Chapter 3:

Skylar

The lights were too bright.

I squeezed my eyes shut the moment I opened them, but the sterile white glow burned through my eyelids anyway. A dull, steady ache pulsed behind my forehead. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled my nose with every breath.

Hospital.

The realization came slowly, like my mind was moving through thick fog. I tried to sit up, but the room tilted violently. A soft groan slipped from my lips.

“Don’t move too quickly,” a gentle voice said.

A nurse stood beside the bed, her expression careful and kind. An IV line tugged at the back of my hand.

“What… happened?” I rasped, my throat painfully dry.

“You were in a car accident. Mr. Blackwood brought you in. You’re stable now, but you need rest.”

Mr. Blackwood. Alex?

My fingers instinctively drifted to my stomach. A strange, heavy dread settled there.

“Is my baby okay?” I whispered.

The nurse went still.

The silence stretched.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “The accident… W-we couldn’t save the pregnancy. You had a miscarriage.”

The words hung in the air, refusing to settle. I blinked once. Then twice.

“What?” My voice sounded small. “No… that’s not possible.”

Hot tears rolled down my cheeks, dripping to my hands. A broken scream tore from my throat.

“No… no, please…”

My hands pressed harder against my stomach as if I could somehow hold on to what was already gone. The emptiness hit like a physical wound, hollow and sharp at the same time.

Everything I had lost in one night crashed over me again. The betrayal in the parking lot. Kate’s casual shrug. Cecilia’s cold stare. And now this.

The nurse murmured something soft and sympathetic, but I barely heard her. She eventually stepped out, leaving me alone with the steady beep of machines and the crushing silence.

I didn't know how long I laid there.

At some point the tears stopped, not because the pain had faded, but because I had gone numb. My body felt heavy. Like I was floating just above myself, watching everything from a distance.

The door opened again.

Alex stepped inside.

For a long moment, I simply stared at him. No anger surged. No desperate hope. Just a vast, tired emptiness.

He stopped at the side of the bed, his expression carefully blank. Almost uncomfortable.

“Glad you’re alive,” he said quietly.

Before I could respond, he pulled a folder from under his arm and dropped a stack of papers on my lap.

Divorce papers.

My fingers brushed the edge of the document.

“Sign them,” he said. His voice was low, almost tired. “Let’s end this cleanly.”

I lifted my gaze to his face, searching for something… regret, guilt, even irritation. There was a flicker of discomfort in the way he shifted his weight, the way his eyes avoided lingering on mine for too long. Like this conversation was costing him more than he wanted to admit.

“If you’re worried about your father’s debt,” he added, glancing away briefly, “it’s already handled. Just… sign. We both know this marriage stopped making sense a long time ago.”

Something inside me broke even further, but the break felt distant now.

That younger version of me, the one who would have begged, who would have asked what she did wrong— was gone. Buried somewhere beneath the betrayal, the humiliation, and the tiny life I had just lost.

My hand moved almost on its own. I took the pen he offered.

Each signature felt like erasing pieces of myself.

When I finished, Alex took the papers without a word. He didn’t thank me. He didn’t apologize. He simply turned toward the door.

For the briefest second, he paused, shoulders tight. His jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Silence swallowed the room again.

I sat there for several long minutes, staring at nothing. The numbness wrapped tighter around me. Suffocatingly so. My body felt like it belonged to someone else.

I sat up slowly, my legs feeling heavy, like massive blocks were tied around my ankles. Every movement drained what little strength I had left.

The hospital room suddenly felt like it was closing in on me, the walls pressing tighter with every shallow breath.

Maybe it was because Alex was still here somewhere. Maybe it was the fresh ink on the divorce papers I'd just signed. Or maybe it was this being the same sterile hell where I had lost my baby. Whatever the reason, I couldn't breathe anymore. The air felt thick, poisoned.

I attempted to get up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, but a sharp sting ripped through my wrist and yanked me back. I hissed in pain, my gaze dropping to the source. The IV line was still connected, taped securely to my skin.

Without thinking, I reached for it with my free hand. I had no idea what to pull, what not to touch, or which tube was safe but I didn’t care. I yanked hard.

A groan escaped from my throat as pain flared through my wrist. Blood rolled down the back of my hand, warm and sticky, dripping onto the sheets.

Desperate to escape this suffocating place, I pushed myself up again, ignoring the dizziness and the burning in my wrist.

The floor immediately tilted beneath me. I frowned, trying to steady myself, but my knees buckled without warning.

Behind me, I heard the soft click of the door. I didn't turn around. It was probably just the nurse again. I took another shaky step, ignoring it.

My knees weakened.

A small gasp slipped from my lips as my hand reached out instinctively for anything to grab onto. But nothing was close enough.

"Careful," a low, deep voice said from nearby.

Strong arms caught me just before I hit the floor. I blinked slowly, but my vision was a blurry mess— the room spinning and dancing like someone had smeared oil across a camera lens.

I could barely make out the face above me, but the scent of expensive cologne hit me, clean and entirely out of place in this nightmare.

I tried to push myself back onto my feet, but my body wouldn't cooperate.

“Don't move,” His deep voice echoed again with finality, cutting through the fog in my head.

My fingers hovered in the air, trembling, not knowing what to do or where to land.

"Who..." I tried to say, but the word barely made it past my lips.

The last thing I remembered was being lifted completely into those arms, before my body gave out completely.