As a Scummy Omega, I Ran Away with the Baby - Chapter 58.2

She instinctively picked up her phone, scrolling through work messages to hide her restlessness. Gu Yining, too, seemed uninterested in the show, sitting idly.

Just as Bai Qingqiu thought the night would end in this silent standoff, Gu Yining stood up—not to leave, but to go into the kitchen. She returned with an apple and a knife, sat down beside her, and began peeling it quietly.

Bai Qingqiu’s scrolling slowed.

All her attention drifted to the woman beside her.

The living room was quiet except for the television and the soft rasp of the knife against apple flesh. Gu Yining worked carefully, head slightly bowed, long curled lashes casting shadows beneath her eyes. The red peel fell away in an unbroken spiral.

Time seemed to slow.

She remembered—five years ago, in the home they once shared, Gu Yining had peeled apples for her countless times. Back then, she had been too busy with endless documents and overseas calls. She’d taken that simple warmth for granted, never thinking a peeled apple meant anything at all.

Now, after five years apart, seeing the scene again, she realized with startling clarity.

This was the warmth she had always longed for. This was “home.”

A warmth she thought she’d lost with her mother’s passing, yet had once already received—from Gu Yining.

This sense of security had nothing to do with stock prices or achievements. It required no grand success—only someone who stayed beside her without needing to be asked.

Gu Yining, meanwhile, was no calmer.

Her heart felt like the apple beneath her knife—its defenses stripped away, exposing a vulnerability she could no longer evade.

Bai Qingqiu’s clumsy gestures of care, the reappearance of that dish after five years, this silent companionship in the late-night living room—all of it stirred ripples in her heart. She wasn’t numb. The feelings she’d suppressed for five years surged back, threatening to pull her into old mistakes.

She admitted it.

She was moved too.

It was precisely because she was moved that she felt sharper and clearer than ever before—yet also more terrified.

She was afraid that all of this—the warmth, the tenderness—might be nothing more than a mirage, built atop the collapse of the name “Bei Nanyan.” She feared that, like ten years ago, she was nothing but a perfect substitute who had just happened to appear.

So, before she allowed herself to sink fully into this irresistible sweetness, she had to personally extract the deepest thorn still lodged in her heart.

Even if doing so meant that both of them would bleed.

She needed an answer—one that could decide whether there was a future for them at all.

The apple was peeled.

The long, crimson peel fell from her hand in a delicate snap. She didn’t cut any further. Instead, she handed the whole apple over, perfectly intact.

Bai Qingqiu reached out to take it, her fingertips brushing against Gu Yining’s. The warmth of that touch made her recall that unexpected embrace.

“Thank you,” Bai Qingqiu said, her voice softer than usual.

“You’re welcome.”

Gu Yining wiped her hands with a tissue. Normally, this would be the moment to find an excuse to leave, to escape upstairs. But not now. She had something to do—and she had to see it through.

She could feel how her action made Bai Qingqiu pause mid-motion.

The living room fell into a silence deeper than before.

The TV continued to play, but its sound seemed distant, from another world, unable to penetrate the invisible pressure surrounding them.

Gu Yining drew a deep breath, breaking the oppressive quiet.

“Bai Qingqiu.”

“Hm?” Bai Qingqiu looked up, taking a bite of the apple.

Gu Yining fixed her gaze steadily on her.

“I’m going to ask you a question,” Gu Yining said, her voice carrying a gravity unlike any before, each word seemingly drawn from the very last reserves of her strength. “You can’t lie to me. You have to answer honestly.”

The casual ease on Bai Qingqiu’s face vanished instantly at those words. Her beautiful eyes clouded with confusion. She set the apple down and nodded solemnly, mirroring Gu Yining’s seriousness.

“Ask.”

Gu Yining inhaled deeply again, gathering the weight of five years’ worth of grievances, frustration, and self-doubt. Every syllable she had rehearsed countless times in her heart over the past few days now escaped her lips.

“If, I mean, if Bei Nanyan hadn’t done those things, if she was still the kind, perfect person in your memory and she came back to you, stood in front of you, and told you she regretted it, that she wanted to start over, what would you do?”

Her gaze lifted sharply, every ounce of vulnerability and determination concentrated in her eyes, her question flung like a gauntlet toward the person before her.

The question cleaved through all the warmth and pretense that had lingered over these days, mercilessly exposing the raw, bloody wound between them. Once the words were out, a strange calm settled over Gu Yining’s heart. She had expended all her strength. All that remained was to wait quietly for the final judgment.

Bai Qingqiu’s expression changed instantly.

Shock, struggle, and a trace of mortification crossed her face. Her hand, still holding the apple, tightened, knuckles blanching with effort.

Time seemed to stretch infinitely.

Gu Yining didn’t rush her. She simply waited.

She gave her enough time to think, to weigh, to deliver the answer that would determine their ultimate fate.

Finally, Bai Qingqiu moved.

She took a deep breath, and when her eyes met Gu Yining’s again, all traces of struggle had vanished, replaced by unwavering resolve.

“I wouldn’t,” Bai Qingqiu said.

Gu Yining’s heart jolted.

“I only want you and Xia Xia.”

The words echoed through the silent living room, each syllable ringing with weight.

For a brief moment, Gu Yining felt as if she had won. Five years of suppressed grievances and resentment seemed, at last, vindicated. She even felt a heat in her eyes. But before she could savor this belated joy, Bai Qingqiu’s next words struck like an iron hammer from above, shattering that fragile hope.

It seemed Bai Qingqiu believed giving an answer alone wasn’t enough. She had to use her unassailable logic to justify her choice, to convince both Gu Yining and herself.

Frowning slightly, leaning forward, she analyzed the situation coolly and rationally.

“Besides, your hypothetical isn’t even valid. Even if I loved the Bei Nanyan in my memory, the truth is, that Bei Nanyan destroyed herself long ago. Everything she’s done now is revolting, disgusting. So, I have only one choice—and that is you.”

Perhaps for Bai Qingqiu, these words marked a clean break from the past and an affirmation of the present.

But as each word fell clearly into Gu Yining’s ears, the faint glimmer that had just sparked in her eyes dimmed.

Because it wasn’t her so you chose me.

That logic was sharper than any rejection. Like an invisible spade, it uprooted the tiny hope that had just sprouted in her heart and crushed it completely.

Yes. That’s exactly it.

Her value had always been built upon someone else’s fall. The one loved was never Gu Yining—ultimately, it was Bei Nanyan. She was just a superior substitute after the original had been damaged.

Round and round, it came back to the beginning.

Gu Yining slowly lifted her head, looking at Bai Qingqiu’s face, written with effortless certainty. In that moment, the last stirrings of emotion in her chest finally settled.

To feel utterly dead inside—this was what it meant.

She let out a soft, bitter laugh. It didn’t reach her eyes; even the sound of it seemed unrelated to any real amusement.

She didn’t want to argue anymore. She didn’t want to question. Nothing mattered.

She stood, drained of every ounce of strength, and spoke calmly.

“It’s late. Do you want to go back to your room and rest?”

Bai Qingqiu’s casual certainty faltered under Gu Yining’s sudden calm. Confusion and disbelief replaced it. She looked at Gu Yining, opened her mouth as if to ask something, but ultimately said nothing.

She set down the apple—still half-eaten, a symbol of warmth—and silently agreed.

Gu Yining stepped forward, expertly and carefully helping Bai Qingqiu out of the wheelchair, letting her arm rest on her shoulder. The familiar scent of white magnolia drifted once again—but it stirred no waves in her heart.

They remained silent as they moved.

Gu Yining tucked her in at the bedside, arranged the blanket, even adjusted the bedside lamp to its softest glow. She said not a word—everything was meticulous, careful, yet devoid of anything else.

Once Bai Qingqiu was settled, Gu Yining straightened and bid her farewell.

“Good night.”

She left those words behind, and without a second glance, almost fleeing, she walked briskly out of the room, closing the door behind her.

She locked this woman—whom she might never truly let go of—together with her own heart, long since dead, in darkness.

After that conversation, the faint warmth that had begun to bloom in the villa vanished without a trace, as if it had never existed.

The air turned silent and heavy again, almost suffocating.

Gu Yining no longer spoke to Bai Qingqiu, not even a glance. She devoted all her energy to caring for Xia Xia—drawing with her, telling her stories, always wearing the gentlest, brightest smile. But that smile, separated by an invisible wall, no longer reached Bai Qingqiu. She had become the perfect, dutiful mother, and a polite but distant guest in her own home.

Bai Qingqiu, after the initial confusion, seemed to understand eventually. She no longer attempted clumsy tests or awkward gestures of goodwill. Most of the time, she was alone, leaning on her crutch, staring silently out the large study window at the lawn below, where mother and daughter played.

Another week passed. After a doctor’s check, Bai Qingqiu’s foot had healed enough to remove the cumbersome splint. Xia Xia, under Gu Yining and Aunt Han’s careful care, had fully recovered—once again lively and mischievous.

Everything in the house seemed back to normal.

And so, it was time to say goodbye.

That afternoon, the sunlight was still bright. Bai Qingqiu had just finished handling an urgent file in the study and was about to pour herself some water when she saw Gu Yining at the guest room doorway, neatly packing the last few items into a half-open suitcase.

Bai Qingqiu’s heart sank, and she almost instinctively rushed over—forgetting, in her haste, that her foot had only recently healed, feeling a sharp sting in her ankle, which she ignored completely.

“You.” Bai Qingqiu’s voice trembled, betraying her panic. “Where are you going?”

Gu Yining’s hand paused mid-zip, considering the sudden question.

She turned slowly, looking calmly at the woman before her—Bai Qingqiu, stripped of all her usual composure.

There was no disappointment in Gu Yining’s heart, only a near-tender, apologetic compassion. She looked at her as one might a child stubbornly refusing to admit a mistake in an exam.

“Bai Qingqiu, thank you. I’ve been happy during this time,” Gu Yining said softly, clearly. “I admit before, your gestures of affection stirred me.”

A tiny glimmer of hope appeared in Bai Qingqiu’s eyes.

But Gu Yining’s next words extinguished it completely.

“But,” she said coldly and ruthlessly. “What happened cannot be undone. I’ve tried, every day, struggling and striving. I still cannot forget the feeling of you looking at me while thinking of someone else.” She paused, searching for the right phrase. “It has cut at my heart day after day for five years, as if etched into my bones, a part of me I cannot remove.”

She met Bai Qingqiu’s pale, shocked, pained expression, holding back her own heartbreak to continue.

“I admit that you are being kind to me now, enough to stir my heart again. But Bai Qingqiu, I can never be sure if the person you love now is truly me, or a perfect substitute who appeared at your lowest point, cared for you, understood you, and seemed flawless.”

“The saddest part,” she added, her voice carrying undeniable sorrow, “is that even you may not know the difference.”

“As long as my face resembles hers, I will always be a substitute—forever bearing Bei Nanyan’s shadow. I know I love you, and you love me too—but I cannot trust that what you love is truly me.”

Gu Yining took a small step back, crossing an uncrossable chasm. Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision.

“If, if none of it had happened five years ago, if I didn’t have this face, if I was just an ordinary woman named Gu Yining, and we happened to meet on a sunny afternoon at a café or an art exhibition”

“I think I would be very willing, and honored, to start with you.”

“But we know there is no ‘if.’”

“Sorry or maybe we should give each other some time.”

With that final sentence, Gu Yining offered Bai Qingqiu no chance to stop her—or, perhaps, she feared her hard-won resolve would waver if she lingered a moment longer.

She picked up her packed suitcase, cast a final, deep glance at Bai Qingqiu’s face, etched with pain and shock, and then turned toward Xia Xia, who had run out at the sound of voices.

Seeing the small face that held traces of both her own and Bai Qingqiu’s, all her clarity and sorrow melted into the purest tenderness.

She crouched down, forcing herself into the brightest smile she could muster.

“Xia Xia, Aunt has to go to work. Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a few days. Be good, listen to Aunt Han and Mommy, okay?” She held back her tears, steadied her thoughts, kissed her daughter’s soft cheek, and gently guided the little girl—on the verge of tears—back to Bai Qingqiu.

She stood up.

She didn’t look back, ascending the stairs that symbolized both pain and a new possibility.