Chapter 3
Juana hovered by the bedside, smirking down at me.
"Ruth, guess what? I've got some exciting news. I'm carrying Sanford's baby."
I jerked my head up, staring her down.
Her grin was loaded with smug satisfaction and pure taunt.
"I just confirmed it today. What do you think... maybe your little one decided to come to me instead?"
I shot her a death glare, spitting through gritted teeth, "You bitch!"
Her expression darkened, and she swung her hand, slapping me hard across the face.
The impact snapped my head sideways.
I snatched the vase off the nightstand and chucked it right at her.
A sharp "crash" rang out.
The door flew open from the hallway.
Sanford burst in, eyes widening at the sight: Juana crumpled on the floor, her palm gashed by a shard, blood trickling steadily.
He hurried over to pull her up, then whipped around to face me with a cold, disgusted stare I'd never seen from him before.
"What's wrong with you? You've become completely unhinged! So, your boyfriend's a touchy subject? Juana mentions him once, and you go and hurt her like this?"
My hands trembled, my eyes red and burning as I locked gazes with him.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Sanford stared back intensely, then hoisted Juana into his arms and strode out without looking back.
I panted heavily, my thoughts drifting to Grandma.
If she were still alive, she'd hate seeing me reduced to this pathetic state.
I took a deep breath and steadied myself.
I flipped open my laptop.
Time to finish those design drafts I'd left half-done a while ago.
It ate up most of the afternoon.
But I finally polished them off right before turning in for the night.
Just as I was about to hit "publish," Sanford pushed through the door.
He carried a takeout container, his voice clipped as he asked, "No visitors today?"
I stayed silent.
He was in an oddly cheerful mood, though, setting the container down in front of me and nudging my laptop out of the way.
"You haven't eaten—don't go starving yourself. Try this."
He cracked it open.
A strong whiff of seafood slammed into me.
I balled my fists, tears falling one after another.
"Sanford, I've landed in the ER from seafood before. Don't tell me you've forgotten?"
He blinked, momentarily thrown.
Then he snorted dismissively.
"Oh, please, Ruth. Seafood's full of good stuff. Don't feed me that allergy nonsense."
He scooped up a spoonful and held it to my lips.
I clenched my teeth, tilting my head back to shoot him a fierce glare.
That set him off.
He gripped my chin hard, nearly yanking it out of place.
The agony forced a yelp from me, just as the food rushed in, making me choke.
I coughed and flailed wildly, but he didn't care—he kept shoving it down my throat, spoon after spoon.
At last, the bowl was empty.
An intense itch exploded across my skin, driving me insane.
Angry red hives erupted everywhere.
I clawed at my throat, gasping for air.
Summoning my last ounce of energy, I slammed the call button.
Then the world faded to black.
Right before I lost consciousness completely, I glimpsed a flicker of bewilderment and uncertainty on Sanford's face.
When I came to again, a full day had passed.
Sanford was right there by my bed, apologizing over and over.
"I'm sorry, Ruth... I had no idea it was real... I... The comments said..."
He cut himself off mid-sentence, like he'd just realized something, and shut up fast.
I propped myself up weakly, averting my gaze—I couldn't stand to look at him.
"Sanford, we should get a divorce."
He'd indirectly caused my grandma's death.
My child was gone because of him.
I'd even come close to dying myself, all from his refusal to trust me.
My suggestion enraged him.
He barked, "No way," and spun around to leave.
I didn't have the energy to deal with him. I switched on the TV, only to spot my completed design drafts already out in the world.
Credited to...
Juana.
I froze, totally blindsided.
Sanford caught the sound from the TV and turned back awkwardly, looking sheepish.
The only one who'd touched my laptop...
Was Sanford.
I shot him a furious glare, teeth clenched.
"How could you hand over my designs—the ones inspired by Grandma—to Juana? That's straight-up theft, you realize that?"
Whatever I said flipped his switch again.
His guilty look morphed into pure fury.
"Inspired by Grandma? Please—more like by that lover boy of yours!"
He stormed out, slamming the door.
"What's the big deal if I gave them to Juana? She needs something to launch her career. If you go public with this now, you'll be the one labeled a plagiarist! Got it?"
I just sat there on the bed, numb and staring into space.
I'd cried myself out; no tears left.
I stumbled out of bed and hurried to reach a reporter.
My designs had my signature hidden in them—a mark you could spot in every one of my past pieces.