Give Up, Mr. Lawyer! This is Not Your Child-Chapter 140: Even If It’s Just Self-Deception
He pulled open the car door and got in, his movement even a little flustered.
Inserted the key, started the engine.
The low roar echoed in the empty garage.
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white from exertion.
He needed to calm down.
He took a deep breath, trying to steady his thunderous heartbeat.
Going to the airport for what, to catch up with her and ask her not to leave?
What should he say to make her stay, he didn’t know.
On what grounds could he do this, and if he did, in what capacity would he say those words?
The people in the conference room were still waiting for him.
It was a multimillion-dollar project.
He could still turn back now, there was still time.
All he needed was to turn off the engine, get out, take the elevator, return to that orderly world.
His hand trembled as it reached for the key, wanting to turn off the engine.
At this moment, as if he were hallucinating, Wendy Wallace’s sharp accusations from last night rang in his ears.
"Are you planning never to see or ask? When something happens to Jean Ellison, will you regret it again? Come and drown your sorrows pretending you’re deeply in love?"
And Samual Pryce’s helpless advice: "Jean Ellison has been through a marriage, and she has a child. Things between you two have long since changed..."
Finally, it was Jean Ellison’s calm, unruffled face, and those eyes with a faint, cool tint.
It was her holding little Jesse, who looked so much like him, turning and walking away.
He always felt that Jesse resembled him, it was fate.
Even if not biologically related, it was destined for them to be father and daughter.
He couldn’t provide Jean Ellison and Jesse with status, but he could give them everything he could, ensuring they never wanted for anything, treating Jesse as his own, considering Jean Ellison his only wife.
No.
He couldn’t just let her leave like that.
At least, at least to see her one more time.
Even if it was just to see the plane take off, even if it was just to stand at the airport and feel her presence linger.
He couldn’t stand this silent, unspoken farewell.
He’d been through it once, missed seeing someone, and it became a final goodbye.
He didn’t even see Claire Caldwell’s body, didn’t know where she was buried, whether it was in the Caldwell family’s hometown, he had no clue, Timothy Caldwell was dead, Susan Kingston was mad, who would handle Claire Caldwell’s funeral?
His hand suddenly moved away from the key, dropping heavily on the steering wheel with a muffled "thud".
He put the car in reverse, pressed the accelerator, and the car neatly backed out of the parking space, the tires screeching on the ground.
Then, the steering wheel turned sharply, shifting gears, flooring the accelerator, the black sedan shot towards the parking garage exit like an arrow.
The car sped up, and as it rushed out of the garage gate, the glaring sunlight made him squint.
He turned on the signal without hesitation, merging into the traffic, heading in the direction of the airport highway.
Meanwhile, inside meeting room three.
The waiting had exceeded thirty minutes.
Attorney Wright’s face had completely darkened.
He took out his phone and directly dialed Justin Holden’s number.
The call rang for a long time, but no one answered.
Eventually, it went to voicemail.
"What’s going on?" Attorney Wright hung up the phone, glanced at Sinclair, and his tone was already tinged with anger, "Lawyer Holden’s phone isn’t being answered, where on earth did he go?"
Sinclair quickly responded: "I’ll go out and ask Attorney Pryce, Attorney Pryce should know where Lawyer Holden went."
Roughly an hour later, the door to meeting room three was gently pushed open.
The atmosphere inside, which was somewhat stifled and restless, suddenly froze.
Everyone’s gaze instantly shifted to the door.
Justin Holden stood there, still in his impeccably tailored dark suit,
but upon closer inspection, his hair was not as neat as usual, a bit ruffled by the wind, a faint trace of sweat at his temple, and his breathing slightly more hurried than usual.
His face showed no expression, still maintaining that stern look, only a trace of elusive fatigue and emptiness hidden deep in his eyes.
He walked straight to the head of the table, nodded slightly to everyone present, his voice steady, revealing not a hint of turbulence.
"Sorry, everyone, something urgent came up, I’m late."
He didn’t offer much explanation, didn’t even glance at any questioning or dissatisfied eyes, directly pulling out a chair to sit down, and placed his tablet on the table, getting straight to the point.
"It’s getting late, let’s cut to the chase and get directly to the main topic."
His speaking speed was a bit faster than usual, but the clarity and coherence remained, getting to the essence.
A meeting originally expected to take an hour or two, under his lead, proceeded with remarkable efficiency.
He quickly sorted out the core contentious points, set clear negotiation directions and bottom lines, and assigned follow-up tasks.
Throughout the process, he scarcely uttered a single unnecessary word.
Twenty minutes later, the meeting concluded.
The opposing representatives, although having some grumbles about the previous wait, were also impressed by Justin Holden’s professionalism and ability, and their attitude was relatively courteous when they rose to shake hands.
After seeing the guests off, several of the firm’s lawyers gradually left as well.
Attorney Wright walked over to Justin Holden, patted his shoulder, and said in a low voice, "Lawyer Holden, if there’s an emergency next time, give a heads up in advance."
The tone carried an elder’s concern and a note of reminder.
Attorney Wright was Teacher Thorne’s junior, and he currently worked in one of the world’s top few law firms.
Justin Holden nodded: "Understood, Uncle Wright, I’ll keep it in mind next time."
As everyone dispersed, only Justin Holden remained in the meeting room.
He didn’t leave immediately, but sat alone on the chair, leaning slightly against the backrest, his eyes closed, raising his hand to rub his forehead vigorously.
At this moment, Samual Pryce pushed the door open and came in.
There was a look of concern and confusion on his face as he pulled a chair over to sit opposite Justin Holden.
"What happened?" Samual Pryce lowered his voice, "You were an hour late for the meeting, Attorney Wright didn’t look pleased just now, it’s been spread around the firm, saying you’ve never done this before, where did you go?"
Justin Holden slowly opened his eyes, his gaze unfocused, landing on the empty opposite side of the conference table.
He was silent for a few seconds before speaking, his voice a bit hoarse: "Went to the airport."
Samual Pryce’s pupils contracted slightly, leaning forward: "You went to the airport? Did you... did you see Jean Ellison?"
Justin Holden lowered his eyelids, looking at his hands clasped on the table, his knuckles slightly tightening.
The meeting room was so quiet you could hear the sound of the air conditioning fan.
After a long while, he finally uttered two words: "No."
He lifted his eyes, looking at Samual Pryce, his gaze filled with a profound void.
"By the time I got there, the plane had already taken off. Jean Ellison and Jesse had already boarded."
Samual Pryce froze for a moment at these words, then as if relieved, leaned back into his chair.
He sighed, and his tone became a bit lighter.
"It’s just as well not to meet. What could we say if we did? It would only add awkwardness and pain. As it is now, it’s straightforward."
He tried to comfort his friend with an optimistic tone.
"Leaving is for the best, a clean break. They are going to Gresten, a better environment, a fresh start, at least they can live peacefully. On your side..."
He paused.
"It’s time to move on too. Leah Sutton has Aunt Holden and Zoe Holden to look after her, nothing too serious will happen. You should clear your mind and continue being the great lawyer you are, everything will slowly get back on track."
Samual Pryce still doesn’t know that there’s a problem with the child Leah Sutton is carrying; only Justin Holden and Uncle Holden are aware of this matter for now. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢
Justin Holden listened quietly, expressionless, neither agreeing nor objecting.
It wasn’t until Samual Pryce finished speaking that he spoke again, calmly making a decision: "I’m preparing to go to the United States."
"The United States?" Samual Pryce was taken aback. "When?"
"Tonight’s flight," Justin Holden replied.
"Tonight!" Samual Pryce almost jumped out of his chair. "So soon? Why...why are you only saying this now?"
Justin Holden’s gaze shifted to the skyscrapers outside the window, his tone remained flat.
"They’re urging things on, Professor Thorne has sent me many emails, the project can’t be delayed any longer."
Samual Pryce stared at him, frowning deeply. He understood everything clearly.
What project is so urgent, these are all excuses.
If Justin Holden truly wanted to go to the United States, he would have gone long ago. Why wait until now?
He chose the same day Jean Ellison left, the very same night he also decided to leave.
This is clearly avoidance, being unwilling to stay in this place filled with suffocating memories and realities, afraid of being reminded of the past, so he chooses to leave, going to a new environment free of Jean Ellison’s traces.
Samual Pryce opened his mouth, intending to expose his excuse, but seeing Justin Holden’s seemingly calm yet actually fragile silhouette, the words stuck in his throat.
He sighed and tried a different approach.
"It’s also good, going to the United States to change the environment, to refresh yourself. Don’t they have the best neurologists there? You might as well see about your insomnia, maybe you could cure it."
Justin Holden did not respond to the mention of insomnia.
He can only sleep now when drunk, it seems worse than before.
He had long stopped taking medication.
When he lived with Jean Ellison and Jesse, he didn’t need medication to sleep, he could sleep through the night.
The scent on Jean Ellison made him feel at ease, she always had a faint pomegranate blossom aroma after a bath.
Even when she wasn’t in the master bedroom, he would sleep on the bed where her hair scent lingered on the pillow.
She was the best medicine.
Justin Holden stood up, tidied his suit jacket, his movements recovered their usual briskness, as though that moment of vulnerability was merely illusion.
"I’ll go home to pack a bit, no need to see me off tonight."
After speaking, he stepped towards the meeting room door.
"Hey."
Samual Pryce called him from behind.
Justin Holden stopped but didn’t turn around.
Samual Pryce watched his straight but unmistakably lonely back, a thousand unspoken words stuck in his chest, eventually melting into one sentence.
"Take care, keep in touch over there."
Justin Holden nodded silently, opened the door, and walked out.
Justin Holden pushed open his front door.
At the entryway, a pair of small pink bunny slippers were neatly placed beside the shoe cabinet, they were Jesse’s.
Beside them was a pair of beige women’s soft-soled house shoes, the soles worn, often worn by Jean Ellison.
In the air, there seemed to still linger a faint hint of pomegranate flower scent, or maybe it was an illusion.
He didn’t turn on the main light, only walked slowly through the living room in the twilight leaking in from outside.
Toys were scattered on the carpet beside the coffee table, a half-built house sat askew as if Jesse had only run off temporarily and would soon return to continue.
He saw Jesse sitting on that carpet, chubby little hands trying hard to place a red building block, muttering something.
She looked up, saw him, eyes curving into a smile as she sweetly called, "Uncle Holden!"
The illusion vanished in an instant.
The carpet was empty.
A light gray cashmere blanket, often used by Jean Ellison, lay draped casually over the sofa.
It was as if he could see Jean Ellison curled in the corner of the sofa, a book opened on her knees, warm light illuminating her profile, she read intently, long hair hanging smoothly down.
The kitchen countertop was cleaned spotless, but the arrangement of the seasonings still followed Jean Ellison’s habits.
It seemed as if he could see her wearing the plain apron, her back to him, busy in front of the stove, the aroma of food wafting from the pot.
She would turn back, smile at him, saying, "Off work? Wash up for dinner."
The master bedroom door was open. The bed was made up with the light blue striped bedspread Jean Ellison picked.
He walked to the bedroom door, as if seeing Jean Ellison wearing that mauve silk nightdress, carefully watering the green plants on the windowsill with a small spray bottle.
Drops of water sparkling brightly on the leaves.
She’d hear footsteps, turn to him, eyes soft, casually asking, "Home early today?"
He instinctively held his breath.
The room was empty, the plants on the windowsill wilting, dust settled on the leaves.
Every corner, every object, silently replayed fragments of the past.
The house was full of the traces of their lives here; lively, concrete, omnipresent.
They were like fine needles, piercing his senses; not sharply, but persistently painful.
He stood still, looking around.
This place he originally just occasionally returned to for a stopover, because of their brief presence, for the first time felt like "home."
And now, that atmosphere had become the sharpest weapon.
He didn’t look anymore.
Straight into the walk-in closet, he pulled out a suitcase.
He didn’t pack anything else.
He only went to the bed, silently and forcefully rolled up the pillow, the quilt, the sheets, the duvet cover, the whole set of light blue four-piece bedding, and stuffed it into the suitcase.
There held the strongest essence of Jean Ellison.
Then, he returned to the closet, took a few of his most commonly worn suits, shirts, and necessary personal garments, neatly folding them on the other side of the suitcase.
Closing the suitcase, he zipped it up. Movements crisp and efficient.
He picked up the suitcase, gave the house one last sweeping look.
The living room’s toys, the sofa’s thin blanket, the kitchen’s spice rack, the windowsill’s plants...
Everything remained as it was. He didn’t inform the cleaners to tidy up.
He needed the space to stay as it was, even if it was self-deception.
If by any chance they came back someday, those toys were Jesse’s favorite, they couldn’t be thrown away, same with the toiletry items in the bathroom, which Jean Ellison was used to, and they couldn’t be discarded.
He closed the door, locked up, suitcase in hand, heading towards the elevator.
