From Wife to Blood Bag

Chapter 8

Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the grapevines, casting dappled shadows across the ground.

Patrick Evans plucked a ripe grape from the vine with his long fingers and gently offered it to me.

I smiled and took a bite, savoring the sweet-tart burst of juice in my mouth.

But then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a figure standing frozen at the garden gate.

Xavier Thorpe. His suit was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot.

His throat moved as if he wanted to speak, but no words came out.

Instinctively, I leaned closer into Patrick's embrace, feeling his reassuring arm wrap around my shoulder.

"And who might this be?" Patrick asked, raising an eyebrow, his fingers still glistening with grape juice.

Xavier's voice was tight, as if each word was being forced through clenched teeth.

"Sophia, come home with me."

Patrick let out a soft chuckle.

"Ah, Mr. Thorpe. I've heard a lot about you. Congratulations on your recent… blessed event."

He deliberately emphasized the last two words, watching Xavier's reaction closely.

"What brings you here to interrupt our honeymoon?"

I saw the vein in Xavier's temple throb, but he maintained a tight smile, his composure slipping.

"Xavier Thorpe. We're already divorced."

"That piece of paper means nothing!" His voice cracked, filled with suppressed rage before he softened again, taking a step forward.

"Sophia, I was wrong. Natalie and the child—I've taken care of it. They'll never come near you again—"

"Taken care of?" I interrupted, disgust rising in my throat.

"Xavier, that was your own flesh and blood."

In the cool shadows beneath the grapevines, I saw his pupils dilate.

The man I once loved, standing before me with desperation etched across his face. His tie was crooked, cuffs stained with dried blood—a failed attempt to hide the tattoo of Natalie's name.

Patrick suddenly slid his arm around my waist, whispering in my ear, "Darling, would you like to try the new wine I made?"

He shot Xavier a pointed look.

"Though I'm afraid there's only enough for two."

Xavier stepped forward, but when his gaze met mine, he froze.

His voice trembled.

"These nine years… Was your kindness just repayment for a debt?"

I looked at the man I had once devoted myself to, and suddenly, it all felt so absurd.

The nights I stayed up waiting for him, the dishes I learned to cook, the tears I held back—all of it, to him, had been nothing but a transaction.

"Does it matter?" I asked, turning away, plucking another grape from the vine.

"You should go, Mr. Thorpe. Don't keep the expectant mother waiting."

A heavy thud echoed behind me.

Patrick whistled.

"Perfect timing for a fainting act." He pulled out his phone, his tone amused.

"Should I call an ambulance? It'd be a shame to stain the carpet."

I glanced at Xavier, now unconscious on the ground, his brow furrowed even in collapse.

"Just throw him out," I said quietly, feeling an unexpected calm settle over me.

The sunlight suddenly felt too bright, too harsh.

I raised a hand to shield my eyes, only to realize my fingers were trembling.

Patrick caught my hand and gently slipped a peeled grape between my lips.

"Sweet?"

The burst of juice washed away the bitterness in my throat.

I nodded, hearing myself say, "Sweeter than the last nine years."