로그인Beth stared at her phone for the hundredth time that morning, thumb hovering over Mel’s contact. Each time she almost called, a strange heaviness pressed her thumb away, a sense that the silence between them was growing thicker by the day. It had been weeks since she’d told him about the baby—weeks since that night when he’d pulled her into his arms and whispered, “We’ll figure this out. Together.”But his promise seemed to drift further away with each unanswered text, every call that went to voicemail. At first, she told herself he was just busy. Then, she tried to rationalize it: he was processing, needed space, and was probably scared. She understood fear; she carried enough of her own. But as the days stretched into a lonely ache, Beth’s hope began to fray at the edges.She sat in her living room, the city lights flickering beyond the window, trying to remember the last time she’d felt Mel’s arms around her, the last time she’d laughed without a knot in her stomach. The silence be
Beth had never understood how people described falling in love as being set on fire until she met Dr. Melvin Carter. With him, it was as if her very soul had been doused in gasoline and lit with a match—every glance, every touch, every word between them sparked something electric. Their romance had unfolded in a whirlwind: late-night conversations that bled into early sunrises, laughter echoing through her tiny apartment, the pure joy of finding someone who seemed to see her, truly see her, and want her all the same. It was so different from being with Dominique, who was always trying to change who she was on the inside and especially on the outside.It was intoxicating, this heat between her and Mel. She’d never felt so alive, so wanted. Mel was brilliant, a little bit eccentric, and wore his heart on his sleeve in the most unexpected moments. He’d show up at her office with a coffee and a shy smile, or leave her notes tucked into her books, the kind that made her blush long after sh
The first few weeks after Beth ended her engagement, her world seemed to shrink. The routines she once found comforting—her morning tea, the familiar halls of the hospital, the sunlight streaming through her kitchen window—felt hollow and distant. She moved through her days as if wrapped in cotton, her senses dulled by a quiet ache she couldn’t shake.Late at night, when the city was silent, and her apartment glowed with soft lamplight, Beth would replay the final days with Dominique. The sharp words behind closed doors. The way he’d tried to mold her into someone shinier, bolder, someone she wasn’t. The loneliness she’d felt, even lying beside him in a king-sized bed. She wondered if she had been foolish for hoping, for believing in the fairy-tale romance. In the privacy of her thoughts, Beth admitted she was afraid—afraid she might never find someone who saw her, who wanted her for who she truly was.The hospital helped. She could lose herself in the rhythm of work—the beeping monit
Beth had always believed in the language of flowers. Growing up, her mother would tuck a daisy behind her ear on bright spring mornings or leave a sprig of lavender on her pillow after a hard day. Flowers, to Beth, meant comfort, thoughtfulness—love in full bloom. But when the flowers began arriving at the hospital, she felt none of those things. Instead, she felt the uncomfortable weight of being watched. The first bouquet came on Monday: a dozen deep red roses, so flawless they looked almost artificial, in a glass vase that sparkled beneath the nurses’ station lights. The card bore no message, only her name written in bold, elegant script:“Beth Carter.” By Tuesday, it was white lilies and blue hydrangeas at her apartment door, the arrangement so grand she could barely carry it inside. On Wednesday, a delivery of peonies—her favorite, she realized uneasily—waited in the break room, paired with a box of imported chocolates and a note: “Forgiveness is sweeter than pride. — D.” The
The first thing anyone noticed about Beth was her gentleness. She moved through rooms like a whisper—soft-spoken, mannerly, always ready with a kind word or a shy smile. Even as a child, she’d been the peacemaker, the one who offered her favorite doll to a crying friend or pressed a bandage onto a scraped knee. Now, at twenty-six, she still radiated that same sweetness, her innocence undimmed by the world.Beth was the one people trusted with their secrets, the one patients requested on long, lonely nights in the hospital. She was a nurse—the kind every family hoped for—compassionate, patient, and genuinely invested in the lives she touched. And recently, she’d fallen in love.It hadn’t been planned. Beth Kincaid had always been described as plain, but that was never the whole story. She wore her hair in a simple, straight bob—fine blonde strands that caught the light in a way that made them seem almost silvery. Her face was unadorned, with only a dusting of freckles across her nose a
Denver poked at the grilled salmon on his plate, the low light of the dining room warm on his face. India, across the table, was swirling her wine and watching him with that patient, knowing look she’d perfected over years of marriage. There was a gentle clatter of cutlery in the background and the faint sound of the radio playing a jazz standard. The atmosphere should have been relaxing, but Denver was fidgety, restless. He knew tonight’s conversation was important.“So?” India asked, her lips curling into a half-smile. “You’ve been quiet all evening. What’s on your mind?”He set his fork down and leaned back with a sigh. “It’s the company. Marcus and I… we want to expand, but it’s not as simple as it sounds. I’ve been interviewing potential partners, but no one feels right. Either they’re too flashy, or they don’t have the experience, or the chemistry is off.”India considered this, folding her hands on the table. “What exactly are you looking for in a partner? Like, what skills or
"I've got to be honest, I feel nervous," India said, looking at him sincerely. "Okay, red or white?""Red is as good as any," India said.Denver walked away feeling relieved that he wasn't the only one nervous about all of this. He picked up two glasses. She needed a drink too. Denver took a seat
Denver had risen early, thinking about the way she kissed him. His thoughts seemed clearer than ever before. “I’m a married man. This isn’t a joke. Maybe it's temporary, but at this moment, I’m someone’s husband in real life. And that someone is India.” As their honeymoon days came and went, Denve
The knock at the door was thunderous, shaking the picture frames on Denver’s walls. You would have thought it was the police. India stiffened, eyes wide and red from hours of silent tears. Denver pressed his palm to her shoulder, steadying her—steadying himself. He’d been preparing for this moment
India had to admit, it wasn't that Denver made it terribly uncomfortable for her. She realized that the kiss, with that glass of wine, made it feel like more than just being friends was happening between them. But she kept in mind that drinking always made her relax, but she wondered if she was l







