Chapter 2

Laura watched the water marks fading inside the empty glass. Footsteps echoed from the hallway. Trevor was back. Each clack of his steps was like treading on her shattered heart.

She closed her eyes, grasping one of her hands tightly with the other.

Tomorrow, she'd check the surveillance footage. The day after, she'd dig into Trevor's bank transfer records. Once she had all the evidence, Trevor, who treated her like a breeding machine, would know what it was like to be tricked.

Amidst the rhythmic beeps of the heart monitor, Laura heard the door swing open. Trevor was back.

He stroked her hair, and his voice was deceptively gentle. "Laura, why didn't you drink the water?"

Laura opened her eyes, and her gaze fixed on the bulging pillbox in his suit pocket. She forced a smile. "I just wasn't thirsty," she said.

Laura stared at the glass Trevor handed her again. The white pill at the bottom was dissolving, creating faint trails. It reminded her of his red-rimmed eyes when he knelt outside the operating room three months ago.

"Are you spacing out again?" Trevor asked and tapped the rim of the glass, his knuckles turning white. "The doctor said this medicine will help regulate your uterine health. What you need to do now is cooperate with the treatment."

He braced his other hand against the headboard, casting a shadow over her. His watch glinted coldly in the light. It was her anniversary gift for him last year, engraved with "Laura & Trevor, together forever." Now, it'd become a reminder of how foolish she was.

Laura felt like crying.

She remembered what she overheard last night when the nurse was wheeling her to the ultrasound room.

The doctor said, "Mr. James, Mrs. James's ovarian reserve has already dropped below the critical threshold. If we force ovulation again—"

Trevor cut in sharply with a cold voice, "Enough. Ms. Ivanova's medication will arrive next week. Laura must undergo ovulation by the end of this month."

"I'll drink it," she said, reaching for the glass. The moment her fingers touched the glass, she jerked her hand back—the water was way too hot.

Trevor's eyebrow arched slightly as he pressed his hand against hers, forcing her to hold the glass. "The doctor said this pill should go with hot water," he said with feigned concern.

As the rim of the glass touched her lips, Laura caught the distinct bitter almond scent of the pill.

She stared at Trevor's taut jawline, remembering how gentle he used to be the first time he fed her medicine. He'd blow on it to cool it down before handing it to her, even placing a soft cloth under the cup so she wouldn't burn herself.

A bitter feeling welled up inside her. Suddenly, she was wracked by a violent cough. Her hand trembled, the glass tipped, and half the water spilled across the bedsheet.

"You're so careless," Trevor sighed as he snatched the glass away and turned to grab some tissues. The hem of his white coat brushed against the back of her hand, carrying a faint, unfamiliar scent—the distinct orange blossom perfume that Zora always wore.

Laura watched his hunched back, her fingers stealthily hooking around the handle of the bedside drawer.

Inside the drawer was the thermos she'd hidden that morning while he was on the phone, now filled with safe, lukewarm water.

Before Trevor could turn back, she had already dumped the original content into the bedside waste bin and poured the water from her thermos into the glass.

"My stomach feels like it's burning," she said, pressing her hand to her upper right abdomen as fine beads of sweat formed on her forehead. "Maybe the anesthesia hasn't fully worn off yet," she added.

Trevor's hand stopped in the air before finally coming to rest on top of her head, pressing down a bit harder than usual. "I'll have the doctor come check on you," he said.

As he pulled out his phone to dial, Laura caught a glimpse of the lit screen—the most recent call log showed "Zora," and the time showed "three minutes ago."

"No need to bother. Just stay with me for a while," Laura said. She seized his wrist, her nails pressing against his pulse.

Trevor stiffened momentarily before finally removing his suit jacket and lying down beside her.

His body heat seeped through the thin gown, but to her, it felt even colder than the wind outside.

Laura gazed at the IV bag's swaying shadow on the ceiling, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing. She remembered how, after her second miscarriage, he had held her just like this and murmured, "No more babies. All I want is for you to be okay."

Back then, she was moved to tears. Only now did she realize he was just waiting for Zora's son's condition to deteriorate enough to require a new bone marrow match.

"Go to sleep," Trevor said, his hand resting on her abdomen as if tending to a field waiting to be sown. "Once you've recovered, we'll try for another child."

"Where's the baby?" Laura suddenly spoke, her voice trembling.

Trevor's hand abruptly clenched tight.

She watched his Adam's apple bob as she said, "The doctor said the baby already had a heartbeat when I miscarried. He's my child. I want his ashes."

Suddenly, the air conditioner in the hospital room clicked, cutting through the heavy silence.

Trevor sat up abruptly, his suit button scraping against the back of her hand. He said, "The hospital disposes of medical waste through standard protocols."

"Then I'll go search the hospital waste disposal site myself," Laura said, flinging off the covers. As soon as her feet touched the floor, her legs buckled weakly beneath her.

Trevor immediately grabbed her arm. His fingers clamped her wrist with bone-crushing force. "You're in no condition to be moving around," he warned.

"Then help me find it," she said, her eyes fixed on his. "I want to give our baby a proper funeral. Wrap him in that little blanket I bought when I first felt him move."

Trevor's pupils constricted.

Laura watched as his hand touched the pillbox in his inner suit pocket, and then, after a brief pause, he took out his phone instead. "I'll have my assistant Zak contact the hospital," he said.

"Thank you," said Laura. She leaned back against the pillow, watching his retreating figure as he made the call. Her tears finally rolled silently behind her ears.

That little baby blanket still lay on the top shelf of the closet. Its rabbit-embroidered corners had faded from countless washes, yet her baby never even saw the light of day.