Chapter 2
Her. Again, her.
The woman I'd never met or named.
The woman found only in Julian's private photo album.
The woman behind the gardenia's annual bloom in his study.
The woman who lived in his heart.
And me? What was I to him?
I was the name on his marriage certificate.
I was the woman who kept his house.
Something he could throw away whenever he wanted.
Even the baby inside me was something he could toss aside without a thought.
It felt like my heart was ripped out, pain burning through my chest.
I stood there, unmoving.
Staring at his profile—handsome, but mercilessly cruel.
To him, three years of marriage meant absolutely nothing.
My love, sacrifice, and endurance were just a cruel joke.
I wasn't even good enough to give him a child.
Tears slipped down my cheeks out of nowhere.
Each drop landed on the floor, soundless and unnoticed.
I didn't sob or cry out.
My tears meant nothing to him. They'd only annoy him.
Slowly, I withdrew my hand that was holding the pregnancy test.
I gripped it tightly in my palm.
It still carried my body heat.
It also held the broken dream of motherhood that never began.
I stood there for what felt like forever before finally nodding.
My voice was barely audible, like a breeze passing through. "Alright."
He seemed surprised that I was so straightforward about it.
And he finally looked up from his computer screen.
For the first time, his cold eyes met mine.
There was a hint of scrutiny in them.
I tried to smile, but my face felt stiff and lifeless.
But my face was already numb, unable to even pretend.
I turned and walked out of the study. Back to that empty, cold bedroom.
I stayed awake all night.
Julian didn't return to the bedroom that night.
*****
The next morning, when I woke up, the space beside me was still empty.
On the nightstand, a fat stack of cash sat there.
Pinned underneath the money was a note.
It was in his dramatic handwriting. [Surgery fee and compensation.]
Compensation. Just like that, how ironic those two words were.
My heart felt numb.
I didn't touch the money.
I got up, freshened up, and changed clothes.
My reflection stared back—pale, hollow, a doll with no soul.
I walked out the door alone. I rode the bus to the hospital alone.
The sunlight outside was bright and warm.
But I just felt cold to the bone.
On the bus, a young mom cradled her gurgling baby, her face lit up with pure joy.
I watched them, and my eyes grew red with tears.
I quickly turned away, staring out the window.
The tall buildings outside flew past in a blur.
The city I lived in for three years suddenly felt strange.
The hospital smelled of overpowering disinfectant.
I registered, waited, and completed all tests alone.
The doctor, a middle-aged woman, looked over my report.
Her voice was gentle and reassuring. "Twins. Both are healthy.
"Where's the father? Why didn't he come?"
I looked down at my shoes, avoiding her gaze.
"He's busy," I murmured.
The doctor sighed and let it go. "Are you sure? You really want to give them up?"
I bit down on my lower lip so hard it nearly bled.
I closed my eyes.
Julian's cold, emotionless face flashed before my eyes.
And his words echoed in my mind—She won't accept it.
I nodded.
"Yeah," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
What followed was a nightmare—the cold operating table beneath me, the blinding surgical light above, the sterile clink of metal instruments that seemed to echo in the hollow space where my heart used to be.
My body screamed in pain. My heart felt nothing. It had died the moment I walked into that room.
When I left the operating room, my legs were too weak to stand.
Leaning on the wall, I moved forward, barely able to walk.
The long hallway was completely empty.
I came all by myself.
And I left on my own.
I checked out alone. I took a cab alone. Back to that house—the one they called home.
The house was still empty—no sign of life.
It felt like this morning never happened.
I walked into the study.
Julian's computer was still on.
On the screen was a project plan.
I gave a bitter laugh.
Laughed until tears slipped down my cheeks.
He really was that busy.
So busy that he couldn't even find the time to kill his own child himself.
I stood in the study for what felt like ages.
Then I went to his printer.
I used his printer and downloaded a file—divorce papers.
I signed my name carefully and steadily—Rosalind Hart.
*****
It was eleven o'clock at night when Julian finally walked through the door.
I sat on the couch in the living room, waiting for him to return.
Just like I had for over a thousand nights.
He looked surprised to see me sitting calmly.
Maybe he never expected me to sit here so composed after surgery.
He didn't ask about the procedure. He didn't ask how I was.
He was about to head to the study, moving out of habit.
I called out, stopping him. "Julian."
He turned around.
I slid the divorce papers from the table over to him, pushing them right in front of him.