Chapter 3
I must've said it a thousand times. It wasn't me.
Still, nobody believed me.
By the seventh day, Matthew was completely broken. He dropped to his knees in front of me, swearing he'd take Ryan and vanish for good, never see Isabelle again—just begging me to tell him where Ryan was.
I just shook my head, my voice hoarse and tired. "I really don't know where your son is."
I was completely drained.
By then, the injuries from that car accident when I tried to save Isabelle were almost healed.
Just about three more weeks, and I'd be fully recovered. I could finally start my life over. If only Isabelle hadn't lost control and pushed me that day.
Ryan finally turned up again.
Turns out he'd just been messing around at a friend's place the whole time.
My wound split open again, tearing just like before.
My stomach was a mess of torn flesh and embedded glass.
I ended up spending the night in the hospital.
That night, Isabelle completely lost it and beat Ryan so badly that he was barely hanging on.
Matthew was bawling and begging her to stop, but she didn't even slow down.
The doctor said I couldn't have kids anymore.
The moment he said it, Isabelle's face went paper white. Her lips moved, but she couldn't get a single word out.
Just yesterday, because I refused to tell her where Ryan was, she went to the hospital and end her pregnancy. She didn't care how much I begged her.
I just nodded, numb.
Isabelle had changed.
She cut off all contact with Matthew, ditched all her social stuff, and came home early every day. Besides, she cooked me healthy meals and even took me to see a traditional doctor to help me recover.
Isabelle was back to the gentle, caring wife I used to know.
But inside, I was already dead.
Nothing could bring me back to life.
One day, the lights came on, and Isabelle hurried out of bed to get dressed.
I kept my eyes shut, pretending not to notice.
Isabelle let out a sigh.
"Matthew just called. Ryan's running a fever—104 degrees. I'm going over to check on him, but I'll be back soon," she said, her voice tight with worry.
"What if I say you can't go?" I said softly, barely above a whisper.
The second I said it, the whole room just froze.
It was obvious Isabelle was conflicted, the struggle plain on her face.
Then her phone started ringing again, relentless, refusing to be ignored.
Isabelle stood there for what felt like forever, but in the end, she still put on her coat.
"Edward, it's really hard for a kid to grow up without a mom. It's just so sad," she said softly.
She went on, "All those grudges and old scores are behind us now. Let's just move on and live our lives. Matthew's still your friend."
"I'm just doing him a small favor. I hope you don't mind," she added, her voice gentle but resolute.
She walked over, kissed me gently on the cheek, and headed out the door.
Standing on the balcony, I watched Ryan bouncing around excitedly downstairs while Matthew laughed, looking happier than I'd seen him in years.
Isabelle walked right up, scooped Ryan into her arms, and gave him a big kiss on the cheek.
The three of them looked like a perfect, happy family.
Pretty sure today was Ryan's birthday.
I stood there for a long time, letting the cold wind seep into my bones, my cigarette long since burned out.
Isabelle said everything was in the past.
But it wasn't.
Today was the day she got rid of our baby.
A life that never got to begin—only a day it was ended. And I was the only one who still remembered.
I laughed until tears streamed down my face.
Nothing mattered anymore.
When Isabelle pushed open the door, it was already morning.
The traces of a smile still lingered on her face.
I sat there, letting her spin her usual story about the hospital, just going through the motions.
When she was done, she said softly, "Don't worry, Ryan's fever broke."
I just nodded, reached into the drawer, pulled out the divorce papers, and slid them across the table to her.
"Sign it," I said, my voice cold and steady.