He was a towering figure, yet at that moment, he appeared fragile.

A man walked by, clapping a comforting hand on Tyrone's shoulder. “Bro, it's okay. You will have another baby."

Tyrone shut his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, they were bloodshot.

Wordlessly, he turned and drove his fist into the corridor wall. His knuckles quickly reddened and swelled.

But he didn't stop. Again, he struck the wall, and again...

He only ceased when his blood stained the wall, and the bone on the back of his hand was visible.

Weakly, Tyrone slid down against the wall. Overwhelming guilt and intense pain made breathing difficult.

Had the recent death of his grandfather caused him to lose his usual patience with Sabrina?

How could he have left Sabrina locked in that room?

He was fully aware she was carrying their child.

He knew the pregnancy was high-risk.

He berated himself bitterly.

His eyes clamped shut.

The baby's survival seemed less likely with each passing minute.

Yet, he clung to the faintest hope.

If the baby didn't make it, he was certain Sabrina would leave him, too.

The man glanced at his flabbergasted face, sighed, and fished out his pack of cigarettes and lighter, extending them towards him. "Bro, do you want one?"

Tyrone's gaze fell upon the pack of cigarettes extended by the man. He accepted it, sauntered towards the stairway, Lit up one, and inhaled a lungful of smoke.

Sabrina was not to blame. He was the one caused Cesar's death.

In that fleeting moment, the guilt of his recent actions gnawed at his conscience. He found himself unforgivable.