Chapter 702



When Clayton noticed Kallie, he stood up and asked, “Is Calvin feeling better?”

Kallie’s face remained unreadable, but she nodded.

Clayton let out a breath of relief. “Good.” Then, as if remembering something, he added apologetically, “Cara is at fault. You can take your anger out on me, but please don’t hold a grudge over this.”

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Kallie lifted her gaze, her face an impassive mask as she looked at Clayton. “Mr. Morgan, you’re overthinking. I won’t hold a grudge against you,” she said flatly.

Kallie felt absolutely nothing toward Clayton—no hate, no anger, not even pity. He was nothing to her.

If it weren’t for the debt Kallie owed Clayton from the past, she wouldn’t have shown any politeness, let alone let the Morgan family off so lightly. Letting the Morgan family walk away unscathed would make Calvin’s unfair suffering less severe than it already was.

Kallie understood it was Cara who was at fault. One could even argue that Clayton had no part in it at all. After all, he hadn’t been there when Cara had unleashed her reign of terror. But it was Clayton who had enabled Cara and allowed her to become so ruthless and cruel.

Kallie hadn’t voiced any of this, but Clayton could practically read her mind. His hands clenched into fists, as if forcing himself to swallow a bitter pill. A grimace twisted his features. “I have my reasons,” he mumbled. “I don’t have a choice.”

Check gⱯlnσv𝒆ℓs․cøm for more chapters Kallie pressed her lips together, barely managing to conceal her scorn. Shame washed over Clayton, and he made a hasty excuse to leave.

Clayton had already hired a nurse for Elma, so he didn’t stick around.

The truth was, guilt and shame were eating Clayton alive.

Even though Cara had tormented Elma terribly, Clayton couldn’t do anything to Cara. He blamed himself for Cara’s hellish life on the island for ten years. Despite his efforts to search for her for years and ultimately bring her back, he might carry that guilt for the rest of his life.

After a moment of contemplation, Kallie walked over to Elma’s bedside.

Elma remained unconscious, trapped in a restless sleep. Beads of sweat dotted her pale forehead, and her breathing remained shallow and labored.

Beads of perspiration dotted Elma’s forehead, and she mumbled incoherently, her small face contorted in distress.

Kallie gently dabbed at the sweat on Elma’s forehead with a cool cloth. With a soft sigh, she carefully adjusted the blankets, ensuring Elma was comfortably tucked in.

As Kallie turned to leave, Elma’s small hand shot out, grasping hers with surprising strength.

Elma’s eyes fluttered open halfway, revealing a hazy gaze. “Mommy, don’t go,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. The word “Mommy” echoed in Kallie’s ears, sending a jolt through her. Her heart ached with a sudden, unexpected tenderness, and she instinctively tightened her grip on Elma’s tiny hand. “What did you call me, sweetheart?” she asked softly, her voice trembling slightly.

Elma tried to exert some strength, but her body was still weak and unresponsive.

Noticing Elma’s struggle, Kallie quickly extended her hand further, offering more support.

Elma clutched Kallie’s hand, her small fingers curling around it with a desperate urgency, as if clinging to a lifeline.

.

.

.