Chapter 7: Maybe I Should Have Chosen James

Audrey's POV

Mayo Clinic's VIP wing was quiet the next morning, and the early glow of dawn stretched long shadows across the pristine floor. I lay in the hospital bed, trying not to think about the experimental drug coursing through my veins, when the image of Blake tenderly holding Laurel in his arms last night popped into my mind.

His gentleness with her was everything it had never been with me. Five years of wondering if he was capable of such tenderness, and now I knew the truth – he just never chose to be gentle with me.

I remembered standing there, James's navy jacket still warm around my shoulders, as I almost forgot the pain brought by Blake's impact while seeing his retreating figure.

I ignored curious whispers from passing guests filled the air and shared opinions with the group of senior jewelry designers.

After that, I received a call from Dr. Evans. The urgency in her voice, the promise of an experimental treatment... I still remembered gripping the column for support as I listened. And that was why I managed to end up here so hurriedly.

My thoughts were interrupted as Astrid burst into the room with her usual dramatic flair.

"Breakfast delivery!" She held up a paper bag from my favorite café. "And don't you dare say you're not hungry."

"You didn't have to—"

"Of course I had to." She pulled up a chair, her expression turning serious. "Now, want to explain why you rushed back from LA in the middle of the night for some experimental treatment?"

I picked at the croissant she'd brought, avoiding her eyes. "The timing was crucial. It's a new drug for repairing post-miscarriage uterine damage. Very limited supply, so I couldn't wait."

"Uh-huh." She wasn't buying it. "And it had nothing to do with a certain CEO and his Hollywood princess?"

“Of course not,” I smiled, deliberately changing the subject. "Did you bring Snow back with you?"

Astrid sighed. "Yes, I tell you, she kept looking around everywhere for you. By the way, you got back pretty late last night... Must have been hard to get a flight on such short notice?"

"Mm."

I smiled faintly. "James contacted his friends at the airline. That's how I managed to get a last-minute ticket."

"James really cares about you, you know," Astrid said softly. "He messaged me first thing this morning, asking me to take good care of you. Remember how he used to help you with all those technical drawings at Parsons? Always staying late in the studio, bringing you coffee..."

I smiled despite myself. "He was just being nice."

"Nice?" Astrid snorted. "Honey, that man was head over heels for you. Still is, if you ask me." She paused, watching me carefully. "You know, if you hadn't met Blake, you might already be with James. Feeling regretful now?"

The words hit harder than I expected. Would I be here now, dying in a hospital bed, if I'd chosen differently? Would James have treated me the way Blake did?

I took a small bite of my croissant, my voice oddly detached. "Yes. Very regretful. Maybe I should have chosen James."

If I hadn't stubbornly married Blake, hadn't exhausted myself taking care of him, hadn't clung to this hopeless marriage for three whole years...

"It's not too late to regret now, you know."

Completely unaware of how little time I had left, Astrid smiled encouragingly. "You still have a long life ahead of you. There are endless possibilities with James."

I fought back the bitterness rising in my throat. "James is wonderful, it's just that he and I—"

The door suddenly slammed open.

Blake stood in the doorway, his expression thunderous. How long had he been listening?

"So this is why you want a divorce?" His voice cut through the room like ice. "To run back to your college sweetheart?"

Astrid was on her feet instantly. "How dare you barge in here—"

"Stay out of this!" Blake's eyes never left my face. "Tell me, Audrey. Since James is so wonderful, why did you marry me?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Astrid was quite furious. "That's rich, coming from you. When you were in that coma, which woman in her right mind would have given you the time of day? Hell, even Laurel hightailed it to Europe on an overnight flight! If it hadn't been for Audrey's unwavering devotion and care, you'd still be a living corpse lying in a hospital bed!"

Blake's jaw tightened. "I acknowledge what she did for me during my coma. Otherwise, I wouldn't have let her keep the title of Mrs. Parker!"

He fixed me with a frigid stare, his words as cold as ice. "But Audrey, while I'm not unmindful of the kindness you've extended, you'd do well to remember that my patience with you has its bounds. Don't overstep the mark!"

He took a step toward my bed, but Astrid moved between us. "You son of a bitch, do you have any clue what you're spouting?" she snarled. "You didn't even have a clue she was pregnant, and where were you when she lost your baby? Oh right, picking up your precious Laurel from JFK. That was your child too, for God's sake!"

I could see the pain and regret in Blake's eyes. But his voice remained cold. "I've said it before, this is strictly between me and Audrey. Butt out!" Blake bellowed. "Get the hell out of here!"

“You bastard!” Astrid raised her hand, on the verge of slapping him right across the face.

"Don’t, Astrid." I stopped Astrid. "Could you give us a moment? I need to speak with him privately."

Astrid's eyes filled with concern. "Audrey, don't go soft on him, okay?"

I looked at him – really looked at him. The man I'd loved for five years. The man who had never once looked at me the way he looked at Laurel. "I won't." My smile was gentle but firm. "Promise. It’s about the divorce."

She hesitated for a moment, then squeezed my hand. “Fine. I'll head home first and fetch you some clothes. If anything goes wrong, just give me a call! I'll be here in a flash.”

Then, as she passed by Blake, she glared at him and said, "Audrey is still in a fragile state. You'd better not do anything to agitate her, or you'll rue the day you ever crossed me!"

Before he could even open his mouth to reply, Astrid stormed out of the room. The door shut quietly in her wake.

Blake settled into the chair she'd vacated, his expression cold and distant. "So," he said. "You really want a divorce?"