Before he could process the situation, Gabriella in his arms let out a soft, pained moan. Immediately, Sebastian’s attention snapped to her, his concern deepening. Without a second thought, he bent down and lifted her into his arms, cradling her carefully as he walked swiftly toward the door, his focus solely on Gabriella.
He didn’t spare a glance at Abigail, the woman he once knew. The sight of them leaving together, so effortlessly and intimately, was enough to send a deep, aching pain through Abigail’s chest. It felt as though her heart had been dropped from an immense height, only to shatter upon impact, pieces scattered beyond repair.
She stood there, frozen for a moment, watching them disappear. The emptiness left in their wake threatened to consume her. With trembling hands, she struggled to rise, the pain in her body flaring up, sending sharp waves of agony through her limbs. The more she moved, the more intense the pain became, until it felt like it was spreading through every inch of her.
Around her, the hum of conversation grew louder, more insistent.
"Who is she?"
"I heard she’s the Montgomery Family’s nanny."
"She’s so young..."
The words, casual and dismissive, were like daggers, each one twisting deeper into her heart. After a long moment, she managed to push past the sharp pain and stagger to her feet. She walked unsteadily toward the exit, her steps faltering. Once outside, she hailed a taxi to the hospital.
When she arrived at the hospital, she found Sebastian and the others already there. His mother, a group of bodyguards, and the head physician were all in tow, following Sebastian, who was still holding Gabriella, into a lavish ward. The scene was overwhelming—a stark contrast to the shattered state she was in.
A bitter smile curled on Abigail’s lips as she turned and walked to the nurse's station.
The nurse gasped upon seeing her and quickly escorted her to the medical room, where a female doctor was called in to treat her wounds. The doctor’s hands were steady and efficient, cleaning and dressing the numerous cuts. The wounds themselves weren’t deep, but there were many, scattered across her arms and legs like a cruel reminder of the evening’s events.
As the doctor worked, she grew a little more talkative, perhaps to ease the tension of the quiet room. "The girl next door is so lucky," she mused, almost absentmindedly. "She looks like a rich lady, and her boyfriend loves her so much. She’s so upset over just a little injury..."
Abigail offered a faint hum in response, the hollow sound escaping her lips. But inside, it felt as though something vital had been ripped out of her, leaving only an unbearable emptiness.
That’s her husband, and yet, he’s next door, anxious over another woman.
The doctor finished bandaging her wounds and was about to offer aftercare instructions when he noticed her expression. He froze, then nervously asked, "Did I hurt you? I’m sorry."
Abigail blinked, confused, and quickly shook her head. "No, no."
But the doctor’s confusion only deepened as he observed her. "Then... why do you look like you're about to cry?"
Abigail was stunned. Was that how she looked? Despite the numbness in her heart, it had somehow made its way to her face. She could only laugh bitterly at herself.
After thanking the doctor, she walked out of the clinic, the silence of the hospital on New Year’s Eve feeling oddly suffocating. As she moved down the corridor, she could hear snippets of conversation from the next room—Sebastian’s voice, soft and concerned.
"Gabriella, does it still hurt? Don’t be stubborn. If it hurts, hold my hand."
"Our Gabriella is so unlucky. Why did she have to stand next to that jinx and get hurt? My poor child."
The words stung like fresh wounds, and Abigail turned her back on them, walking out of the hospital alone. She had never truly been a part of their family. The realization, though sharp, wasn’t new. What had once been an indifference she could tolerate, now felt like a heavy weight in her chest.
When she returned to the villa, everything seemed unchanged, yet it felt emptier, colder than before.
She went to the study, where she saw the commemorative album perched on a high shelf. It was the photo album Sebastian had created after they got together. He had said at the time, “We need to record our beauty so we can look back on it when we’re old.”
Each meaningful photo—whether a picture of them together or one of his solo shots—had been carefully pasted inside, along with his loving messages. For three years, it had been filled with memories, each page a testament to their love. But it stopped abruptly half a month ago.
Abigail flipped through the pages slowly, each word he had written, each image, now weighed heavily on her heart. The love they had shared seemed to have faded, replaced by this cold reality. Her mind wandered back to what Gabriella had said to her at the banquet.
