The phone call ended abruptly. Kingsley stared at the screen, his fingers still gripping the device. His grandfather's words echoed in his mind, each syllable were sharp and accusing.
"Bring her back. Bring Jasmine back."
Kingsley exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple. The weight of the conversation lingered, pressing down on him like a storm. He had tried to explain, tried to make his grandfather understand, but it was as if the old man was deaf to reason.
He turned away from the window, his gaze landed on the bed. There she was.
Jasmine.
Lying there, still and silent. Her chest rose and fell with each shallow breath she took, her face was pale and her lips were dry. Even in this state, she was beautiful. Her protruding stomach didn't demolish her beauty.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden buzz of his phone. He glanced at the screen—his grandfather again. With a resigned sigh, he answered.
