A Punch of Truth
Demitri’s mother, Irene, followed closely behind him, her face etched with concern as he stepped out of the airport after spending 3 restless hours on the plane.
“Demitri, are you sure you’re okay? You just got out of the hospital,” she said, her voice laced with worry.
“I’m fine, Mom,” he replied curtly, his gaze distant. “I need to see her. You should go home. I'll meet you afterwards.”
Irene sighed, wrapping her scarf tighter around her neck. “Then I’m coming with you. If you collapse halfway there, someone needs to pick up the pieces.”
“Mom, I—”
“No arguments,” she interjected, raising a hand. “Let’s go.”
Reluctantly, Demitri nodded, and they hailed a cab. The ride to the Donaldson estate was tense, the silence between them heavy. Irene kept stealing glances at her son, noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the tension in his jaw.
When the cab pulled up to the grand gates of the Donaldson estate, Demitri stepped out first, his determination palpable.
“Wait here,” he instructed Irene.
“Not a chance,” she replied, following him up the steps to the front door.
The guards at the gate wouldn't let them in so he asked to see one of the maids like he did the last time he came to see Ashley here.
A few minutes later, a maid approached. “I'm here to see Ash…Emerald Donaldson.”
“Mr. Donaldson isn’t home, and Miss Emerald is not here either.”
“Where is she?” Demitri demanded, his voice sharp.
“I don’t know, sir,” the maid replied, stepping back slightly.
Demitri sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair. He was about to turn back when the sound of a car pulling up behind him caught his attention.
A sleek black car came to a screeching halt in front of the gate, the window rolling down to reveal none other than Ashley’s father, Harold Donaldson.
The older man’s face was a storm of rage as he stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him.
“You!” Harold growled, his voice like thunder.
Demitri barely had time to react before Harold closed the distance and landed a solid punch to his stomach.
“Ugh!” Demitri staggered back, clutching his abdomen as the air rushed out of his lungs.
“Mr Donald, stop it!” Irene shouted, stepping between them. “He just came out of a coma!”
She spread her hands out to protect her son but Harold wasn’t listening. His face was red with fury, and his eyes burned with indignation.
“How dare you?” he roared, jabbing a finger in Demitri’s direction. “How dare you get her pregnant and then divorce her? How dare you show your face here?”
The words hit Demitri like a freight train, freezing him in place.
“Pregnant?” he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Irene gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Ashley’s pregnant?”
Harold sneered, his fists clenched. “Don’t play dumb!”
Before Irene could intervene, Harold landed another punch, this time to Demitri’s face. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but Demitri didn’t flinch.
“Get out of here now before I ask my men to deal with you!” He threatened with implacable authority.
“Pregnant?” he repeated, the word tumbling from his lips like a revelation. “For me?”
Demitri’s mind raced back to the night of drunken passion between them. That was the first time he had been intimate with Ashley and yet it resulted in pregnancy.
Whereas he had denied her of that all these while, taking her eggs for an ingrate like Elena. Tears pooled in his eyes.
Harold didn’t bother with a response. He turned on his heel, storming back to his car. The door slammed shut, and the car sped into the estate, leaving Demitri and Irene standing in the cold.
“Demitri?” Irene’s voice was shaking.
But Demitri wasn’t listening. He wiped the blood from his mouth, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Ashley’s pregnant,” he said again, more to himself than to anyone else.
This time, it wasn’t a question. It was a statement.