Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 203 - Two Hundred And Three

Ashlyn tried to push herself up. She tried to rise.

But then she felt it.

Warmth. Wetness. Spreading between her legs. It was soaking into her dress, pooling beneath her.

She froze. Her eyes went wide with a terror she had never known.

She looked down at the floor beneath her.

A dark stain was spreading on the rug. It was red. It was thick. It was blood.

"No," she whispered.

She looked up at Carlos. Her face was ashen, drained of all color.

"Carlos," she said, her voice trembling. "Carlos."

Carlos looked. His eyes went wide. He saw the red pool growing, staining the white wool crimson.

"What?" he whispered.

The reality of what he had done crashed down on him. She wasn’t faking. She wasn’t lying.

Ashlyn screamed. It was a scream of pure loss.

"My baby!" she wailed. "My baby!"

She curled into a ball on the floor, holding her stomach, sobbing as the blood continued to flow.

After a while, she tried to stand up in anger but her legs trembled, weak and useless beneath her. She pushed against the floor, but her muscles refused to obey.

The blood from her dress, touched her skin with a horrifying slickness.

Her hand touched the ground, trying to find leverage to stand up again, but her fingers slipped.

She brought her hand up to his face. In the dim moonlight, he saw it. He saw the blood.

" Murderer!"

The crimson liquid coated her palm.

Carlos’s hands were shaking. He stared at the red smear on her hand, then at the growing puddle beneath her. He moved quickly, dropping to his knees beside where Ashlyn laid on the floor.

He reached out and cuddled her, pulling her upper body into his arms, trying to shush her.

Ashlyn cried again. A low, keening sound of pure despair. "My baby... my baby..."

Carlos held her, but his eyes were wide and frantic. Fear was evident in his eyes. But it wasn’t fear of losing his child. It wasn’t grief for the heir he had so desperately wanted.

It was fear of someone finding out what he did.

He looked at the door. He looked at the window he had climbed through.

"If Grandmother finds out," Carlos thought, panic seizing his chest, "she will kill me. She will say I murdered a Thompson’s child. She will throw me in the dungeon. I am already banished. This... this is the end."

He was terrified of someone knowing he was in the house. He was terrified of Ashlyn telling Beatrice that he had pushed her. He was terrified of being caught.

"Shh," Carlos whispered, his voice trembling. "Shh, Ashlyn. Be quiet. Don’t scream. Please, don’t scream."

Ashlyn cried harder, clutching her stomach. "It hurts! Carlos, it hurts!"

"Quiet!" he hissed, covering her mouth with his hand. "You will wake the servants! You will wake the Dowager!"

He rocked her, trying to hush her, his eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal.

Ashlyn struggled weakly against him, her sobs muffled by his hand, until the pain and the blood loss overwhelmed her. Her eyes rolled back. Her body went limp in his arms.

She fainted.

~ ••••• ~

Some hours before dawn, the room was quiet again. The moon had set, leaving the room in grey, pre-morning shadows.

Ashlyn woke up.

She blinked, her head throbbing. She was lying in her bed. The sheets were clean and crisp. She looked down at herself. Her blood-stained dress was gone. She was wearing a fresh nightgown.

She looked at the floor. The rug was clean. There was no blood. No sign of the struggle.

She turned her head.

Carlos was sitting close to her on the edge of the bed. He was watching her. He looked exhausted, his face pale and drawn in the dim light.

It turned out Carlos had been busy. While she was unconscious, he had worked with a frantic, desperate energy. He had stripped her of her ruined clothes. He had scrubbed the floor on his hands and knees, using her dress as a rag to soak up every drop of blood.

Then, he had taken the bloody dress, the rags, and even the towels he used, and he had thrown them into the fireplace. He had watched them burn, poking the fire until every piece of evidence was turned to ash.

Carlos smiled nervously when he saw her eyes open. It was a tight, fake smile.

"My love," he whispered. "You are awake."

Ashlyn sat up slowly. Her body felt empty. Hollow. She put a hand to her stomach. It felt empty. The heaviness, the sense of life she had convinced herself was there... it was gone.

"My child," she whispered.

She looked at him. Her eyes were wide, searching his face for an answer she already knew.

"Where’s my child?" she asked.

Carlos swallowed. He reached out and took her hand.

"Ashlyn..." he started.

"Where is he?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Did the doctor come? Is he safe?"

Carlos looked away. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

"There was... there was no doctor," Carlos admitted. "I couldn’t call one. I couldn’t let them see me here."

Ashlyn stared at him. "You didn’t call a doctor?"

"I cleaned you up," Carlos said quickly. "I took care of you. But... the blood... there was so much of it."

He looked back at her, his eyes pleading for her to understand his position, not her loss.

"He is gone, Ashlyn," Carlos whispered. "The baby is gone."

Ashlyn sat there, frozen. The finality of his words settled over her like a shroud. The shield. The future. All gone.

And he hadn’t even called for help. He had let her bleed to save his own skin.

"You..." she whispered.

"I had to protect us!" Carlos insisted, squeezing her hand. "If they knew I was here... if they knew we fought... we would both be ruined. I did it for us."

Ashlyn pulled her hand away. She looked at him with a look of pure, cold hatred.

"You burned him," she whispered, looking at the fireplace where the last embers were glowing. "You burned the evidence. You treated our child like garbage."

Carlos flinched. "It wasn’t a child yet! It was just blood!"

Ashlyn screamed. It was a raw, broken sound.

"Get out!" she shrieked. "Get out!"

Carlos stood up, backing away. "Ashlyn, please. Be reasonable."

"Get out!" she screamed again, throwing a pillow at him.