Chapter 4

Edward was left utterly tongue-tied by Mary's rebuke—he had no defense, no words to fight back with. He stood rigid as a statue, his face flushing pale then sickly green, overwhelmed by the humiliation and shame burning in his chest.

He could only slump onto the hallway bench, waiting in strained silence. Time dragged on endlessly, each minute feeling like an hour, every second gnawing at his nerves. He was on edge, miserable, and the whole ordeal felt like a slow, torturous punishment.

After four grueling hours, the delivery room door finally flew open. A nurse rushed out, her face taut with urgency. "The patient's hemorrhaging badly—her condition is critical! We need a family member to sign the consent form right away!"

Edward's hands shook uncontrollably as he took the form, his eyes scanning the words as if each line was a boulder crashing into his chest. He clamped his jaw tight, forcing his trembling fingers to scrawl his signature.

Two more hours passed before the lead doctor emerged, exhausted but wearing a relieved smile. "Both mother and babies are safe. Three healthy boys—strong little fighters."

When Edward heard "safe," all the strength left his body in an instant. He let out a long, shaky breath, then pushed open the delivery room door. There, Helen lay on the hospital bed, her face as pale as a ghost, her lips completely bloodless.

She struggled to flutter her eyes open, her voice barely a whisper. "Where are the babies? Are they okay?"

Edward stepped closer, his voice soft and reassuring. "They're perfect—three healthy boys, tough as nails. You can rest now, sweetheart. Everything's okay."

Helen gave a faint nod, her eyes slipping shut again. Edward stared at her exhausted face, a crushing wave of guilt washing over him—so intense he couldn't put it into words.

But the guilt faded as quickly as it came. His phone suddenly rang—it was Megan. He stepped out of the room to answer, her weak, whiny voice filling his ear.

"Edward, I haven't slept a wink since you left. My head's throbbing like it's going to split open. When are you coming back to stay with me?"

Edward hesitated, glancing back at the delivery room door, then gritted his teeth. "I still have a few things to take care of here at the hospital. I'll be back as soon as I can."

After hanging up, he lingered at the hospital for less than an hour before rushing out, already eager to leave the weight of his guilt behind.

Early the next morning, as the sky began to lighten, a sliver of sunlight slipped through the curtains and landed on Edward's face. He jolted awake from the couch, his body aching like he'd been hit by a truck.

He rubbed his bleary eyes, grabbed his phone, and dialed Helen—but no matter how many times he tried, the call wouldn't go through. He tried Mary next, but she hung up the second she heard his voice.

Anxious panic surged through him. He paced back and forth in the room, scrambling for any way to reach them.

In the study drawer, he found Helen's notebook—its cover worn, pages yellowed with time. He flipped it open casually, and his eyes fixed on the first entry.

[Edward said he had another work dinner and wouldn't be back for dinner. But Lucy saw him with a young woman downtown.]

[I don't want to ask, don't want to fight. Maybe men just go through phases like this. I still trust him.]

Her handwriting was neat and steady. As Edward read, his chest tightened, a sharp ache spreading through him.

He kept flipping, his heart sinking with each page. [Three months pregnant, and the morning sickness is brutal. I feel terrible every single day. Today, he said he had a work meeting and told me to take an Uber to my prenatal checkup alone.]

[I sat in the hospital hallway by myself, watching other couples walk in hand in hand for their appointments. I was so jealous—I just wished he could be here, sharing this with me, welcoming our baby together.]

Tears stung Edward's eyes as he read. He could almost picture her lonely figure, sitting on that cold hospital bench, watching everyone else with longing.

As he turned the pages, her handwriting grew thinner, more delicate. [The babies in my belly are little troublemakers, kicking nonstop.]

[I rub my swollen belly and imagine what they'll look like.]

[Will they have Edward's bright eyes? Or my tiny nose?]

[I can't wait to meet them... but I keep wondering—will Edward love them? Will he be a good father?]

[It's my birthday today. The sun's shining, but I feel like there's a cloud over me.]

[He forgot again. It's been this way for years. I keep making excuses for him—he's so busy, I shouldn't hold it against him.]

Edward's hand shook as he turned the page, forcing himself to breathe, to hold it together. The sound of paper scraping felt harsh in the silent study.

He flipped to the entry from the day before her due date, and his eyes froze. [Tomorrow, I'll finally meet our babies. I'm so nervous, so excited.]

[I just wish Edward could be here—even if all he did was hold my hand, give me a little comfort.]

[But deep down, I know this tiny wish will probably never come true.]

Her entry from the day she went into labor was short, her words shaky. [The house is so quiet at night, you could hear a pin drop—only my heartbeat keeps me company.]

[At eleven o'clock, my water broke. I called Edward in a panic, my hands shaking so badly I could barely talk. "Edward, my water broke—please come now!"]

[He said he'd be right here... but even as they wheeled me into the delivery room, he still hadn't shown up.]

[The pain was so bad I almost passed out. All I heard was the doctor yelling about heavy bleeding, about how dangerous it was.]

[At that moment, I thought I was going to die. I wondered—would Edward be sad? Or would he feel relieved, finally free to be with her without guilt?]

The last entry was dated five days ago. [It's been a week since the babies were born. They're healthy and perfect, every little cry makes all the pain worth it.]

[But Edward's only been here twice, and he never stays long. Today, he left after ten minutes. Watching him walk out the door, it hit me—what's the point of this marriage?]

[I can't let my kids grow up in this cold, empty house. I need to take them and leave.]