Chapter 444/The Lost Instinct of Motherhood
Chapter 444
Julie’s point of view
The little boy gently withdrew his hand from my cheek, turning around to walk with small steps toward his grandfather.
I wiped away a scalding tear that had escaped my eye using my thumb. Suddenly, Robert’s heavy palm rested over my shoulder, and he whispered in a low tone mixed with suppressed vigilance:
"Are you okay?"
He could feel it he knew a massive earthquake was raging beneath my ribs. I nodded silently, forcing a faint, fragile smile onto my lips before standing up steadily.
Harold shifted his astonished gaze between us, speaking in a tone brimming with pride:
"This is my son, Adam... and I am Harold, Robert’s brother."
I swallowed hard, answering in confusion:
"I am Julie... and I’m sorry for hugging your son like that, I just... I mean—"
Robert’s deep, velvet voice cut off my stammering as he placed his hand behind my back:
"Julie loves children very much, which is why she hugged Adam."
Harold smiled warmly, raising his hand to dismiss any lingering awkwardness:
"Oh, there’s no problem at all."
He then studied my face with deep curiosity, asking:
"Are you his friend?"
Robert answered in a regal, decisive, and absolute tone:
"My fiancée."
𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺
The air in the room froze solid, and breath caught in everyone’s throat for several seconds.
Thomas, who was holding Adam on his lap, looked up, shouting in a shock he couldn’t possibly conceal:
"What?!"
Robert turned his head toward him, asking with icy detachment:
"Why are you surprised, Father?"
Thomas stroked his chin, answering with visible hesitation:
"I... I just didn’t expect this at all."
Harold quickly bypassed his initial shock, rushing forward to pull Robert into a warm embrace:
"Congratulations, brother! I am so happy for you!"
He then turned toward me, extending his hand to shake mine with a broad smile:
"Congratulations to you, Julie."
I grasped the tips of his fingers, speaking softly:
"Thank you."
Yet my eyes couldn’t stop tracking that little boy sitting proudly in his grandfather’s lap.
Robert broke the silence with a formal, heavy voice that dropped over the room:
"I want to speak with my father in private."
Harold nodded in understanding, gesturing toward the wide glass doors:
"Alright, we’ll head out to the garden. That way, I can get to know your fiancée better."
We walked out toward the vast green garden, leaving Robert and his father behind closed doors. Adam was holding his father’s hand, skipping playfully beside him.
Harold pointed toward a leather sofa overlooking the swimming pool:
"Let’s sit over there."
We settled onto the warm seat, while Adam ran off to play with small toy cars on the cool grass near us.
I watched his spontaneous movements, speaking with genuine admiration:
"Your son is so sweet, Harold."
Harold smiled gratefully:
"Thank you."
He then turned to face me, asking his next question with deliberate caution:
"How long have you known my brother?"
I answered clearly:
"About four and a half years."
He straightened up, looking at me with a serious, searching expression:
"I’m going to ask you another question... a somewhat personal one."
I looked at him in mild surprise:
"Yes, go ahead."
He spoke slowly, measuring his words:
"Do you have any children?"
I froze in my seat, my eyes locking with his in stark hesitation. Why was he asking me about children with such deadly precision?!
Noticing my reserve, Harold quickly offered an apology:
"I’m sorry if my question is intrusive, you don’t have to answer."
I let out a slow sigh, speaking in a broken voice dripping with sorrow:
"No, not at all... In fact, I had a baby, but he died when I gave birth to him."
His eyebrows shot up in a flash of shock, and he asked immediately:
"Was he Robert’s?"
I nodded my head in deep sadness:
"Yes... he was Robert’s."
Harold’s features hardened into solid steel. Every muscle in his face locked in a terrifying way, and he spoke in a breathless, choked whisper:
"Since when?! I mean... when exactly did you give birth to him?"
I answered naturally, my voice filled with bitter longing:
"If he were alive right now... he would have been three years old."
His lips parted in utter, overwhelming shock, and he gasped in a paralysis of disbelief:
"What?!"
I grew extremely unsettled by his harsh, completely inexplicable reaction, asking with deep apprehension:
"Is something wrong?"
He didn’t say a single word! He bolted up from his seat with insane speed and sprinted toward the villa’s interior, leaving me completely alone with the little boy playing on the grass!
I blinked in utter confusion. What came over him?! Why did he ask me with such exact precision and then run away like a madman?! Was he extraordinarily sensitive to this topic, unlike Robert?!
I pushed my scattered thoughts aside, turning my attention toward the little boy sitting before me, calling out in a gentle, motherly voice:
"Adam..."
The little boy lifted his head, his emerald-green eyes meeting mine, and he answered in a adorable, innocent child’s voice:
"Yes?"
I smiled warmly, extending my palm toward him:
"Come sit beside me."
The little boy climbed up the sofa with slow, deliberate movements, settling down right next to me. The silence that fell after Harold’s frantic departure cast a heavy aura of mystery over the space, as if the entire garden had paused to watch us. His head tilted slightly, searching my face with sharp, innocent scrutiny, before asking in a sweet child’s voice:
"What’s your name?"
A faint lump formed in my throat. I answered with a faded, gentle smile:
"My name is Julie."
A brief silence followed, during which his emerald eyes dived deep into mine, as though searching for something lost. Then, with a simple sentence that completely disrupted my soul, he said:
"Your eyes are pretty."
His words touched something deep inside my heart, making my fingers tremble. I ran my hand gently through the soft black strands of hair scattered across his forehead, feeling their familiar silkiness beneath my fingertips, whispering in a low voice:
"Just like yours... except yours are even more beautiful."
An overwhelming urge swept over me to ask him about everything about his life, his mother, and this strange, inexplicable pull binding me to him. I asked in a tone I tried hard to keep natural:
"Do you live here, Adam?"
He shook his head lightly, answering in an endearing, playful child’s voice:
"No, at our house... this is grandpa’s house."
The smile instantly faded from my face at the mention of "grandpa." Thomas’s words rushed back into my mind. I remembered his dark talk about his illness, his desperate need for a liver transplant, and the heavy aura of defeat that hung around him.
I felt a hollow gap open in my chest a mixture of pity and an unbearable, mysterious ache. Tears welled up in my eyes, spilling silently down my cheeks, leaving a warm trail I couldn’t hold back.
It was a fragile moment, where my sorrow for Adam collided violently with the suppressed longing for my dead baby. I didn’t notice Adam’s attentive gaze until I felt a small, delicate hand gently wiping my cheek with extreme tenderness. He looked up at me with pure innocence, asking in a low voice that shook the very foundation of my soul:
"Are you crying?"