Chapter 4

Ingrid's voice came through cold and flat.

"Since when was your health something you could joke about? Charlie just got out of the ER, and today's signing has to go smoothly. Just get through the ceremony first. I'll have the driver take you to get checked afterward."

"I want to go now."

"John, don't make me call your bluff in front of the investors. The doctor already said it's nothing but mild gastritis. You've been fine all this time, and now you suddenly cough up blood right before the contract signing? Do you really expect me to believe that?"

My fingers slowly went cold.

Three years ago, to land an investment for her company, I drank myself into stomach bleeding at a business dinner. That was when my stomach problems started.

At the time, every sign that I was getting better seemed to make her happier than it did me.

But as I kept having flare-ups, her initial concern gradually turned into indifference. I just never imagined that the one time it became truly critical, the first thing she'd do was doubt me.

"Ingrid, you think I'm faking this?"

"I'm just asking you to separate business from personal matters."

"Fine." Gripping the phone, I said quietly, "This is the last time."

I walked into the venue.

Charlie was already in a bespoke suit, pale-faced at Ingrid's side.

When the investors asked about the load-bearing data for the dome, he couldn't answer, and every eye turned to me.

Ingrid held out the microphone to me. "John, explain it for Charlie."

I didn't take it. "The project isn't mine, so I'm in no position to answer that."

Charlie frowned and bit his lip. "John, I know you're angry with me, but hundreds of people poured their hearts into this."

I turned toward the audience. "I completed the proposal entirely on my own. Charlie had no involvement in any of the core design work."

The entire room erupted in a flurry of murmurs. Ingrid grabbed me by the wrist. "Do you have any idea what you're saying? Apologize to Charlie. Now."

"He put his name over my work and even smashed something my father left me. Why should I be the one apologizing?"

Charlie shot to his feet. "Yes, I'm nothing next to you, but if I hadn't bailed on our wedding five years ago, you wouldn't even be Ingrid's husband right now!"

My breath caught.

Ingrid cut him off sharply. "Shut up, Charlie."

He shook his head, his eyes red. "Ingrid, can you honestly say that isn't true? You folded those stars at our engagement party. You said we'd unfold them together on our fifth wedding anniversary. If I hadn't left the country at the last minute, you never would've married him."

I turned to Ingrid. "Is what he's saying true?"

Her fingers remained locked around my wrist, but her grip was loosening. "What happened back then doesn't mean anything anymore."

"So that wishing jar at our wedding was originally meant for him too?"

"John, we can talk about this when we get home."

"Answer me."

Ingrid closed her eyes for a beat. "Yes."

Her reply was so quiet I could hardly hear it. At that moment, a sharp pain tore through my stomach.

I doubled over and coughed up a mouthful of blood. The front of my suit was covered in blood within seconds. A wave of shocked gasps swept through the audience.

Ingrid instinctively tried to help me up, but Charlie clutched his chest right then. He crumpled beside his chair, claiming that he couldn't breathe.

She froze in place. I clutched her sleeve. "Ingrid, take me to the hospital."

Ingrid looked at the blood on my shirt, then at Charlie lying on the floor. "The driver's right outside."

She left me in the project manager's care and turned to help Charlie up. "Charlie's asthmatic. Delaying him even a few minutes could cost him his life."

By the time I was helped into the car, my consciousness was already starting to fade. The driver ran three red lights to get me to the hospital.

The doctor looked over the test results, his expression grim. "A large section of the stomach has perforated. We need to remove the damaged section immediately."

The nurse set the consent form in front of me. "Where's your family?"

I stared at Ingrid's number for a beat before calling. The first call went unanswered, and the second was immediately rejected. On my third attempt, Charlie sent me a photo.

In the photo, Ingrid was sitting beside his hospital bed, holding a cup of almond milk latte.

He wrote, "John, Ingrid told me to tell you to stop using your stomach problems to scare her."

The doctor urged, "Mr. Rutherford, we can't wait any longer."

I signed the papers and was wheeled into the operating room. Cold instruments were pressed against my abdomen. In the end, the stomach I had ruined by drinking for her sake couldn't be saved.

The doctor gave me a sympathetic look. "Now that part of your stomach has been removed, you'll need to stay away from alcohol for life and eat regularly. One more major bleed, and we may not be able to save you."

As the doors slowly closed, anesthetic was injected into my vein. Three hours later, I woke up in the hospital room.

My abdomen was wrapped in gauze, and there was nothing beside my bed except a box of post-op meds. My phone lit up with a message from Ingrid.

"Where are you? The driver said he couldn't find you at Lanklard Hospital."

A few minutes later, she sent another message. "Charlie's fine now. Text me back when you see this, and I'll come pick you up."

Instead of replying, I called my lawyer, Curtis Richardson. "Send the divorce papers and the copyright withdrawal notice for the Evergreen project directly to Ingrid."