Too Late, Husband: Watch Me Shine

Eloise POV:

Campbell, delicate and pale, was still nestled against Dawson, her head tucked under his chin. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and brimming, a perfect picture of a damsel in distress. I watched, a detached observer, as Dawson murmured something, gently caressing her back. He then disentangled himself, his gaze still lingering on her, before heading towards a counter, presumably to sort out paperwork.

As he walked away, Campbell slowly lifted her head. Her eyes, still glistening with manufactured tears, met mine across the sterile expanse of the corridor. A faint, triumphant smirk touched her lips before she quickly masked it with a fragile smile.

"Eloise," she whispered, her voice weak but surprisingly clear. "I heard what happened. I'm so sorry. Dawson told me everything."

I just stared, my body still aching, my mind a blank canvas. I had no energy, no desire to engage with her performance.

"He's been so worried about you," she continued, her voice dripping with fake concern. "He said you were very upset about the money for my surgery. But you know, it's a matter of life and death for me. He has such a good heart, doesn't he? He truly cares about everyone."

Her words were like tiny needles pricking at my raw nerves. My stomach cramped, a fresh wave of pain washing over me. I wanted to tell her to shut up, to scream that her good heart had just shattered mine, but my throat was tight, choked with unspoken grief.

Suddenly, with an almost theatrical gasp, Campbell slid from her chair and sank to her knees. Her hand shot out, grasping at the hem of my dress, her grip surprisingly strong. "Please, Eloise! Please don't take the money back! I'm dying! Without that surgery, I won't last another month! Please, have mercy!"

Her voice, though still seemingly weak, carried through the hushed corridor. She squeezed my dress fabric, her head bowed, fake sobs wracking her body. "I know this is a lot to ask, but please, don't make Dawson regret helping me! Please, don't make him chase the money! I'll never be able to pay it back, and then I'll die! Please, Eloise, I'm begging you!"

Her pathetic wails attracted attention. Heads turned. Nurses peered from their stations. Other patients and visitors stopped, their conversations dying out. Soon, a small crowd had gathered, their eyes wide with curiosity, then judgment.

"What's happening?" someone whispered.

"Looks like a fight over money."

"That poor girl looks so sick. And the other one is so cold."

"How can someone be so heartless, when a life is at stake?"

Their murmurs were like tiny darts, piercing my already fragile composure. I tried to pull my dress from Campbell's grasp, but her hold was tenacious. The movement sent a fresh jolt of pain through my abdomen. I swayed, lightheaded.

Just then, Dawson reappeared, a stack of papers in his hand. He stopped dead, his eyes sweeping over the scene: Campbell on her knees, clinging to my dress, sobbing dramatically, and the rapidly growing crowd of gawkers. His face, already etched with worry, turned a furious shade of crimson.

He strode forward, pulling Campbell to her feet with a fierce grip. "Campbell, what are you doing?" His voice was low, laced with barely contained fury. Then his eyes, blazing with an unfamiliar hatred, fixed on me. "Eloise! What the hell are you doing here? Are you following us now? What kind of cruel game is this?"

"Cruel game?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely audible. The pain in my stomach was intensifying, a dull throb turning into a sharp ache.

"Yes, cruel game!" he spat, his voice rising. "What do you want? To humiliate her further? To gloat? After everything you said, after forcing me to leave, now you come here to torment a sick woman?" He looked around at the murmuring crowd, his face contorted with anger. "Are you really so heartless, Eloise? So determined to make everyone else suffer around you?"

His words, familiar and cutting, washed over me without impact. I was numb. His accusations felt like pebbles thrown into a deep, dark well. They made no sound. They meant nothing.

Then, with a furious grunt, he shoved me. Not a gentle push, but a hard, deliberate one, his hand connecting with my shoulder. I stumbled backward, unprepared. My feet tangled, and I fell, hitting the hard hospital floor with a jarring thud. A sharp, searing pain shot through my lower abdomen, a sudden, debilitating agony that made my vision swim.

"Oh!" A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

Dawson stared at me, sprawled on the floor, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. He stopped, looking down, confused by my sudden weakness. He didn't know. He couldn't know. The child, our child, was gone just hours ago, a secret only I carried.

A moment of hesitation flickered across his face, a fleeting sign of the Dawson I once knew. He instinctively started to bend, a faint "Eloise?" on his lips. But I recoiled, pushing myself up despite the excruciating pain, refusing his touch, his false concern.

"Keep your hands off me, Dawson," I gasped, clutching my stomach. My voice was a raw whisper, barely audible, but filled with a new, chilling resolve. I slowly, painstakingly, got to my feet. "And keep your money, too. All of it. I don't want a single cent from you or your mistress. You can have it all."

Dawson froze, his hand still suspended in the air. His face, which had been red with anger, turned ashen. He stared, completely stunned, as I turned and stumbled away, leaving him and Campbell, and the gaping crowd, behind me.