Turning the Page

“Don’t move!” he yelled.

Everything shattered at once—nurses screaming, metal carts crashing, the sharp echo of his boots against the tiles. The guards lunged, but too late. His arm shot up, the gun flashing.

The crack of the bullet split the air.

Andrew moved first—but not toward me. He dragged Emma into his chest, shielding her, the two of them tumbling hard to the floor. My stomach turned cold even before the pain hit.

Then it came—white-hot, tearing through my abdomen, stealing the breath straight from my lungs. I staggered back, hands clutching uselessly at the wound, warmth spilling fast between my fingers.

The guards tackled the intruder, shouts and chaos ringing in my ears, but all I could see was Andrew. Not me. Not the blood spreading beneath me. Him—hovering over Emma, panic etched across his face, his hands cradling her like she was everything.

I hit the ground, my vision blurring, the sterile lights above warping into harsh halos. My own husband’s voice reached me, broken, desperate—yet not for me.

It was for her.

Andrew POV

I couldn’t believe what I had done. My hands were still shaking, the gunshot echoing inside my skull like it hadn’t stopped. Veronica’s blood… her eyes. And Emma beneath me, alive, because I moved without thinking—because I chose.

What will I say to Luke? That his father failed? That when it mattered most, I shielded the wrong woman? How do I look into my son’s face and tell him his mother is gone because I couldn’t protect her?

I get up on my feet and hurry towards Veronica when Emma’s hands caught the corner of my shirt.

“Andrew…” she stammered

“I don’t feel good.”

She must have been in shock due to the commotion, but Emma is hurt I tell myself, I wasn’t able to choose.

But when I looked into her eyes, I saw it—the faint curve of a smile at the corner of her lips before it disappeared. She was acting. Pretending. Drawing me in.

Still, the nurses rushed to her. No one looked at Veronica. Not one pair of hands moved to save my wife. All eyes were on Emma, limp and fragile in their arms as they hurried her away.

And Veronica… she lay bleeding on the floor, her fingers clawing at the tiles, her breath rattling. Her gaze found mine one last time—betrayal, heartbreak, and something colder than death shining through it.

I reached for her, but I was too slow. My hesitation had cost her everything.

Emma was wheeled toward the OR, surrounded, cared for. Veronica was left alone.

And I stood there, the gunshot still screaming in my ears, realizing the truth I couldn’t outrun: I hadn’t just failed Veronica. I had handed her over to death myself.

Veronica POV

I opened my eyes slowly, the harsh white lights above blurring into hazy shapes. My body felt heavy, each breath dragging through my chest like it weighed a hundred pounds. When I tried to shift, a sharp pain tore through my abdomen, stealing the air from my lungs.

Beside me, Luke’s small hand gripped mine. His cheeks were wet, his eyes red from crying.

“Mommy… are you okay?” he whispered, voice trembling, almost afraid that speaking too loud would break me.

“Oh, Luke,” I forced a smile through the pain, brushing my thumb across his little fingers. “Mommy’s okay. She just needed some rest. Her stomach hurts a bit, that’s all.” The lie slipped out easily, for his sake. He didn’t need to see how close I had been to fading away.

He nodded, sniffling, but his next words sent a chill racing down my spine.

“Mommy… a tall man helped me put you to bed.”

My heart stuttered. “A… tall man?”

“Where was Daddy?” I asked softly, though I already knew the answer.

“With Aunty Emma. And Granny went to buy us dinner,” Luke said, smiling innocently, his little legs swinging off the chair.

I smiled back, but it felt hollow, like my face was made of glass. His words cut, but not deep enough to draw blood anymore. Although it came as a shock, I thought to myself—was it really surprising? Wasn’t it obvious all along? Why would a man who never loved me care whether I was dead or alive?

Something inside me shifted then, quiet and final. All the feelings that had run wild in my heart—love, grief, longing—suddenly felt cold. They didn’t burn anymore. They had died.

The old me is dead.

I looked at Luke, at his tiny fingers clutching the blanket, at the trust in his eyes. I reached out, brushing his hair from his forehead.

I don’t care about Andrew anymore. I won’t waste another breath wondering why. From this moment on, I will live for my baby. Only him. Only us.

And as the pain in my body pulsed, a strange calm settled over me—like the first breath after drowning.

Just then the door opened wide, the hinges groaning. My mother stepped in carrying a bag of dinner, the warm scent of food trailing behind her. Beside her was another figure—Luke’s father.

“Daddy! Where were you?” Luke shouted, his little voice bursting with excitement as he scrambled off the chair. His joy filled the room like sunlight, but it didn’t reach me.

I didn’t bother to look at him. It didn’t matter anymore. The sight of Andrew, whether he was guilty, apologetic, or smiling, no longer had the power to touch me. He was a stranger wearing the face of a man I once loved.

“Are you okay, dear?” my mom asked, hurrying to my side, concern etched deep into her voice.

“Yes,” I answered quickly, forcing a steady tone. “I’m doing good.” My eyes stayed on her, not once flickering toward him. I didn’t want him to see me break, and I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had already destroyed.

I reached for the dinner bag in her hands. “What’s for dinner?” I asked, my voice calm, almost casual.

Because food mattered. Luke mattered. My mother mattered.

But Andrew? Andrew didn’t. Not anymore.

I forced a smile and reached for Luke’s hand, ignoring Andrew’s presence entirely. My mother set the food down on the table and busied herself with unpacking it.

“Eat, baby,” I whispered to Luke. “Mommy’s fine.”

Just then, the door creaked again.

Everyone turned.

A man stood there, tall, face half in shadow. Not a doctor, not a nurse. His eyes locked on mine, unblinking, as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

“Mrs. Veronica,” he said softly, almost kindly. “oh thank goodness your fine.”

And then he stepped inside