A Lowborn Bitch In His World Chapter 08
At that time, I had already settled down in a small city in the south.
In the early morning, with the mist still lingering, I stood at the entrance of the breakfast shop, preparing for the new day.
The low hum of the coffee machine drifted through the air, and the small street outside was still and peaceful.
Here, I helped Annie Wyatt manage the breakfast shop.
That day, when I fell from upstairs, I had already lost consciousness.
I only remembered the wind howling, the world flipping for a moment. When I woke up again, it was to the smell of disinfectant.
Later, I learned that I had landed right on top of a car that was just about to leave.
The driver was Janelle Wyatt.
She was the maid who had leaned close to my ear that day and told me the whole truth.
When she found me on the car roof, her face turned pale with fright, but she floored the gas pedal and rushed me straight to the hospital.
She didn’t dare contact anyone. Taking advantage of Adrian being drunk and the search order being withdrawn, she arranged for my transfer to another hospital overnight.
She took me and left that city.
We headed south, returning to her hometown.
When her mother, Annie, saw me, she didn’t ask anything. She just looked at my injuries, suddenly hugged me, and cried even harder than I did.
“What a tragedy…”
Later, Janelle told me about her mother.
Annie had once been trapped in a relationship with no way out, just like me.
Her husband used her eldest daughter, who had died young, as a threat, forcing Annie to submit again and again.
Until one day, the poor girl was beaten to death.
After that day, Annie lost her mind.
Back then, Annie held me, gently patting my back, her voice trembling: “From now on, you are my daughter.”
My child was admitted to the best hospital room.
Because he was treated in time, he survived.
But his body was too weak and needed long–term treatment.
None of us dared to relax our vigilance.
A year later, he could already stand unsteadily, reaching out his hands and calling out.
His voice was soft, but clear.
“Mommy.”
At that moment, I squatted down and cried uncontrollably.
We named him Felix Griffith.
Felix, as in fulfillment and happiness.
I thought I would never see Adrian again in this life.
Until that evening, when I was about to close up.
Outside the glass door, a figure had been standing for a long time.
I looked up.
It was him.
After a year apart, he was much thinner, his eyes sunken, and his suit hung loosely on his frame.
I kept my expression unchanged and continued tidying up.
The next second, he pushed the door open and came in.
The bell rang sharply.
He almost stumbled as he walked up to me, his knees hitting the floor heavily.
“Jae…”
He choked, his voice trembling: “I’m sorry.”
I stopped what I was doing and looked at him.
“I know.”
“I’ve seen everything you posted online.”
His eyes lit up for a moment, then quickly dimmed again.
“Where is the child?”
“Please allow me to pay my respects, please?”
“I’m begging you, give me a chance…”
I reached out and pushed him away from me.
“There’s no need. What’s missed is missed.”
“You should go.”
But he didn’t leave.
In the days that followed, he began to appear frequently.
In the morning, he stood at the street corner, helping to carry the steamers.
On rainy days, he quietly wiped the water off the doorstep.
He apologized softly, again and again.
Until one day, I finally spoke: “Come with me.”
He was stunned.
I took him to the rehabilitation center.
Through the glass, he saw Felix lying in the therapy pod from afar.
So small and quiet, almost unreal.
His breathing became erratic.
I said softly, “This is the therapy pod.”
“The child may have to live here for the rest of his life.”
“All because of you.”
It was as if all his strength had been drained; he slowly knelt to the ground.
I looked down at him and spoke softly but clearly: “Adrian, you should go.”
“I don’t want my child to grow up always seeing you, his murderer.
In the end, he said nothing.
He left the city in disgrace.
Not long after, I received news.
He had taken his own life.
What he left behind was his entire inheritance, designated for me and Felix.
I accepted it in silence.
That day, the doctor smiled at me and said, “Congratulations, your baby can be discharged.”
“From now on, there’s no need for the therapy pod anymore.”
On the way home, the sunlight was beautiful.
Annie bought groceries, and Janelle was busy in the kitchen, sweating profusely.
Felix sat on a small stool, swinging his legs, reaching out to me.
“Mommy.”
I picked him up and smiled.
In this life, what was wrong has already been left behind.
What remains, at last, is the happiness that belongs to us.
