Chapter 4
After they finally left, Julieta barely had a moment to breathe before her phone rang. She wiped her bloody hands on her shirt and answered.
"Ms. Summers, since your sixth IVF attempt was unsuccessful, would you like to schedule a seventh?" the doctor asked gently.
"Your last round ended in miscarriage, which took a serious toll on your uterus. Future attempts will be more difficult. If you're considering trying again, you'll need to be mentally prepared."
Julieta drew a shaky breath, steadying herself. "No more rounds. I'll settle what I owe, and please don't contact my husband about this anymore."
She hung up and didn't even notice Emerson had slipped back into the room until he spoke.
"What do you mean, don't contact me?" He'd grabbed the first aid kit and was already reaching for her hand, starting to clean the cuts. "Is something going on at the apothecary? Money problems?
"If you need anything, tell me. I'm not going to let you struggle."
Before she could answer, he stopped mid-motion. "Where's your wedding ring?"
He'd felt like something was off lately, and only now, bandaging her hand, did he realize it was gone.
She never took it off. Not once since their wedding day. He didn't know why she took it off now without a word.
Emerson stared right at Julieta, waiting for her response.
Julieta thought of that ring buried somewhere in the muddy yard, and her eyes turned bitter. "Lost it. It never fit right anyway. Was only a matter of time. Doesn't matter anymore."
Emerson's jaw tightened. If even the wedding ring didn't matter, he didn't know what did.
He started to say something, but when she tried to pull away, he held on.
"Don't move," he said, frowning as he kept her hand steady. "Let me take care of your wound. Sit still."
He cleaned the cuts carefully, and when she winced, his touch softened. He even blew gently on the cuts as he wrapped the bandage.
The concern in his eyes looked real. A year ago, Julieta might have mistaken it for love. But she was done fooling herself.
She looked away, pulled her hand back once he finished, and muttered, "I'm tired." Then she turned her back to him and went to bed, shutting him out completely.
*****
Early the next morning, Julieta stopped by her apothecary. When she got home, the sharp sound of breaking glass stopped her cold.
She looked up and, through the window, saw a swarm of workers inside her apothecary, smashing jars and dumping bottles while Lilian barked orders.
"Empty every single one," Lilian commanded. "Once you're done, haul it all out and burn that pile over there. Take everything. Don't leave a thing."
Julieta's heart dropped. She didn't even bother with shoes. She ran barefoot toward the shop, gravel cutting into her soles.
But she was too late. Her dried herbs were scattered across the floor, her collection of glass jars lay in pieces, and every medicine powder she'd carefully mixed had been dumped out. Nothing remained.
Rage surged through her, making her whole body tremble.
"Stop right now!" Julieta's voice cut through the chaos, cold and sharp. "Lilian, who said you could touch my things?
"I told you how important this shop is to me. Who do you think you are?"
The workers glanced between them, unsure, but ultimately kept at it, ignoring her.
Lilian smiled, all smug innocence, like she genuinely couldn't see the problem.
"Julieta, don't get upset," she said sweetly. "I had a stomachache last night, and Emerson was worried you might try to poison me again, so he told them to clear everything out.
"It's really not a big deal. Emerson said he'll support you anyway, so whether you're a doctor or keep your apothecary open doesn't make a difference."
Julieta went pale. Only she and Emerson had keys to the apothecary.
Lilian could waltz in and destroy everything because Emerson had given her permission.
He knew exactly how much this meant to Julieta. And he'd looked the other way while Lilian trampled all over it.
In his heart, Julieta meant nothing.
Julieta was still pale and reeling when the acrid smell of smoke hit her. She spun around and saw a heap of papers and clothes smoldering in the yard.
Little outfits she'd bought for the baby that never came. Every IVF record, every pregnancy test, every shred of hope, all of it curling into ash.