Chapter 401:
“Is this child Herbert’s?” Klein’s face grew even more contorted with anger.
I chose to remain silent. I neither admitted nor denied it.
Klein suddenly rose to his feet. He paced back and forth in the room for a few minutes, before he suddenly said, “I’m going to find Herbert. He must be responsible for you!”
Without another word, he turned around and started to walk out.
I immediately jumped out of bed and grabbed Klein’s arm.
“You can’t go!”
“Shouldn’t he be responsible?” Klein asked.
I paused for a moment before replying firmly, “This child is mine. I don’t want him to be responsible.”
“Are you worried about Caroline? Caroline has been receiving treatments in the hospital, and Herbert doesn’t have any plans to marry her,” Klein said.
No wonder Herbert had said he wasn’t marrying her. It seemed that her illness had worsened, causing the wedding to be delayed.
Klein didn’t understand their relationship. Did he think that if Herbert didn’t marry Caroline, he would marry me?
It made sense now. Herbert’s gloomy expression and haggard appearance were all because of Caroline.
I seemed to understand. Did he come to me to relieve his mental burden? Or was it because a seriously ill Caroline could not satisfy his physiological needs, so he thought of me, his ex-wife? I couldn’t help recalling everything he had done to me. The discomfort and dizziness intensified, and I began to feel unsteady.
Klein helped me sit down.
“Are you feeling dizzy again? Hurry up and sit down,” he urged gently.
“I have nothing to do with Herbert. I hate him, so please don’t mention him again in the future!” I said firmly, but my eyes welled up with tears. I turned away to cover my mouth, trying to suppress the sobs, but I couldn’t hold my emotions in any longer.
Klein reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder.
“If you want to cry, just cry. Don’t hold it in. It’s not good for your health.”
Unable to keep it together any longer, I reached out and pulled Klein closer, collapsing against his chest.
“Let me borrow your shoulder for a bit,” I whispered.
And then, I let the tears flow. I had been holding everything in for so long. After a while, I began to feel lighter, as though the weight in my chest had shifted.
I cried for more than ten minutes. When the tears stopped, I noticed that Klein hadn’t moved. He had been sitting there, still as a statue, not saying a word.
“Why aren’t you moving?” I asked, wiping my nose with a tissue.
Klein didn’t answer immediately, but his presence was comforting. The silence spoke volumes.Klein looked helplessly at me and then said, “I’m afraid if I change my posture, it will affect you from crying.”
Hearing what he said, I couldn’t help but laugh.
