True to her word, Rose, upon waking, forgave Hunter and didn’t press charges.
After the police left, Hunter confronted her. “What is your endgame?”
Rose replied, “Hunter, dying in your arms would be my only wish. Only after I’m gone will you understand I was your true love. I don’t blame you. Please don’t be too sad when I die, okay?”
Hunter looked to the heavens and screamed. After his outburst, he looked at me and Dad. “So, she’s mentally ill, right?”
I almost nodded, then caught myself and shook my head.
Hunter laughed bitterly, kicked Rose’s hospital bed, and stormed out.
Dad, seeing his golden goose fleeing, scurried after him. Rose just watched him leave, silently crying.
Soon, Dad returned, happily bringing a lawyer. Rose claimed she wanted nothing, just the child and for Dad to help raise it.
The lawyer, confused, looked at me and Dad. Dad immediately said, “My daughter bore the Allendale heir! Don’t the Allendales have any responsibility?”
The lawyer smiled faintly; he’d seen this too many times. Money was easier to deal with than people. “How can you prove the child is Mr. Allendale’s?”
The question stunned Dad, Rose, and even me, the bystander.
Rose just cried. “How could he doubt my loyalty? He’s the only man I’ve ever been with!”
The lawyer was unmoved. He stated that without proof, the child had no connection to the Allendales, and if they continued spreading rumors, they would sue.
We all knew the child was Hunter’s. It was a fact. But Rose had no way to prove it. Hunter wouldn’t give a DNA sample, and he’d never agree to a paternity test.
After the lawyer left, Rose just kept crying about Hunter doubting her.
Within days, all online gossip about Hunter vanished, replaced by stories of a “scheming woman trying to trap the heir” and claims it was a smear campaign by business rivals.
I had to hand it to the Allendale PR team. They were masters.
Dad, confirming Rose and the baby were worthless, slunk back home, repeatedly calling Mom to apologize and reconcile. Thankfully, Mom was determined to divorce, though he was dragging his feet.
I reassured her we could take our time.
Rose, unable to pay her hospital bills, was discharged. Her disease, neglected for so long and exacerbated by the pregnancy, was now terminal.
She returned home with the baby, only to be violently thrown out by Dad. “Worthless! If I knew you were this useless, I wouldn’t have spent a dime on you!”
He threw her out every time she showed up. Rose and the baby lived in parks and under bridges. She could barely feed herself, let alone produce milk for the infant.
She went to Hunter, begging him to save the child, swearing she’d disappear forever if he did. But her credibility was zero. No one believed her, even if she swore on her life.
A pitying security guard gave her some food, but she camped outside the estate, nearly getting him fired. After that, no one dared help her.
It was only then that Rose finally understood. The novels, the female lead trope, the belief that sickness and death would bring regret—it was all a lie. In reality, men like Hunter would run for the hills, terrified of being burdened.
Hunter would never look at her again. He despised her.
She left the baby on the Allendale doorstep and ran away.
Two days later, she was arrested for child abandonment. Her time in jail was probably the most stable period of her final days.
Upon release, she learned the baby, abandoned and neglected, had died. The poor thing, brought into the world only to be discarded, never even had a chance to open its eyes.
Rose held the tiny, cold body, climbed over the railing of the city’s river, and whispered, “It’s okay… I can try again. Next time, I won’t fall in love with any man.”
To the gasps of onlookers, Rose closed her eyes and jumped.
Through her relentless efforts, Rose had finally succeeded in writing her own tragedy.
Epilogue
After her death, Mom and I went to identify the body. Mom broke down, sobbing uncontrollably at the sight. I held her hand silently.
With numerous witnesses, it was ruled a suicide.
Leaving the police station, I wiped Mom’s tears. “Mom, after we handle the funeral, let’s go to the home improvement store. Now that we have the apartment, what style do you want to decorate it in?”
Distracted, Mom’s tears slowed. “Something simple… and warm. That would be nice.”
I nodded. Simple and warm sounded perfect. I liked that very much.
(The End)
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