Chapter 2
Samuel instinctively took a step toward me.
But Claire called from the living room, "Sam, I think I'm not feeling well again."
He spun around right away.
Once the door closed, I looked down at the blood oozing from my hand and found a band-aid for myself.
In the middle of the night, I went to the kitchen for some water.
As I passed the study, I heard Claire's voice, barely above a whisper.
"Aren't you going too far?" she asked.
Samuel was silent for a moment.
"It's just three months," he said.
"But she's really good to you," Claire replied.
"That's exactly why I don't want to come clean right now," Samuel said.
Claire asked again, "Aren't you afraid she'll really leave?"
Samuel let out a laugh. "She can't bring herself to do it."
I stood outside the door, my hand growing colder around the glass.
The next morning, when he saw the breakfast on the table, his expression visibly relaxed.
He was probably even more sure I wouldn't leave.
*****
Sixty-seven days after Samuel "lost his memory," it was the company's anniversary party.
I hadn't planned on going.
At six in the evening, his assistant called me, sounding anxious. "Mrs. Grant, Mr. Grant has a terrible headache, and he left his painkillers at home.
"He refuses to take anything except the ones the doctor prescribed. Could you bring them over?"
I looked at the cold dinner on the table, but still grabbed the medicine.
The banquet hall was buzzing with activity.
The door was left slightly open, and as I walked past, I overheard people inside making a fuss.
"Mr. Grant forgot his wife after his amnesia, but he still remembers Ms. White. Now that's some kind of destiny, huh?"
"Stop talking nonsense." Claire's voice was barely above a whisper.
The next second, Samuel's voice rang out. "She can't have anything cold. Swap that drink out for something else."
There was a round of knowing laughter at the table.
I stood outside the door, not going in.
Back when I had cramps, Samuel would get rid of all the cold drinks in the house.
One year, I sneaked half a cup of iced coffee, and he was so angry he gave me the silent treatment for two days. Yet in the middle of the night, he still got up to make me a warm drink and take care of me.
I always thought that was the kind of care you only get from someone who truly loves you.
But later, I realized it wasn't.
When the assistant came out and saw me, his face went pale.
"Mrs. Grant..." he stammered.
I handed him the medicine.
"Give this to him," I said.
Someone inside heard the commotion and peeked out.
"Oh, Mrs. Grant's here?" they said.
The whole table instantly went quiet.
Samuel looked up and saw me, his brow tightening for a moment.
"Who told her to come?" he asked.
The assistant froze.
"Mr. Grant, it... it was me," he stammered.
"Don't take it upon yourself again," Samuel said.
I didn't go in. I turned and walked away.
The sound of my heels clicking down the hallway was like someone hammering at my heart.
Claire hurried after me.
"Natalie," she called softly.
She caught hold of my sleeve, her eyes rimmed with red.
"Those people were messing around. Don't let it get to you."
I glanced down at her hand gripping my sleeve.
"I didn't say anything," I said.
She looked a bit awkward.
"I just didn't want you to misunderstand. I've been feeling under the weather lately, and the doctor told me to take it easy. That's why Sam's been helping me out."
"What exactly is wrong with you?" I asked.
Claire stiffened for a moment.
She instinctively touched her stomach, then quickly let her hand fall.
"It's nothing, just some stomach issues," she mumbled.
I looked at her, but didn't call her out on the lie.
Funny how when someone was guilty, even their lies sounded so weak.
She avoided my eyes and then added in a low voice, "Sam doesn't remember you right now. Can you just give him a little more time?"
I pulled my sleeve free from her grip.
"If he needs more time, he can tell me himself," I said flatly.
Claire's lips lost a bit of color.
Suddenly, footsteps sounded behind me.
Samuel came out after me.
Without even asking what happened, he stepped in front of Claire, blocking me.
"Natalie," he said.
It was the first time since his "amnesia" that he'd said my name so clearly.
I looked up at him.
"What is it?" I asked.
He paused for a moment, like he realized he'd called me too naturally, and his face went cold again.
"Claire's not feeling well lately. Don't make things hard for her," he said.
I glanced at him, then at Claire, who was hiding behind him.
"So asking what's wrong with her counts as making things hard for her?" I said.
Samuel's brow furrowed. "She doesn't owe you any explanation about her health."
"Is that so?"
I nodded slightly. "Guess I shouldn't have said anything."
For some reason, the calmer I got, the worse his face looked.
"Natalie, if you've got a problem, take it out on me. Don't give her attitude," he said.
My fingertips slowly went numb.
So they were hiding the fact that there was a child, yet acting like it was only natural for me to be understanding toward the child's mother.
After a long silence, I finally asked, "Samuel, if I were the one lying in a hospital bed someday, would you care about me?"
He looked surprised by my question.
After a few seconds, he replied flatly, "Don't say things like that."
I gave a small smile.
"Alright," I said.
That night, I sat alone in the living room until dawn.
Samuel came back in the early hours and saw me still sitting there. He frowned and asked, "What's wrong with you now?"
"Nothing," I replied.
"If nothing's wrong, just go to bed. Don't wear yourself out," he said.
With that, he turned around and heated up a glass of milk for Claire.
*****
Three days later, I really did end up in the hospital.
That day was Samuel's follow-up appointment.
I didn't want to go, but Samuel's mother, Alicia, called me early in the morning.
"Sam doesn't remember you, and you're just going to abandon him? Natalie, don't forget you're his wife!" she said.
When I got to the hospital, Samuel had already finished his check-up.
Claire had finished her prenatal check-up too.
Just as we got to the stairs, she grabbed her stomach and staggered.
"Sam, it hurts," she said.
Samuel's expression changed, and he immediately went to support her.
Her foot slipped, and she fell backward.
I was the closest, and almost instinctively, I lunged forward to catch her.
The next second, in her panic, she grabbed my arm.
I lost my balance and crashed back onto the stairs.
I heard a sickening thud from my ribs on the first impact.
The second hit, the back of my head slammed into the edge of the handrail.
My vision went black in an instant.
My body kept rolling down the stairs.
My shoulder, waist, and wrist slammed against the sharp edges of the concrete, one after another.
I finally stopped at the landing, half my body feeling shattered. Every breath was agony, like my insides were being ripped apart.
Someone screamed.
Blood streamed from my temple, seeping into my eyes.
In a blur of blood, I saw Samuel rushing down the stairs.
He stopped in front of me, just for a moment, only a moment.
Up on the stairs, Claire started crying, "Sam, my stomach hurts so much."
Samuel spun around and ran back up the stairs.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
Nurses rushed over from the other end of the hallway. Someone pressed on my injury, while another called for emergency help.
In the chaos, I heard Samuel shout, "Help her first! She's pregnant!"
Later, I found out I'd broken two ribs, fractured my left wrist, ruptured my spleen, and needed eleven stitches in my scalp.