Try Begging - Chapter 152.2
Her mother didn’t say those words because she disliked or hated her daughter. Just as her mother had wished for her to live an ordinary life, Grace also wished for her unborn child to grow up normally.
Because Grace was unable to love properly as well.
There were so many couples in the world who wanted children, and it seemed wrong for her to raise this child in a broken home when she didn’t even want it.
Having money didn’t mean she could properly raise a child. That was evident from that man alone. In addition, she had no confidence that she could love the child. Frankly, it was overwhelming and burdensome. Even the fetal movements were still uncomfortable enough.
…Movements?
It was then that Grace realized. Since getting off the train and coming to the hotel, there had been no movements at all.
Why wasn’t it moving? It’d never been quiet this long.
Grace pressed down on the spots where the baby usually kicked.
“…What’s going on?”
She even spoke out loud, but there was no response.
Her heart sank.
She quickly sat up and grabbed a box of chocolates from her haphazardly thrown purse on the floor. She popped a piece into her mouth and chewed it hurriedly without tasting it.
“What’s the matter? Huh?”
Still, there was no response. Could something be wrong?
“Ha… what.”
It was a needless worry. After she ate a second piece of chocolate, the baby started kicking.
Grace rubbed around her sore belly button as she exhaled deeply. Was it just sleeping? She thought for a moment it knew she was planning to leave it behind and got scared. Then, she put the chocolate box back on the nightstand and lay back down on the bed.
Just as she wondered if the fuss was over, a small, rhythmic movement began inside her belly.
Now, she knew these were hiccups.
It seemed absurd, yet somehow funny, that an unborn baby could have hiccups. It was almost as if the baby was sending Morse code from inside her. As Grace tried to interpret these ‘coded messages’ and found it nonsensical, she burst out laughing.
She covered herself with a blanket and shifted her position, which seemed to calm the hiccups. As the movements settled, Grace gently stroked her belly, murmuring to her baby in a soothing tone.
“I’m going to live my life. You should live yours too.”
Don’t carry the burden of your parents, and live freely. Even though your parents are far from perfect…
“Still, live.”
The idea that tips from young women were accurate wasn’t just superstition. When looking at the records of tips that had led to actual captures, all the informants indeed turned out to be young women.
Naturally, their names varied, and with different people taking the calls, it was impossible to verify if it was the same voice. Nevertheless, Leon was convinced that all these ‘honorary members’ of the Special Task Force were the same woman—Grace Riddle.
The details in the tips were impressively thorough. Moreover, all the receivers noted that while the informant often claimed to be an acquaintance of the rebels or a cafe waitress, she never showed any concern about her anonymity when providing information.
That woman.
So far, there was no discernible pattern in the locations of the hideouts she reported. It seemed that the woman was simply moving as she discovered them.
Leon wondered if any of the rebels caught based on her tips had actually met her.
After sending Campbell to interview prisoners across various detention centers, he heard a fascinating rumor.
If you see a pregnant woman in sunglasses, the military will storm in a few days.
This rumor circulated among the prisoners, casting the woman as a harbinger of bad luck, akin to the ‘woman in white,’ a symbol of misfortune.
A symbol of misfortune? She was the informant.
It seemed she personally followed up on hideouts, confirming their locations with her own eyes before making her calls.
A dangerously meticulous method.
“Ha…”
That reckless woman.
Grace Riddle could well have a bounty on her head among the rebels, yet she was out there risking everything. For her safety and that of her child, he had to catch her soon.
Last Wednesday, after receiving the tip, he prioritized tracking down the informant over raiding the hideout.
He traced the call to a bank in downtown Dunwich, but the bank staff didn’t remember her. Still, she couldn’t have been sleeping on the streets, so he thoroughly checked the hotels in the city and indeed made some significant findings.
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