5

[Olivia Jude Velcro]

I was on my way back to my office, exhaustion clinging to my bones, when I finally allowed myself to breathe. Carter was stable. 

That was all that mattered—for the patient, not the husband he once was. I slipped my coat from my shoulders when my phone vibrated in my hand.

I already knew who it was before I looked.

Elara. Carter’s mother. 

I hesitated, then answered, my fingers pressing harder than necessary against the screen.

“Sweetheart,” her voice came through, gentle and worried, “I heard what happened. Is Carter alright? And… how are you?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes. How did she know? Has someone called her already? Or was this fate’s cruel timing—dragging her back into my life only because her son had landed in my hospital?

No, I couldn’t allow it.

“Yes, Elara,” I replied, steadying my voice. “He’s fine. He got into a bar fight playing hero. Typical Carter. He’s admitted, but he’ll recover.”

I hoped that would end it.

It didn’t.

Three months. Three months of silence. And now she was calling—because he was here. The realization stung deeper than I wanted to admit.

“Can you bring him home tonight, Olivia?” she asked softly. “Just for tonight.”

The words stunned me.

Anger rose sharp and immediate, tightening my chest. How could she ask me that—after everything? After the lies, the betrayal, the humiliation? 

No doubt I had loved her like a mother, trusted her like blood. And yet she had known. She had helped hide it.

That hurt more than Carter ever could.

“He hasn’t come home once since you left,” Elara continued, her voice fragile with hope.

“Maybe… maybe this is his way of reaching out. Of wanting to fix things.”

Fix things.

I swallowed hard.

“He might want to talk to you,” she added. “Please. Bring him home.”

I closed my eyes and sighed, the fight draining out of me. Not because I believed her—but because I owed her. For every night she’d held me when I was a child with no parents. For every time she’d chosen me.

“Alright,” I said quietly. “Just for tonight.”

When the call ended, Carter’s words from that awful day flooded back into my mind.

I would have stayed if you hadn’t killed our child.

A bitter laugh trembled in my chest.

Would he really have stayed? Would he have left Camilla and Candice for me? No. He had married me because he had to. He had promised her. He was rewriting the story to ease his guilt—and pinning the blame on me.

I shook my head and walked back toward the ER.

This was business. Nothing more.

Carter sat in a wheelchair outside the ward, slouched and bruised, a junior nurse hovering nearby. The cop handed me the papers and studied my face closely.

“He’s all yours now, Doctor,” he said. “Hope you two can sort things out.”

I almost laughed.

Sort things out.

I crouched in front of Carter, checking his pupils. Dilated. Drugged with pain relief. Vulnerable in a way he hadn’t been with me in a long time.

His eyes fluttered open.

“You… you came back?” he slurred, reaching for my face. His fingers brushed my cheek. “For me?” A soft, broken smile tugged at his lips. “I love you, Olivia.”

The words didn’t move me anymore.

They felt hollow.

I said nothing. Just stood, took the handles, and wheeled him out of the hospital.

With the help of a male nurse, I got him into the car and drove—hands tight on the steering wheel, heart locked behind walls I had built brick by brick.

Elara was waiting when we arrived. She fussed over him, gratitude shining in her eyes, and insisted I stay with him in his room.

I helped him onto the bed, adjusting the pillows, already planning my escape to the guest room. I turned quietly—

And he grabbed my wrist.

That’s when I noticed it.

Our wedding band.

Still on his finger.

My breath caught.

“Don’t go,” he whispered, voice fragile, desperate. “Please. Just for tonight.”

I stood there, frozen between the past and the present. His grip warm against my skin as I wondered how love could hurt this deeply even after it had died.

Carter’s arm locked around my waist, firm and unyielding, pulling me into him as if my body still belonged there. His warmth seeped into me, his breath brushing my cheek, carrying the faint scent I once associated with home. 

For one treacherous heartbeat, I forgot everything. I forgot the lies. The betrayal. The way my world had shattered because of him.

Then the memories struck—sharp and merciless.

I forced my heart to harden. I could not fall like that again. I would not.

His grip was too tight for me to slip away. The pressure rolled me slightly onto my side, leaving me trapped beside him. I kept on staring into nothing while he slept as if peace were still his to claim. I lay there, wondering how my marriage had become this—love turned into restraint, closeness into captivity.

I didn’t remember when sleep claimed me.

Morning greeted me with emptiness.

My hand stretched across the bed, searching instinctively, but met only cold sheets. A bitter sigh escaped me. Whatever closeness I’d felt last night must have been an illusion—my heart clinging to ghosts. His scent lingered faintly in the fabric, cruel in its familiarity.

Only if it had all truly been mine.

I shook the thought away and went downstairs in the same clothes, feeling stripped of dignity along with rest. Carter stood at the kitchen island, leaning casually as he sipped his coffee. The bruises had faded slightly, but the man himself felt colder than ever.

“Morning,” he said.

No warmth. No regret.

I sat down, folding my hands tightly in my lap. The silence weighed heavy, thick with everything unsaid. I cleared my throat, forcing steel into my voice.

“This has to end, Carter. Let’s finalize the divorce. There’s no point dragging this out.”

He didn’t react.

No anger. No mockery. No argument.

That unsettled me more than shouting ever could.

He finished chewing his toast, unhurried, then wiped his fingers as if we were discussing the weather. “Fine,” he said flatly. “You can have the divorce. I’ll respect your decision.”

My stomach twisted.

It was too easy.

“But,” he continued, lifting his eyes to mine, suddenly sharp and calculating, “you owe me something first.”

I stiffened. Anger surged, hot and uncontrollable.

“Seriously?” I snapped. “You still think I owe you anything after what you did?”

I didn’t care who heard us—the maids, Elara, Sahl. Let them all know. I was done being painted as the villain in a story he had ruined.

His gaze didn’t waver. Calm. Cold. Terrifyingly detached.

“You owe me a child, Olivia,” he said. “The one you took away.” His voice didn’t even crack. “I’ll sign the divorce papers after you give me another baby.”

The world tilted.

For a second, I genuinely believed he was joking—some twisted attempt at cruelty. But his face remained blank, eyes unblinking, resolute.

He was serious.

“You’re insane!” I yelled, shooting to my feet.

He shrugged, utterly unfazed. “Maybe. But I’m still your husband. And I’m not walking away until I get back what I lost.”

Something inside me broke—clean, final.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn't think. Couldn’t bear another second in that room.

I turned and stormed away, hands shaking, vision blurred by fury and grief. Knowing with brutal clarity that the man I once loved was gone. Carter’s demeanour was replaced by someone who saw my pain not as a wound but as leverage.