Secretly Married for 4 Years, He Regrets to Tears After the Divorce-Chapter 194: Moving Forward

"Mrs. Sawyer had a sudden heart attack. They’re fighting to save her at the hospital."

The butler’s words struck Spencer Sawyer’s heart like a thousand-pound stone.

Spencer Sawyer asked anxiously, "Which hospital?"

The butler told him.

"I’m on my way."

Spencer Sawyer hung up and rushed to the hospital.

When he sprinted to the operating room door as fast as he could, he was met with a full-force slap from his father.

A crisp SLAP exploded in the empty hallway, instantly drowning out all other sounds.

Spencer Sawyer staggered to the side from the blow, a fiery sting spreading across his cheek. He could faintly taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth.

But he didn’t feel the pain. Crushing guilt had already overwhelmed all his senses.

On the way to the hospital, he had already guessed the reason for his mother’s sudden collapse.

He barely had to think about it. It had to be his mother-in-law, Ms. Dawson—that woman who thrived on chaos.

She must have called his mother and told her about him and Wren Sutton, embellishing every detail.

Hatred, like a toxic vine, wrapped around his heart, strangling him until he could barely breathe.

He hated Ms. Dawson for stirring up trouble and twisting the truth, but he hated himself even more for not handling the situation better.

Boundless guilt became a heavy shackle, pinning him to the spot.

The glaring red light above the operating room door was like a searing hot brand, burning itself deep into Spencer Sawyer’s eyes.

’Dad was right to slap me. I have no right to argue or feel wronged. I’m the one who caused my mother’s heart attack. I’m the murderer. I deserve to die.’

"Dad, I’m sorry. It’s my fault."

Mr. Sawyer was trembling with rage, his face ashen. He pointed at Spencer Sawyer’s nose, every word seemingly forced through gritted teeth, filled with a definitive chill.

"Spencer Sawyer, if anything happens to your mother today, I will disown you. Get the hell out of the Sawyer Family! From now on, don’t you dare tell anyone you’re a Sawyer, and don’t you ever say you’re my son."

After saying this, Mr. Sawyer seemed to be drained of all his strength and collapsed onto the bench behind him.

Spencer Sawyer rushed forward to help him up. "Dad, be careful! Don’t fall."

Mr. Sawyer didn’t accept his help, shoving him away forcefully. The veins on his temples bulged.

"Don’t call me Dad! A few days ago, you angered me so much I nearly passed out. I just recovered, and now your mother is in the operating room because of you. We don’t have a bastard son like you."

"Get out! Get as far away from me as you can. I don’t want to see you again."

Spencer Sawyer froze, unable to move.

His father’s words were like icy water in the dead of winter, chilling him to the bone.

These weren’t just angry words; the resolution in his father’s eyes was something he had never seen before.

Spencer Sawyer no longer tried to defend himself, nor did he have the face to approach his father. Silently, step by step, he moved to the wall opposite the operating room door and slid down the cold surface to the floor.

He buried his face deep in his hands, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably as countless images flashed through his mind.

His mother’s gentle smile, the sight of her carefully preparing his breakfast, and the countless times she had looked at him with worry, wanting to speak but holding back, only to end with a soft sigh.

The care he had once found restrictive had now become the sharpest blade, stabbing at his conscience.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, each moment an agonizing wait.

Every minute, every second, was like a dull knife sawing at the family’s nerves.

The hallway was terrifyingly silent. Spencer Sawyer kept a vigil, never moving an inch, his eyes locked on the door that separated life from death, as if trying to see through it.

For the first time in his life, he felt the fragility of life so clearly, along with the heavy responsibility of a son—a responsibility he had almost lost.

After what felt like an eternity, the red light—a symbol of judgment—went out with a CLICK.

As if electrocuted, Spencer Sawyer shot up from the floor. His legs were numb from sitting for so long, but he paid it no mind, stumbling toward the operating room door along with his father, who had also jumped to his feet.

The door was pushed open from the inside. The lead surgeon, pulling off his mask, wore a tired but relieved smile.

"The surgery was a success. Mrs. Sawyer is out of danger."

In an instant, Spencer Sawyer felt the string that had been stretched to its breaking point finally snap. The strength he had been holding onto vanished, his legs gave out, and he nearly collapsed, quickly reaching out to steady himself against the wall.

A warm rush of relief, lingering fear, and profound release broke down all his mental defenses, and his vision quickly blurred.

He lowered his head, letting hot tears fall onto the polished floor.

’Thank God, Mom’s okay. That’s more important than anything else.’

A moment later, the medical staff wheeled Mrs. Sawyer, still unconscious from the anesthesia, out of the operating room and toward her ward.

The father and son immediately followed.

Seeing his mother lying pale and lifeless on the hospital bed, hooked up to all sorts of tubes and monitors, Spencer Sawyer’s heart clenched in another sharp pang of pain.

Mr. Sawyer held his wife’s hand tightly, tears streaming down his aged face. His earlier fury seemed to have been diluted by the relief of this close call, but his gaze toward Spencer Sawyer remained complex and heavy.

...

At a little past three in the morning, the anesthesia completely wore off. Mrs. Sawyer slowly came to, weakly opening her eyes.

"Honey, you’re finally awake."

"Mom, you’re awake."

Mrs. Sawyer saw the bloodshot eyes and haggard faces of both father and son and knew they had been watching over her for a long time.

"I made you two worry. I’m fine, really."

Mr. Sawyer held his wife’s hand, weeping with joy. Nothing more needed to be said.

Spencer Sawyer knelt by the hospital bed and asked cautiously, "Mom, are you uncomfortable anywhere? I’ll go get the doctor."

Mrs. Sawyer shook her head slightly, stopping him with a look.

She rested for a moment to gather some strength before speaking in a faint voice. "Son, after this ordeal, I feel like I’ve been snatched back from the jaws of death."

Spencer Sawyer gripped his mother’s hand tightly, unable to hold back his tears any longer. "Mom, I’m sorry. I’ve been a terrible son, angering you like this. You can hit me, you can yell at me, whatever you want."

Mrs. Sawyer shook her head again. "I don’t want to bring up the past anymore. We have to look forward."

"Okay," Spencer Sawyer replied earnestly.

Mrs. Sawyer looked at him and began to speak slowly. "Growing up, I’ve never asked you for anything. But today, in front of your father, I have two things to say, and you must agree to them."

Spencer Sawyer didn’t dare refuse. "Mom, as long as you get better, I’ll agree to anything."

A small measure of comfort settled in Mrs. Sawyer’s heart.

"First, cut off all contact with Wren Sutton completely. For her sake, but more importantly, for yours."

Hearing Wren Sutton’s name, Spencer Sawyer’s heart instinctively clenched.

That relationship had been a soft spot in his heart, one he was reluctant to touch.

But now, looking at his mother’s weak yet insistent gaze and thinking about how this affair had nearly killed her, the last vestiges of that affection were crushed by immense guilt.

He nodded. "Mom, I promise you."

Mrs. Sawyer seemed to let out a sigh of relief. She rested for a moment before continuing with the second matter, her tone even more earnest and heartfelt.

"Stella Sinclair is a good daughter-in-law. She might have a bit of a temper, but her heart is in the right place. She has been wronged a great deal by marrying you. Treat her well. Be a supportive and responsible husband. Don’t neglect your wife."

A brief silence fell over the hospital room, broken only by the rhythmic BEEPING of the monitor.

Spencer Sawyer lowered his eyelids, a fierce and silent storm raging within him.

After a moment, he looked up, meeting his mother’s expectant gaze, which held a hint of a plea. He also glimpsed his father at the side, lips pressed into a firm line, an expression that allowed for no argument.

In the end, all his struggles, his unwillingness, and the last shred of his fantasy about so-called free love completely crumbled and surrendered in the face of heavy reality and filial duty.

He took a deep breath as if mustering all his strength, and made a solemn, clear promise: "Mom, the two things you asked for—I agree to both of them."

Hearing her son’s heavy promise, a relieved yet weary smile finally appeared on Mrs. Sawyer’s pale face.