PopularNovelChapter 134
Caleb wrapped his arms around me, trembling as he heldtight. His eyes were bloodshot, on the verge of
losing control.
| clutched at Caleb’s hands desperately. “Colin... takehome.”
With a shaking voice, Caleb pulledcloser. “Dexter... | will kill you.”
At the doorway, Robin looked on with a complex expression, unable to utter a single word.
Melody sat shocked on the bed, unsure how to console Dexter.
Stella's eyes were red, her face streaked with tears. She didn’t know, couldn't fathom what her Phoebe had been
through.
Caleb liftedup, struggling to keep his emotions in check. With his mental illness, suppressing his emotions
was a hundred times harder for him than for anyone else.
“We're going home...” he whispered, leadingout of the hospital room.
Stella lunged forward, slapping Dexter hard across the face, crying out as she hit him. “Dexter, you bastard, give
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| sobbed into Caleb's chest, not caring anymore whether he was acting or not. In that moment, all | wanted was
someone to lean on.
That was all.
“Colin, shall we take the subway home?” My voice was hoarse as | spoke softly into his shoulder.
Caleb, holding me, walked on without stopping, his voice tender. “Alright.”
I smiled.
His acting was incredible; how could he be so composed?
Was he really mentally ill?
“Caleb, I'm not Phoebe Caldwell...” | wanted to see what it would take for him to snap.
| didn’t want to be Phoebe anymore; being Phoebe was too painful.
Caleb paused for a second, then looked down at me. “Yeah, | know.”
He said he knew | wasn’t Phoebe? So why hadn't he lost it?
“Didn’t you say you'd killif | wasn’t Phoebe?” | mumbled the question.
He didn’t answer. Still holding me, he wouldn't even putdown to enter the elevator.
| couldn't be bothered to walk; if he was protectingeven after realizing | wasn’t Phoebe, was it because | was
carrying his child?
10:11
Chapter 134
Men... they're all the same, aren't they?
| didn’t expose him, just quietly leaned against his shoulder.
“Why... the subway?” he asked softly as we entered the subway station.
| didn’t explain, aware of the stares and the whispers from the onlookers as he carried me. Bot Caleb was Caleb;
he didn’t care how others looked at him.
He had been the guy in ill-fitting clothes, grimy from his ton the streets. The man with a mental illness didn’t
mind the public eye.
The subway wasn’t too crowded, not rush hour, and | stepped out of his arms to stand next to a pole.
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| felt a bit hypoglycemic, probably from the earlier emotional turmoil.
Caleb, like a magician, produced a lollipop from his pocket and popped it into my mouth before scanning for an
open seat.
Finally, he spotted three seats taken up by a middle-aged man sprawled out, legs crossed. A young girl
approached to argue. “Sir, you're taking up three seats. Can you let us sit?” She gestured towards me. “Look at
this lady; she can barely stand.”
The man snorted dismissively. “I sat down first; these are my seats! Mind your own business, dressing like that,
you're no good.”
Caleb ledover, a man of action rather than words, and with a simple tap on the man’s forehead, he was
down on the ground.
So, in a mix of shock and discomfort, I sat down.
Caleb, ever the gentleman, gestured for the young girl to take the other seat.
The girl sat down slowly, admiration and awe for his good looks in her eyes. “Are you a model? You're so
handsome.”
The man on the floor lay there, pretending to be injured. “Ah, call 911, can’t make it, my heart hurts, he
attacked me, you all saw it! I'm calling the police!”
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