Chapter 2

Later, at the hospital, the doctor reviewed my test results.

"Mrs. Rivers, you're nine weeks pregnant, and everything looks perfect with the baby," the doctor said.

I lowered my head, gently placed my hand over my belly, unable to stop myself from trembling all over.

Just then, my phone flashed up a memory notification from eight years ago.

It was a photo of Andrew, kneeling on one knee on the bare floor of our rented place, holding up a soda can tab, and offering it to me like a real ring.

"Alison, one day when I can afford an apartment, I'll get us one with huge floor-to-ceiling windows so you can watch the sunset every single evening," he promised.

We used to share one portion of pasta. He always gave me his share of the sausage.

Now, through those big windows in our villa, I saw a perfect garden, but he never sat down to eat a proper meal with me anymore.

The steady beep of the monitor snapped me out of my memories.

"Just end the pregnancy," I whispered.

The doctor hesitated, his hand hovering over my chart. "You should know, if you go through with the procedure now, there's a chance you might not be able to..."

I knew exactly what he meant, but this just wasn't the right time for a baby.

None of this was the baby's fault, but how was I supposed to raise a child completely alone?

I was scared my child would have to grow up in a broken home.

Memories of my life with Andrew kept flashing through my mind.

From the first time we met, to the days when we were falling for each other.

Every scene played out like a silent movie right before my eyes.

I used to believe we'd always be in love.

I dreamed we would build a warm home together. I imagined us raising our child, watching them grow.

Now, all those dreams were shattered.

I knew there was no fixing what was broken between us.

The doctor let out a soft sigh when he saw I wasn't going to say anything, then turned away to prepare for the procedure.

I lay quietly on the hospital bed, everything around me eerily silent. The only sound was the steady beep of the monitor beside me.

Outside, the sky was growing darker. A few fading rays of sunlight slipped through the clouds, spilling weak light across the floor of my room.

It felt like my whole world was fading away with that dying sunset—just as dim and lifeless.

When I got back from the hospital after the procedure, I noticed Andrew's slippers by the door were lined up perfectly, just like always.

May Gellar, our housekeeper, took my coat and whispered, "Mr. Rivers hasn't been home for three days."

She glanced away, awkwardly adding, "Ms. Yeats was experiencing menstrual cramps, so Mr. Rivers has been staying with her at the hospital."

I hauled my heavy body into the master bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, the anesthesia still lingering in my system.

A dull ache in my lower body made me curl up into a ball.

I don't know how long I'd been out when I felt a hand gently patting my cheek.

"Alison?" Andrew's voice called out softly.

I opened my eyes and saw him sitting by the bed, holding a glass of warm water. His hair was messy, falling across his forehead.

"Did you go to the hospital? You smell like disinfectant," Andrew asked, his voice tinged with concern.

He tried to pull back the covers to check on me, but I clung to them, keeping him away.

"Don't touch me," I spat out, barely above a whisper.

Every word was forced through gritted teeth.

I buried my face in the pillow, refusing to look at him. I heard him let out a sigh.

He said, "Carrie's not feeling well, and she can't stand the smell of disinfectant.

"Just stay in your room for the next few days, so you don't disturb her.

"I'm going to lock the door for now. I'll have your meals brought up to you."

With that, he got up and headed for the door, his steps hurried.

He looked like he couldn't stand being in the room a second longer with that disinfectant smell.

The lock clicked shut—a clear, cold sound. It sealed me inside this small room, cutting me off from the outside world.

I curled up under the covers, the pain in my body tangled up with all the hurt inside.

Out of nowhere, I remembered the first time I was pregnant. He held me close all night, singing lullabies, totally off-key but trying his best.

"Allie, if it's a girl, let's call her, let's call her Lolly," he said, grinning. He looked so proud of the name.

Back then, he'd rest his head on my stomach with that goofy smile, promising to save all the sweets in the world for our little girl.

But then, I had a miscarriage, and our baby was gone.

After that, something in his eyes changed. I couldn't read him anymore.

He stopped holding me close and comforting me like he used to. The atmosphere at home turned suffocating and cold.

I tried so hard to bring back what we had, acting all sweet and playful like before, but he'd just brush me off, never really paying attention.

Now, that same lullaby was floating in through the crack under the door.

Carrie was humming, and Andrew was playing along on his guitar.

"Andy, let's call this puppy Lolly, okay?" Carrie said.

Her voice was sugary and drawn out, like she was trying way too hard to sound cute.

"Alright, we'll call her Lolly," Andrew said, all soft and doting.

"But wasn't that the name you chose for your daughter with Alison? I don't want it anymore," she said.

Her voice suddenly went up, all sweet and pouty, like she was trying to act cute but couldn't hide her jealousy.

Andrew's light laugh pierced straight through me. "Whatever you want. We can call her Honey if you prefer."

I curled up, biting the edge of the covers so hard that I tasted blood before finally letting go.