Chapter 2

By the time the surgery was over and I was finally released from the hospital, morning had already arrived.

I was still wearing the same wrinkled coat from yesterday, slowly making my way out of River City General Hospital, steadying myself against the wall as I went.

After the induced labor, I was so weak that every step felt like I was treading on clouds. My legs had no strength left in them at all.

The slightest effort sent a stabbing pain through my lower abdomen, and I could barely stand upright. I had to stop and lean against the wall, gasping for breath.

An older woman about my mom's age walked by, saw how pale and shaky I looked, and reached out to steady me.

She checked me out, worry written all over her face.

"Sweetie, you look like you've seen a ghost. Where's your husband? With something this serious, why isn't he here by your side?" she said.

I forced a smile and thanked her.

I couldn't bring myself to tell her that my husband, James, was off comforting another woman, helping her through her fear and being there for her instead of me.

The man who once promised to take care of me for life at our wedding was now busy trying to fix the mistakes of his past, playing the hero for someone else.

When I reached the hospital entrance, my phone buzzed.

I glanced down. It was a message from James.

It read: [What do you want for breakfast? Still want sandwich and coffee from that spot on Southside Lane?]

His tone was so casual, like nothing had ever happened. It was as though last night's fight never existed, and as if our baby was still safe and sound inside me.

This was his usual way of patching things up: send a bland message and expect me to sweep yesterday's mess under the rug and move on.

It didn't matter if I was still hurting, if I couldn't let it go, or if I hadn't slept a wink all night. As long as he reached out, I was expected to be the grown-up, quietly putting myself back together for him.

Back then, whenever we had a cold war, all it took was for him to make the tiniest gesture, and I'd melt.

I'd act like nothing ever happened, falling right back into being the sweet, easygoing wife he wanted.

But today, reading that message, all I tasted was bitterness in my throat, and the ache in my stomach twisted right along with it.

And those scraps of tenderness and compromise he ever gave me? They were simply because I was pregnant with his baby.

James had always wanted a baby. He'd said it over and over. He wanted to make up for the regret he felt from his own broken childhood family.

When he first found out I was pregnant, he was so excited his lips were trembling, like he wanted to treat me like something precious and fragile, guarding me with his whole heart.

But when there was no baby, every time we fought and gave each other the silent treatment, I was the one lying awake all night, waiting for him to make the first move.

But in the end, it was always me who had to swallow my pride and break the silence first.

I didn't reply. I deleted his message and forced myself through the pain, taking it step by step as I left the hospital.

Outside, the rain was still coming down, fine lines slanting through the air, everything wrapped up in a gray haze.

I held onto the umbrella I'd borrowed from the nurse's station, shivering as I waited for a cab by the curb.

The wind cut right through my thin coat, and the cold made my lips lose all their color.

Suddenly, a familiar car pulled up right in front of me.

The dark gray body was blurred by the rain, but I recognized it instantly.

It was James's car.

My heart clenched tight.

Why was he here? Did he come for me, or did he already know something?

I scrambled to get my thoughts together, ready to tell him the baby was gone, but before I could say a word, the passenger window rolled down.

That was when I saw it. Emily was sitting right there in the passenger seat.

She had only a light touch of makeup, her long hair draped over her shoulders, making her look even more delicate.

She managed a weak smile at me, her eyes showing a perfect hint of exhaustion.

There were a few bruises on her arm, standing out sharply against her pale skin.

"Olivia, I didn't expect to see you here," Emily said in a gentle voice. "My gastritis flared up again this morning, so James brought me to the hospital."

I stared at her, keeping silent.

"Olivia, get in the car," James called from the driver's seat, his voice laced with impatience. "It's still raining out there."

I didn't argue.

With how weak I was, even another second in the rain felt unbearable.

I eased myself into the back seat, every movement slow and careful, because every time I bent over, a sharp pain shot through my belly.

Once I was settled, Emily closed the door for me, then picked up a thermal bag from the front seat and gently placed it on my lap.

"James got me breakfast. It's still warm. You don't look so good, Olivia. Want to have a bite?" she said.

The name on the bag was from my favorite breakfast shop on Southside Lane.

Back when I was pregnant and had a poor appetite, James used to take a detour every morning to get it for me. He said their coffee was great and their sandwiches weren't too greasy, so I could eat without worrying.

Now, that same breakfast was cradled in Emily's arms, like she was flaunting a trophy on purpose.

I glanced up at the rearview mirror.

James kept his hands steady on the wheel, his expression unreadable, as if he was completely oblivious to the hint of pride in Emily's voice.

"She just got out of the hospital. Don't provoke her," James said.

Emily immediately lowered her head, her voice sounding apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean anything by it. James mentioned you liked breakfast from this shop, so I thought I'd ask," she said.

I glanced at the bruises on her arm and asked softly, "Do stomach problems leave bruises like that?"

The car fell silent.

Emily's fingers tightened around the edge of the thermal bag, and after a moment, she finally looked up.

"These are old marks," she said.

"Old marks?" I asked.

"It's nothing," she cut me off quickly, turning to look out the window. "It's all in the past."

James's brow furrowed.

"Olivia, you just had surgery. Do you really have to start grilling people the second you get in the car?" he asked.

I leaned back in the rear seat, the pain in my stomach coming in waves, but I didn't let it show on my face.

"I was simply making conversation," I said.

"Even small talk has its time," he replied.

There was that old impatience in his voice.

Back then, I would've kept quiet, afraid the argument would spiral out of control. But now, I simply lowered my eyes, slipped my phone into my coat pocket, and pressed the record button.

I wasn't trying to record their secrets, nor did I plan to use a few vague remarks to prove anything.

I simply wanted to see how low a man could sink. When his wife had just suffered a miscarriage, he poured all his patience and affection into another woman.

Emily seemed to notice my silence, and after a moment, she spoke up again, her voice cautious.

"Olivia, are you still upset with James?" she asked.

I didn't answer.

She seemed to take my silence as a yes and continued, "James told me all about what happened last night. He was simply trying to help me, you know. He never wanted to hurt you.

"If only you'd given him a chance to explain, maybe things wouldn't have turned out like this."

I slowly lifted my head.

"What exactly did he tell you?" I asked.

"He said you wouldn't let me move in, and that you said some pretty harsh things," Emily replied.

"So he told you that I wouldn't let you move in, and that's why he lashed out?" I asked.

Emily's face changed a little.

James slammed on the brakes, and the car jerked to a stop at the red light.

"Olivia, do you really have to make everything sound so harsh?" he snapped.

"It's not what I said that's harsh," I replied.

I stared at the back of his head, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's what you've done."

He glared at me through the rearview mirror, his eyes cold and menacing.

Emily hurriedly took hold of his arm. "James, don't be mad. Olivia just had surgery, she's not herself right now. I don't blame her."

Her fingertips lingered on his sleeve, like it was second nature to her.

Only then did James's expression soften a little.

I looked at her hand, feeling absolutely nothing. In fact, it was almost funny to me.

We'd been married for three years, and he never let me touch him in front of other people. At parties, whenever I tried to link arms with him, he'd quietly move away, then later tell me he just wasn't used to being affectionate in public.

But it turned out, it was never about being uncomfortable. He simply never wanted to be close to me.