Forced Marriage: My Wife, My Redemption-Chapter 137: When the truth comes out...

After ensuring Lady Matilda was settled and comfortably attended to, Jessica let out a quiet breath, gently pulling the door shut behind her.

The hospital hallway felt unusually long, the fluorescent lights above casting a pale sheen over her weary frame. Her steps were soft, as she walked with a lingering heaviness. Today had been one hell of a day.

She glanced down at her arm, a dull throb radiating from the bruise that had begun to bloom beneath her skin. The impact from cushioning the old woman was catching up with her. She rolled her shoulder and winced slightly. I need to treat this, she told herself. If Davis sees it... he might lose it.

She could already picture his intense eyes narrowing in worry—or worse, frustration. He was observant. Hiding anything from him was nearly impossible.

Still, she didn’t regret a thing. She’d acted on instinct, and she’d do it again.

Returning to her office, she tossed her backpack onto the chair and pulled on her pristine white coat. The transition from emotional turmoil to professional composure was almost seamless and then she strode out of her office.

Jessica walked through the corridors with her usual grace, doctors and nurses greeting her with nods and hushed admiration. She changed into her surgical scrubs, scrubbed in, and prepped alongside her team.

"Dr. Sica," one of her assistants said, handing her a report, "The patient is stable. Anesthesia is ready. The team is standing by."

"Good," she replied. Her voice held no hesitation. "Let’s begin."She said.

The doors to the theatre slid shut with a quiet click and at the same time the light came on.

As the surgery began, her hands moved with precise, graceful ease—her mind focused, her heart steady. But the staff working with her felt something different about her but none could place their finger on.

~Hospital ward~

Lady Matilda sat upright in bed, her hand tightly clutching a phone against her ear. Her eyes were fixed on the loose strand of hair she had delicately placed on a tissue beside her—evidence. Her voice trembled with both urgency and conviction.

"You have to believe me. She’s Nora’s daughter," she whispered fiercely. "The resemblance is uncanny. She’s a mirror—her eyes, her voice... and she’s a doctor."

A pause came from the other end, the male voice laced with hesitation. "Mom, aren’t you overthinking this? You know replicates aren’t a valid way to prove—"

"She had the necklace," Matilda interrupted, her voice firm, carrying the weight of finality.

There was silence—long and thick. Then came a sharper intake of breath. "The necklace?" the man asked, his voice rising, tinged with disbelief.

"Yes. The exact necklace meant for the Santiagos’. " She said her tone laced with a trace of frustration that he was not believing her.

"Mom..." he began cautiously, clearly grappling with logic and his mother’s passionate claim. "You can’t just jump to conclusions. It might be a coincidence—"

"I never jump to conclusions," Matilda snapped. "That girl... she is connected to Nora. I know it. And I will get to the bottom of this."

She leaned back slightly, her eyes gleaming with conviction and unwavering determination.

"Just promise me you won’t tell anyone in the family yet," she said, her tone suddenly hushed but commanding.

The Santiagos had tried everything in their reach to locate their daughter but couldn’t. Some at times they will stumble upon a clue but it ends immediately they found it. They couldn’t help wondering if someone was playing with them.

"Mom?" The young man winced lightly.

"Not yet. I need time. And I need the truth."Lady Matilda’s voiced, her tone commanding.

A sigh of resignation echoed through the receiver. He knew better than to challenge her when she was this resolute. "Fine," he murmured. "But please, be careful. If you’re wrong..."

"I’m not," she said sharply. Then, softening, "Trust me, son. She is the one we have been looking for."

And with that, she ended the call, her fingers trembling as she reached once more for the necklace around her neck, the same with Jessicas and memories of the past threatened to resurface.

~Back in the theatre~

Three hours passed in what felt like minutes. The surgery ended successfully. The patient was wheeled away to recovery, and Jessica stood beside the sink, peeling off her gloves, her shoulders finally dropping in relief—She had done it.

Jessica returned to her office, her steps deliberate, her breath measured. She retrieved the box she had meticulously prepared the night before—the one samples that made her feeling the dread of its outcome . Without allowing herself to hesitate, she headed for the testing unit. freewebnσvel.cøm

The labels were carefully marked with variables, no real names. Only letters and codes. It was better this way. Safer. Cleaner. Being a top member of the hospital gave her access to the unit.

After a short, clipped conversation with the technician, she handed over the box. Her fingers lingered on the lid for half a second too long, as if letting it go meant setting something in motion she couldn’t stop.

She turned and walked away. The hospital walls felt narrower, the corridor quieter—too quiet. Like the silence before a storm.

Stepping out into the open air, she exhaled slowly, her lungs burning with restraint she hadn’t known she was holding. But the relief didn’t come.

She was tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, but a bone-deep weariness and all she could wish for was a tight, close hug.

She wanted... a hug. Not a sterile handshake, not a nod of acknowledgment. A real hug. A soft pat on the back. A voice—low and sure—saying, " You’re not alone in this."

Her lips curved into a small, bitter smile at her thoughts. She didn’t expect she will have such a wish that one that one person can grant.

"Look at me," she whispered to herself. "Craving a hug like some fragile porcelain doll."

The words were meant to be mocking, but they didn’t land. Not even to her own ears.

She paused near the elevator, her hand mechanical pressed the down floor. "What am I thinking and hoping for?" She mused.

She shook her head quickly, trying to chase away the dangerous thoughts. "This isn’t me," she murmured. "I don’t need anyone. I never have."

And as she stepped into the elevator, she wondered—when the truth comes out... will that hug still be waiting? Will we still have so many things to do together? Or will everything shatter?