The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 505

He tossed the blood-soaked gauze into the trash. As he organized the supplies on the tray, he kept his voice deliberately casual. "I'll get that Celtic knot right next time."

...

In Franco's room.

Arthur glared furiously at his grandson, raising his hand, ready to strike.

The child was alive!

And he had kept it a secret for this long!

Franco had clearly expected this reaction. He didn't try to dodge, bracing himself for the blow.

But the old man's raised hand hovered in the air, refusing to fall.

He stared at Franco, who sat ramrod straight, completely unmoving. A whirlwind of thoughts flooded Arthur's mind.

Slowly, the anger washed away, leaving only the cold, hard truth at the bottom.

Everyone was so worried about whether Petty could handle the shock. He had been terrified of it too. She was the mother; that child was a piece of her own flesh and blood. Everyone's heart broke for her.

But over the past year, the baby had been constantly sick. He needed round-the-clock company, meticulous care, and someone ready to face sudden, life-threatening emergencies at any given moment.

Franco had carried all of that alone.

He had prepared for the absolute worst, taking the full weight of the outcome—good or bad—squarely on his own shoulders.

Carrying a burden that massive... no one had stopped to ask if Franco was tired.

Arthur slowly lowered his hand. He didn't strike him. Instead, he simply rested his palm on Franco's uninjured shoulder and gave it a firm squeeze.

He opened his mouth to offer a word of comfort.

Franco looked at him calmly. "If you're going to hit me, hit me. Save the emotional stuff."

After Franco's men dropped Nash back at the university, he went straight to a meeting, taught two classes, and returned home exactly as he always did.

His house sat at the very edge of the villa district. It was completely isolated, quiet, and far from prying eyes.

Up in the second-floor sunroom, Nash held a woman in his arms.

She was exceptionally beautiful, dressed in a pale blue nightgown with a light shawl draped over her shoulders.

There were no deep wrinkles on her face, but she clearly wasn't a young woman anymore.

Though her complexion was rosy, she possessed a fragile, sickly aura, leaning heavily against Nash's chest. Her deep, tea-colored eyes fluttered lazily.

Nash held her limp, delicate hand, carefully clipping her fingernails.

"Franco came to see me today. His questions felt like a test. I'm not sure if he's figured something out."

Once he finished, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Maisie, it looks like we can't stay in Cabinda much longer."