Chapter 5

Two months passed without any news from Camelia.

Calvin was still sitting in his office chair, staring at the dark screen of his phone. There were no missed calls. No messages. Not a single sign that Camelia intended to return.

“Is she really going to leave me?” he muttered irritably.

Ronal stood in front of Calvin’s desk, maintaining a cautious posture. “Sir, there’s a meeting in ten minutes.”

“Cancel it,” Calvin replied curtly.

Ronal hesitated. “It’s an important meeting with the investors—”

“I said cancel it,” Calvin cut him off. “I’m not in the mood.”

Ronal nodded and left.

Calvin rubbed his face roughly. In his mind, one sentence kept looping endlessly: She will definitely beg. But as day after day passed, that certainty began to feel fragile. Every time the front door opened, he turned with the same hope. Every time his phone vibrated, his chest tightened in vain.

“What are you waiting for?” Calvin laughed at himself. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Yet the anger never truly came out. What remained was only irritation toward himself. He began sleeping later, waking earlier, and eating sparingly. Samantha came often, but her presence felt like a formality. She never asked, and Calvin never explained.

“You look tired,” Samantha said one afternoon.

“I’m fine,” Calvin replied without looking at her.

“Then why do you look like you’re waiting for someone?” Samantha asked softly.

Calvin fell silent. “I’m not waiting for anyone.”

Samantha smiled faintly and did not press further. What mattered was that Calvin belonged to her.

Elsewhere, Camelia walked out of a minimarket with light steps. She had just bought bottled water and bread. But after only a few steps, her head began to spin.

“Why all of a sudden—” Camelia covered her mouth, holding back nausea.

She tried to breathe slowly, but her vision blurred. Her knees weakened. She barely managed to hold onto the wall before everything went dark.

“Miss? Miss, are you okay?” someone’s voice sounded panicked.

When Camelia opened her eyes, she was already in the emergency room. The sharp smell of antiseptic filled the air. A nurse was checking her blood pressure, while a doctor stood beside the bed.

“Thank goodness you’re awake,” the doctor said kindly. “You fainted.”

“I… feel dizzy,” Camelia replied faintly.

“No wonder,” the doctor continued. “Your blood pressure dropped. And there’s one more thing—”

The doctor paused, looking at the chart. “You’re pregnant.”

Camelia fell silent. “What?”

“Pregnant,” the doctor repeated calmly. “Approximately eight weeks.”

The word hit her like a blow. Camelia turned her head and stared at the ceiling. Her head throbbed. “That’s impossible,” she said softly. “Impossible.”

“Would you like us to call your family?” the nurse asked.

“No,” Camelia answered quickly. “There’s no need.”

After further examinations, Camelia sat alone in the ward. Her hands trembled as she held the test results.

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t want this.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I will not carry that bastard’s child.”

A few days later, Camelia returned to the hospital for a consultation. A different doctor looked at the examination results with a serious expression.

“There’s something you need to know,” the doctor said. “Your uterine condition is not ideal. If this pregnancy is terminated, there’s a high possibility that you won’t be able to get pregnant again in the future.”

Camelia remained silent for a long time.

“The risk is high,” the doctor continued. “We are not forbidding any decision, but we are obligated to inform you.”

Camelia lowered her head. Her memories returned to the ten years of love she had buried, to the night she thought she only wanted to prove something, to her decision to leave.

“I just wanted to touch him so he couldn’t claim that his first love was the first person to touch him,” she murmured. “This isn’t what I wanted.”

“Excuse me?” the doctor asked.

Camelia shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

That night, Camelia sat on the edge of the bed, hugging her knees. She spoke to herself, her voice barely audible.

“If I can’t have him,” she said softly, “at least I have his blood.”

She cried silently. Not because she hoped Calvin would come, but because she realized how lonely that decision was.

“I will keep you,” she whispered. “I don’t know how, but I will try.”

Several weeks later, Camelia saw the news on the television screen at the small café where she was temporarily working.

Calvin Ashford and Samantha Rose will soon be engaged.

Their photo was displayed clearly. Smiling.

Camelia stared at the screen for a long time.

“Oh,” she said softly.

Even though she told herself that she was fine, her chest still ached. Not a sharp pain, but as if something was slowly collapsing.

“That’s enough,” she murmured.

That night, Camelia packed her belongings. She closed the suitcase, then sat for a moment, hesitantly placing her hand on her stomach.

“We’re leaving,” she said softly. “Going as far away as possible.”

“And I don’t want to know anything about him anymore,” she said firmly. “Not now, and not in the future.”

Camelia looked out the window. The city looked unfamiliar, even though it had once been her home. She took a deep breath, then stood up.

“We’re starting over,” she said to herself. “Without looking back. Goodbye forever, Calvin.”