Chapter 3

Amelia squealed from the front seat, shivering exaggeratedly. "It's so cold!"

Oscar glanced at me in the rearview mirror. He was clearly annoyed.

He said, "It's raining. Close the window! If the rain gets in, the smell in here will be even worse."

My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

Just three days ago, he froze me out for days just because I had a sip of lemonade in his office.

And now, Amelia could sit up front, her jasmine scent filling the car, basking in the warm air he cranked up just for her.

All it took was her saying she was cold, and he jumped on me for cracking the window, no hesitation.

Principles? Rules? It turned out that they only ever applied to me.

My stomach churned with a burning ache, and even the baby inside seemed to pick up on my emotional storm, kicking restlessly. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath of the cold air pouring in from outside, and forced myself to keep it together.

Expressionless, I rolled the window back up.

The car was closed off again, warm and quiet.

Amelia was still a bit worked up, mumbling, "This weather sucks. I should've grabbed a jacket before heading out..."

Oscar glanced over and asked, his tone unexpectedly soft, "Are you hungry?"

Right as we drove by, a convenience store was still open, its lights shining in the rain.

Amelia paused, then said, "Yeah, a little. I always get hungrier when I'm not feeling well."

Oscar didn't hesitate. He flicked on the turn signal and pulled up right in front of the store.

Without so much as a glance my way, he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out. "Wait here."

The rain pounded down like a waterfall, hammering his umbrella and soaking his pants halfway up in seconds.

He didn't even flinch. He strode straight into the convenience store.

A few minutes later, he came back, still trailing raindrops and damp from head to toe.

He handed Amelia a steaming cup of coffee and some piping hot churros. The sweet aroma quickly filled the car.

Oscar said in a low voice, "Eat it while it's hot. It'll help settle your stomach."

The warm scent of the roasted churros and the cloying aroma of the red date tea quickly spread through the small car.

The smell dominated the space, drowning out even the hum of the AC.

I stared at Oscar's soaked cuffs and shoulders, and at the effortless care in his eyes as he handed the food to Amelia.

The last thread I was clinging to inside just snapped.

I remembered all those nights when Oscar dragged himself home after a marathon surgery, and I'd tiptoe around, barely breathing, terrified of waking him because he said he couldn't stand being disturbed.

I thought of all his off-limits zones, like how his private space had to be spotless, how food was totally banned in his office, how he drew such hard lines between work and personal life.

For nine years, I'd been tiptoeing around him, spending all that time making sure I never crossed a single line.

But in the end, all those rules? They were never set in stone after all.

The key to his world was never mine to hold. It always stayed firmly in his grasp. Now, he was handing it over to someone else without a second thought.

The car crawled through the storm and traffic, just like my heart, struggling to breathe, suffocating under the weight of it all.

Amelia nibbled on her churros, sipping her hot drink, and kept sharing bits with Oscar as she ate.

"Mr. Moore, you gotta try this churro. It's so good!" she said.

She even broke off a big chunk and, without any hesitation, shoved it right in front of Oscar's face.

Oscar was driving, so he leaned away a bit, dodging her attempt to feed him directly.

But he casually took the piece from Amelia, didn't bother with a napkin, and tossed it into his mouth right above the steering wheel. "Not bad. You should eat more," he said.

Eating while driving? Unbelievable. He would never have done that before.

There wasn't even a trace of his usual obsession with keeping the car spotless.

My fingers clenched so tight, my palm started to ache.

I remembered it all too well. Just because of a faint whiff of lemonade in his office, Oscar would treat me like I was invisible for three days straight.

Amelia sighed contentedly, then started chatting nonstop with Oscar again.

She talked about cases in the department, griped about the head nurse, whom she couldn't stand, and even went on about how clingy her cat was.

Amelia kept peppering him with questions, always asking "What should I do?" like she couldn't make a move without his input.

Oscar, who was always so detached outside of academic talk, now answered her with patience and indulgence I'd never seen before.

He even played along with her pointless little jokes.

The atmosphere between them was so relaxed, so natural. There was even a hint of intimacy in the air.

Meanwhile, I was the invisible wife in the back seat, six months pregnant with his child, as if I didn't even exist.

It honestly felt like they were the ones sharing this stormy ride as a couple, and I was just an awkward third wheel tagging along.

That hour-long drive was pure torture, every minute dragging on like an eternity.

By the time I finally saw the familiar outline of our neighborhood, I was so exhausted I felt like I could collapse.

"Just drop me off at the next intersection," I said, my voice hoarse.

I couldn't wait to escape this suffocating cage.