The hospital ward was packed to the brim with visitors and the sterile tang of antiseptics.
Jonathan had barely slept a wink in the overcrowded room, too distracted by the pulsing pain in his palm to find any rest. He slumped against the headboard of the hospital bed, his eyelids heavy.
Mrs. Metzger arrived to find her son in this state. Her heart sank at the sight of him in his crumpled uniform, looking gaunter than ever with dark circles under his eyes. His right hand was wrapped in gauze, a spot of blood seeping through. His usual well-groomed hair was disheveled, the air of aristocracy replaced by a sense of disarray and weariness.
Taking a shaky breath, she approached slowly.
Jonathan, half-awake, heard her footsteps, looked up, and muttered, "Mom."
Mrs. Metzger, her voice rough with emotion, said, "All this for Saskia? Was she worth falling out with me, with our family, ending up here?"
Jonathan, wincing from the pain and exhaustion, simply said, "Yes."
He loved Saskia, didn't want to marry Ophelia, and refused to be controlled by his mother for the rest of his life.
Mrs. Metzger's heart ached a little more. "And where is this beloved Saskia of yours? Why isn’t she here?”
Having suffered such serious injuries, Saskia didn’t even show up. Was this the person he loved?
"Saskia is frail, and it's late; I didn't tell her," Jonathan instinctively spoke up for Saskia.
He couldn’t bear to see Saskia suffer.
Mrs. Metzger regretted having raised Jonathan to be so naive. To her, Saskia was a woman who valued power over love, a player in the game of influence, not a keeper of heartfelt promises.
"Jonathan, I've raised you for thirty years, and you choose to betray me over a girl? You're stabbing me in the heart!"
Jonathan's eyes reddened. "Mom, just agree to let me marry Saskia, and I'll do whatever you say after that."
He just wanted to be with the one he loved.
Mrs. Metzger's gaze was unwavering. "I can agree to anything but that."
"Then there's nothing left to discuss." Jonathan was just as stubborn.
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