The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 474

Franco felt the woman in his arms go completely rigid. Then, with a sudden, inexplicable burst of strength, Petty tore herself from his embrace, shoving him away with everything she had.

"Franco!" she gasped, staring up at him. The sheer force of his confession had shattered the emptiness in her gaze, replacing it with an unfiltered, raw hatred. The bloodshot veins in her eyes were a stark testament to her agony.

"How could you..." Tears spilled down her cheeks as she gritted her teeth in pure anguish. "How could you lie to me about our baby?"

A suffocating wave of despair crashed over her. She clutched at her chest, her shoulders curling inward as if trying to shield a mortal wound. She would have collapsed right off the edge of the bed if Franco hadn't lunged forward to catch her.

But she didn't even notice his touch. Her mind was already violently pulled back to a year ago, flashing through fragmented memories of lying cold on the operating table. The trauma she had suppressed suddenly sharpened into devastating focus, feeling as fresh and visceral as if it had happened yesterday.

She remembered the exact moment her womb—and her heart—emptied. The doctors had whisked the baby away. She had begged and sobbed, pleading for just one look, but they had refused. They claimed his heart had stopped before he was even born, and they wanted to spare her the grief of seeing her stillborn child.

She had only wanted one glance. It was such a small, desperate plea for a chance she would never get again, and they had denied it. Her baby, her little Abacus, had supposedly died over a year ago. How could Franco be cruel enough to deceive her about this?

It took Hans a few seconds to process the revelation. Furious, he stepped forward. "Franco, are you out of your mind? After everything, you're still—"

He didn't even finish his sentence before Petty shoved Franco away again and stumbled frantically toward the door. She was completely unraveling. A woman who had been driven to the edge of taking her own life was dangerously unpredictable right now. Believing her child had suffered in her place had nearly destroyed her will to live.

"Petty, listen to me!" Ignoring his own injuries, Franco rushed forward and hauled her into his arms. He held her tight, wrestling against her frantic struggles until he could press her face against his chest. Cradling the back of her head, he pressed a desperate kiss into her hair. "He's here. He's in this hospital. I'll take you to him right now," he vowed, his voice thick with emotion. "Just believe me."

Franco shot a sharp look at Jay. Catching the cue, Jay immediately pulled out his phone. He opened a heavily encrypted folder that contained a few precious videos of Abacus. It was a secure file—if anyone tried to force it open without his passcode, the contents would automatically self-destruct.

Franco's knuckles turned white as he gripped the phone, his other arm locked firmly around Petty to keep her from completely shattering. He needed to give her a moment to process this. If he dragged her straight into the ICU right now to see Abacus—so frail, with an IV line taped to his tiny hand—the shock would utterly break her.

Taking a steadying breath, Franco spoke in a low, soothing rasp. "A year ago, we almost lost him. It took a long time just to teach him how to swallow and drink milk on his own, but he's growing."

"He weighs over seventeen pounds now and he's a little over two feet tall. He responds to the nickname Abacus. I officially named him Manley, but if you don't like it, we can change it. You have the final say."

It was hard to tell if it was his words that finally reached her or the looping video on the screen, but something about that tiny figure drew her in like a magnet. An invisible, instinctual bond tugged at her soul. Suddenly, the rapid, fluttering sound of a fetal heartbeat echoed in her mind—a memory from an ultrasound appointment over a year ago that she hadn't dared to revisit.

—That's the baby's heartbeat. It's much faster than an adult's.