a slight hint of color returning to her cheeks.
"I'm so sorry, President Han," Li Yun said softly, offering him a weak, apologetic smile.
"I didn't mean to disrupt the meeting. I have no idea how I could've gotten food poisoning…"
He waved it off, his expression polite but impassive. "It's alright. Accidents happen. Just focus on resting today. I'll have Jiang Wei reschedule anything that needs your attention." He gave her a brief nod, stepping back. "I'll take care of the paperwork for you."
Li Yun nodded gratefully, her eyes lingering on him as he left the room. Han Chen made his way to the reception desk, signaling for the receptionist.
"Patient Li Yun's papers, please," he said, his voice smooth and professional. As he waited, he heard the distant wail of ambulance sirens, piercing through the murmuring noise of the hospital corridors. He barely paid it any mind, signing the papers as the receptionist handed them to him.
But then he heard something—something that made his hand freeze mid-signature. A name, shouted urgently by a nurse down the hall.
"Mrs. Han! please respond."
The sound of her name echoed through the air, and for a moment, he thought he'd misheard. But then he saw it—the rush of doctors and nurses, huddling around a stretcher that was being pushed hurriedly through the corridor. His gaze locked onto the person lying on it, and the pen slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the floor.
Time seemed to slow down as he took in the sight.
There she lies motionless on the stretcher, her face pale and unrecognizable, her usually gentle features twisted with pain, lips tinged blue. Her hair was plastered to her forehead, damp and clinging to her pale skin. Her hand dangled limply off the side, and below her waist… there was a pool of blood. So much blood, seeping through the thin hospital sheet, staining it a dark, ominous red.
The paper slipped from his hands as well, fluttering to the floor, but he didn't notice. His entire body went numb, a cold dread gripping his chest, rooting him in place. He can see the doctor's mouth moving, but the words were just a muffled blur, drowned out by the frantic pounding of his own heartbeat.
He stood there, unable to breathe, unable to process the image before him. It was as if his mind couldn't register what his eyes were seeing, as though the bleeding woman on the stretcher, is someone else entirely—someone who couldn't possibly be his wife.
But then, reality hit him like a ton of bricks.
Feng Mian.
His wife.
The woman he'd left alone at home. She is here, in front of him, lying lifelessly on a hospital stretcher, covered in blood, slipping further away with every passing second.
A surge of panic ripped through him, breaking him free from his daze. He moved instinctively, his feet carrying him forward, faster than he'd ever moved before, his mind unable to form coherent thoughts. He only knew that he needed to get to her, to reach her somehow.
"Feng Mian!" he shouted, his voice rough, almost strangled.
He broke into a run, following the stretcher as the doctors rushed it toward the operating room, his gaze locked on her still, fragile form. But as he reached the doors to the OPD, they swung it shut in his face, like a harsh barrier cutting him off from her.
With a soft groan, Feng Mian stirred, her eyelids fluttered as she struggled to open them. The first thing she saw was a white, bland ceiling above her, devoid of any warmth or familiarity. A faint, sterile scent of disinfectant hung in the air, and as her senses slowly sharpened, she began to take in her surroundings.
The rhythmic beeping of a machine nearby echoed softly in the otherwise silent room. She felt the tug of an IV attached to her right hand, the cool liquid dripping steadily into her veins. So… she is alive? The thought drifted through her mind, light and detached, as though she is still halfway between sleep and waking.
Her gaze drifted across the room, finally coming to rest on a figure slouched on the sofa against the far wall. He sat with his head resting on his hand, his face partially obscured, his posture bent. Even in his sleep, there was a tension to his form, as if he had been here for days.
Han Chen.
She blinked, almost surprised to see him there. Her gaze softened briefly, lingering on him as she tried to process the sight. But then, something inside her jolted, and her hand moved instinctively to her stomach. Her fingers pressed against her abdomen, her heart hammering as she realized… something felt wrong. Her stomach felt flatter than it should, emptier.
Panic rose in her chest as she stared down, her fingers trembling.
Just then, the door opened, and a doctor walked in, closely followed by a nurse. They approached her bedside, the doctor offering a warm, reassuring smile as he noticed her open eyes.
"Oh, I see you're awake," he said kindly, his tone gentle. "You've been through quite an ordeal."
Feng Mian barely heard him. Her gaze remained fixed on her hand over her stomach, her breathing quickening as dread tightened around her heart. Her lips parted, her voice barely a whisper. "Doctor…"
The doctor's face softened, a shadow of sympathy passing through his eyes. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, taking a slow breath before speaking. "Mrs. Han, I'm truly sorry… but the impact of your fall was severe. We… we had to abort the pregnancy to save your life."
The words hit her like a physical blow, vibrating through her, each syllable carving deeper into her heart. For a moment, everything around her faded—the sterile scent, the beeping machines, the faint murmur of the hallway outside. All she could feel was the hollow ache inside her, the numbness spreading through her limbs as the reality sank in.
She stared blankly at her hand on her stomach, the hope she'd carried for so long slipping through her fingers like sand.
A figure approached her bed, moving slowly, almost cautiously. She didn't look up, her gaze fixed on her hand, her chest heaving with shallow breaths as she struggled to process her emotions.
Han Chen stood on the opposite side of the bed, his face tense, his eyes dark with an unreadable expression as he looked down at her. She could feel his presence, feel the weight of his gaze on her, but it felt distant, almost unreal, like she was watching everything from outside her own body.
The doctor shifted his attention to Han Chen, his tone now professional but gentle. "Mr. Han, please don't worry. She has come through the critical hours, and her condition is stable. But she'll need plenty of rest, and she should remain under medical supervision for a while."
Han Chen nodded, his face impassive but strained, a tension coiled in his jaw. The doctor offered them both a reassuring nod, then turned to leave with the nurse, his footsteps soft as they exited the room, leaving behind a heavy silence.
Feng Mian lay there, silent and still, her body numb, her mind suspended in a strange, empty calm. She knew she should be feeling something—pain, grief, anger—but instead, her heart felt still, quiet in a way that surprised her. She should be crying, wailing, breaking down, but she only closed her eyes, too tired to even begin processing the enormity of what she'd lost.
A second or two passed, and then a voice, low and strained, broke through the silence.
"Why?"
Her eyes fluttered open, and for the first time since waking up, she turned her gaze toward him.
Han Chen was looking at her, standing by her bedside, and she could finally see him clearly. His shirt was wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, one side of his shirt untucked. Dark circles clung under his bloodshot eyes, as if he hadn't slept in days. He looked disheveled, weary, almost... drained.
She searched his face, taking in the signs of his exhaustion, she must have disturbed him terribly, for the way his gaze was heavy with something she couldn't quite place. He seemed almost unfamiliar, like a stranger, a different man than the one she had grown accustomed to—the cold, distant figure who barely spared her a glance.
But she remained impassive, her face a mask of detachment. She has nothing left to give.
"Why did you hide it from me?" he asked again, his voice rough and hoarse, his eyes boring into her.
She looked at him, her eyes unfocused, her mind drifting somewhere far away. He sounded so… different, like an echo of someone else. Like someone who cares? The anesthesia must be messing with her head.
After a long, heavy silence, Feng Mian finally opened her mouth to answer, her voice barely a whisper. "I…"
But before she could continue, the door opened, and a figure stepped into the room.
Someone she least expected to see.