When Phoebe woke up again, the outside was dimly lit. Only the faint glow of streetlights shone through, casting reflections into the room. She stared blankly at the pitch-black ceiling.

Did she die? But why could she still feel the pain emanating from her heart?

She suddenly began to cough. The lights in the hospital room immediately turned on, and the sudden bright light made her instinctively raise her hand to shield her eyes. Then, she felt someone walking towards her.

The person’s steps were heavy, yet familiar. Tears welled up in Phoebe’s eyes once again, and in her ears echoed the words, “He looks so much like you.” Killing someone was no more painful than this.

Theodore stood by the bedside, looking down at her, towering above her. She curled up into a ball, fragile like a paper doll, as if she would break at the slightest touch. “Awake?”

Phoebe’s eyelashes trembled lightly. She turned to the side, silently facing away from him.

The atmosphere became stifling. Theodore’s fingers curled slightly, as if he was forcing himself to endure something. He said, “Phoebe, do you want to die?”

Phoebe bit her lip, tears slipping down the corners of her eyes, quickly soaking into the pillow, leaving no trace. Theodore suddenly grabbed her shoulder, turning her towards him. He leaned his body slightly downwards, almost pressing his face against hers.

He sneered, “You died and went to heaven. What do you want to say to our unborn child when you meet him? Will you apologize to him? It wasn’t intentional that you got rid of him, was it?”

With tearful eyes, Phoebe gazed at him. She let out a wailing cry, tears falling heavily. “Theodore, what else do you want from me?”

“I want you to live!” Theodore stared at her intensely, his anger spraying onto her face. “You feel guilty, don’t you? Then live and atone for it.”

Phoebe forcefully pushed him away and collapsed onto the pillow, crying loudly. Theodore stumbled back from her push, standing by the bedside. He watched her cry until she sounded hoarse, almost out of breath. He roughly wiped his face. He knew she couldn’t handle it, so why did he still provoke her? But he was afraid. Afraid that if he didn’t speak sternly, she would really take her own life. God only knows how panicked he was when he received Mrs. Ziegler’s phone call. Phoebe cried, drenched in sweat. With her emotions released, she became somewhat sober, no longer completely lost, like she was for the past two days. Theodore just sat beside her, watching her cry, without consoling her, as heartless as a ruthless assassin.

Phoebe propped herself up on the bed, wiping away her tears. Because of the crying, her eyes had swollen into two walnuts. She glanced at Theodore and tried to get out of bed. Theodore looked at her. “Where are you going?”

Phoebe flinched, avoiding his gaze. “I, I want to take a shower.”

“You haven’t eaten, drunk, or slept for three days. If you go take a shower now, do you want to pass out in the bathroom?” Theodore sounded impatient, but his tone had softened a bit.

He wasn’t as aggressive as before.

“Sit down and eat before you wash up,” Theodore said as he stood up and walked to the table. He brought over a thermos, propped up a small table, and opened the thermos, releasing the fragrant smell of rice porridge. Phoebe’s mouth watered, her stomach growling with hunger.

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