Devoted Love, Mr. Hayes’ Darling Wife

Amengual Group, a top-notch private hospital.

Nico had just come out of the operating room with Micaela, who was wet from the rain.

The nurse ran anxiously to Nico and spoke urgently: “Mr. Nico, Miss Florencia is dying and must be transfused immediately! The blood bank has run out of RH blood.”

Florencia’s father, Beltran Matamoros, knelt down in front of Nico and tearfully said, “Mr. Nico, please help Florencia! Only you can convince Micaela to give Florencia a blood transfusion.”

Micaela’s face was expressionless as she looked at Beltran Matamoros on his knees, the middle-aged man in front of her, Florencia’s father, but as if he had never been Micaela’s real father.

Beltran Matamoros knelt down again and pleaded with Micaela, grabbing Micaela’s pant legs and crying, “Micaela, Florencia is your sister just the same, give her a blood transfusion and save your sister! Your mother is dead and I am very old, your sister is the only family you have left in this world, you two sisters have to help each other …”

Before Beltran Matamoros could finish his sentence, Micaela interrupted him with a scolding, “You shut up!”.

Beltran Matamoros was startled, and Micaela’s face was colder than ice.

Micaela looked at Beltran Matamoros, who was on his knees, and scoffed: “Even if all my relatives died in this world, I would not recognize Florencia as my sister, please clarify to Mr. Jane, that my mother has only one daughter, I am an only child, I have no sisters. Besides, you are not worthy of mentioning my mother”.

Micaela’s words carry a knife that cuts that false affection into pieces.

Inside the operating room, another nurse ran out and shouted: “The patient is dying from blood loss!

Beltran Matamoros slowly got up from the floor and said in a pale voice: “Micaela, daddy has cirrhosis of the liver and there is no way he will give blood to your sister, you are young, the doctor said so, there are still 3000cc of blood missing, look at you…”

Micaela didn’t look once at Beltran Matamoros, she looked up, her back straight, her watery eyes staring at Nico with indifference.

Micaela pointed to the operating room and asked, word for word, “Nico, you want my blood to save Florencia, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Micaela tugged her pale lips and smiled, “Give me the divorce papers and I’ll donate blood to save your Florence. ”

Nico’s dark eyes were stern and cold as he stared at Micaela’s stunningly beautiful face, even angrily, and he did not change his gaze but sternly called out to his assistant, “Campoverde!”

Campoverde hesitates, “Mr. Nico, which …?”

Is divorce such an important thing to have to reconsider?

Moreover, between Mr. Nico and his wife, there was clearly a misunderstanding.

Nico kept looking at Micaela, but sneered at Campoverde: “The divorce papers!”.

Campoverde slowly pulled two divorce papers out of the briefcase he was carrying and shakily handed them to him. “Mr. Nico, do you want to…?”

He thought twice.

But before the words could be uttered, Nico had already pulled the two divorce papers and the black pen, and signed the man’s signature in bold, cursive handwriting.

Power through the paper.

The nib of the pen almost cut through the heavy A4 paper.

The bruises on the back of the man’s thin hands stand out.

Nico finished signing and handed her the divorce papers in front of her eyes, his gaze hard and cold, “Are you satisfied?”

Micaela looked up at him and smiled at the corners of her lips, gritting her chattering teeth as she tried to squeeze out a smile.

She said, “Satisfied.”

And then, cupping the two divorce papers, she turned and followed the nurse steadily to have her blood type tested.

But the moment I turned around, the tears I had been holding back abruptly escaped.

— Nico, I was wrong to pay after all.

And the man stood in place, his hands hanging at the sides of his pants, creased into fists, the green and white visible.

Beltran Matamoros said in front of Nico, “Mr. Nico, when did you and Micaela get married, how come I don’t know, wasn’t it always Florencia that you liked, wasn’t he going to marry Florencia?”

“Shut your mouth!” Nico threw a cold look.

Beltran Matamoros pursed his lips.

Three minutes later, the blood type test results came back and it was an exact match.

The nurse asked, “Exact match, have you decided to draw blood yet?”

Nico’s thin lips spat out one word coolly, “Smoke.”

Micaela watched the transparent tube in which her blood, little by little, was drawn and pooled in Florence’s body.

She hates it so much.

Lying on the hospital bed, she closed her eyes and her hatred turned into tears that slid from the corners of her eyes to the temples of her hair.

After an unknown amount of time, a sharp, stabbing pain erupted from her lower abdomen.

The nurse who drew her blood became alarmed: “It’s no good! Miss Micaela… Miss Micaela …”

On the snow-white sheets, Micaela’s lower abdomen bled so much that it stained the white sheets red and shocking.

Nico froze, “Micaela…”

Micaela turned her head to Nico, who lunged at him and curved her lips, “Nico, now, are you satisfied?”

“Dr. Micaela … … Dr. Micaela!”

Micaela was awake when she was wheeled into the operating room, her eyes wide as she stared at the blinding white light above her head and felt an overwhelming pain.

For she saw in Nico’s eyes remorse, regret and all kinds of mixed emotions.

But what is that revenge if not interest?

Lying on the operating table, Micaela told herself that aborting Nico was the stupidest thing she had ever done in her life.

The pain she felt now was a constant reminder that she deserved it.

Yes, she deserved it.

Remember the pain, she told herself, Micaela, and you will pay it back a hundredfold.

…

Two hours later.

The doctor in Florence’s operating room came out and said to Nico, “Mr. Nico, Miss Florence has been revived, not to worry too much.”

The doctor on Micaela’s side of the operating room came out and said to Nico: “Mr. Nico, I am sorry, the baby that was in Miss Micaela’s womb … was not saved and was aborted.”

Nico sat disheveled, head bowed and voice hoarse as he asked, “How old is she?”.

The doctor froze for a moment, not understanding, “Huh?”.

“I was asking how old the baby is.”

“IV. Four weeks…”

Nico reached up, wiped his face hard and took a deep breath, but it was as if a thousand-pound stone was weighing on his chest and he couldn’t breathe.

“Mr. Nico?”

“How is the Lord?”

The doctor said, “Oh, the adult is a little weak from the abortion and the blood donation, but nothing serious.”

“You go downstairs, I want to be alone.”

That night, Nico sat outside Micaela’s hospital room all night, not leaving half a step.

On the other side of the window, the rain poured down like it was going to wash away the whole of La Ciudad Santa.

Nico really wanted, with this heavy rain, to drown it too.

Early the next morning, he sat down in front of Micaela’s hospital bed and asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?”

Micaela sat against the hospital bed, her face pale and cold, looking at him mockingly, “You won’t let me give Florence a blood transfusion when I say I’m pregnant?”

“Micaela, you did it on purpose.” Nico affirmed.

Micaela tugged the corner of her lips and closed her eyes slightly.

You see, the trust between them has never been like a thin piece of paper that can be lightly pricked to make a big hole.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

Micaela spoke softly, “Yes, I did it on purpose, I hate La familia Matamoros, I hate Beltran Matamoros, I hate Florencia and I hate you even more, I just wanted to see what it would feel like for you Nico to have your own son killed by your own hands. ”

“He’s your son too!”

Nico rolled over in rage and grabbed Micaela’s neck in a chokehold.

Micaela raised her head, unafraid and unafraid, “It hurts, doesn’t it, but the pain you feel is not a tenth of the pain I feel, and you had better strangle me, or my vengeance will not cease.”

“Micaela!”

Anger, hatred … they’re intertwined.

The strength of Nico’s hand intensified, the slender neck in his hand would snap with a single push from him.

But Nico, heartbroken.

The heart, it really hurt.

He slowly released the five fingers and turned around, striding out of the room.

Micaela reminded him behind his back, “See you next Monday at ten o’clock in the morning, in front of the Civil Affairs Office.”

Nico’s footsteps, without pause or response, went straight out the door.

Micaela was sitting on the hospital bed, eyes downcast, staring at the wedding ring on her ring finger.

Her fate, as if it were the beginning, had stopped in midsummer when she had met him at the Matamoros family compound when she was eighteen.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have provoked him in the first place.

At eighteen, she met him and made a deal with him that she thought was a good deal and even made a lot of money.

Since then, she has gone astray and become confused about life.

She confidently thought that she, Micaela, could easily get Nico’s heart whenever she wanted.

At twenty-five, she marries Nico, becomes pregnant and miscarries for this man, and her youth is turned upside down.

Entangled for seven years, she spent her best years, all of them, with Nico.

She can no longer go on.

The Holy City was right when it said that Nico, the man, had no heart, was a prodigal son and would not look back.