Dear Ex-wife, Marry Me novel Chapter 1868

For the next two days, Fitch barely moved from the side of the incubator, no matter who tried to persuade him. His own injuries were horrific, his back a mess of torn flesh, and he hadn’t changed out of his filthy suit since the incident. Only when the baby inside the incubator stirred would Fitch's eyes flicker, showing a brief sign of life amidst his otherwise vacant stare.

Ian had been making frequent trips to the hospital, unable to tell Maja the truth, always saying he had to work late. Seeing Fitch still standing there, filthy and stubborn, Ian took decisive action, delivering a quick, precise chop to Fitch’s neck, knocking him out cold. "Get him down and clean his wounds, or I'm worried he'll get tetanus," Ian ordered.

The doctors had wanted to intervene earlier, but Fitch was so numb and unresponsive that they had reluctantly given up. Now with Ian present, several people firmly supported Fitch and took him away to treat his injuries.

Ian stood outside the incubator, watching the child inside. Premature babies are naturally much smaller than full-term infants, and their movements are scarce and sluggish. It was a miracle the child had been saved; when he arrived at the hospital, his heart had nearly stopped. The thought of what Fitch would do if the baby didn't make it was unbearable to Ian. Rubbing his temples, he asked about the baby’s survival odds. The doctor hesitated before replying, not daring to give false hope, only saying they would try their best.

A pounding headache began to set in for Ian as he stepped out to check on Fitch. The fabric of Fitch's shirt had fused with the wounds on his back, and removing it tore away flesh, causing him pain even in his sleep. "Let him rest a bit longer," Ian instructed. "Try not to wake him." Otherwise, Fitch would be right back to standing vigil by the incubator.

The wildfire had been completely extinguished. Ian had investigated the person who had brought the child to safety—a survivor with burns, who claimed that in the urgency of the moment, after Zoey had given birth, she was trapped under a fallen beam. "She handed the baby to me, begging me to get him to safety," the survivor’s voice was heavy with guilt. "The beam was ablaze, and if I stayed, the baby would have died too, so I ran for it, not thinking of anything else."

Witnesses confirmed that this person truly had been clutching the child, desperate for help. If not for their courage, the baby would have perished in the fire. Ian had looked into the rescuer's background. They were a clean-cut person from the local police department with no reason to lie.

So, the reality seemed to be that Zoey was gone. That inferno had reduced great trees to ash; how could a woman, just after childbirth and pinned by debris, possibly survive? Whether Fitch could accept this outcome, Ian couldn't be sure.

A week later, Fitch began to regain some semblance of sanity. His daily routine was reduced to two things: visiting the hospital to see his child and scouring the wildfire site for any sign of Zoey. Firefighters were still at the scene, vigilant for any lingering flames. Fitch searched meticulously—any bone-like fragments were taken back for identification. But the remains were too charred, crumbling to dust at the slightest touch, indistinguishable.

Fitch brought back fragments for identification daily until even the forensic department was overwhelmed by the volume of his quest. It wasn't until he had covered every inch of the charred earth and found nothing that he finally stopped. Yet he didn't believe Zoey was gone. He wanted to search again, perhaps there was something he had missed.

After half a month of fruitless searching, Fitch returned to the hospital, a shell of a man haunted by loss and clinging to hope.