Chapter 4

The day I was discharged from the hospital, the sky was relentlessly gray.

I didn't notify anyone, taking a cab back home all by myself.

The living room looked exactly as I had left it: pill bottles scattered across the floor, medical files strewn about, and couch cushions crookedly out of place, resembling a messy scene that nobody bothered to clean up.

I squatted, picking things up one by one.

Then I dragged my suitcase out, packing my legal documents and clothes inside.

Just as I shoved my old phone into the suitcase lining, the doorbell rang.

When I opened the door, I saw my mom and Henry standing outside.

My mom's eyes were red, but the moment she caught sight of the gauze wrapped around my wrist, her first words weren't to ask if I was hurt.

Instead, she asked, "Harper, how much longer are you going to keep making a scene?"

I froze.

Henry stood behind her, his brows knit tightly together, his voice exhausted.

"Our whole family has played along with your crazy acts for three years, and that's more than enough."

Staring at them, a heavy, suffocating pressure built up in my chest.

Three years ago, right after my miscarriage, my mom had sat beside my hospital bed, holding my hand and crying so hard she could barely form words.

She had cursed Declan out as scum, promising that no matter what I turned into, she would always stand by me. Henry had even charged right up to Declan and landed a vicious punch across his face.

Back then, I thought it wouldn't matter if the entire world turned its back on me, because I still had my family.

Yet here they were, looking at me as if I were just throwing another childish tantrum.

With a shaking voice, I asked, "So you guys knew it was Emma all along?"

The living room fell dead silent.

My mom's gaze flickered away, and Henry pressed his lips into a hard line, staying quiet.

That heavy silence felt infinitely crueler than any confession.

My mom murmured, "Emma hasn't had it easy either. She's been taking care of you these past few years, and her feelings for you are genuine."

"Genuine?"

I looked up at her, a burning numbness piercing straight through my heart.

"Three years ago when I walked out of the operating room, Declan wasn't there. It was her holding my hand, telling me, 'Harper, you still have me.'"

My voice grew raspier and rougher.

"But the next day, Declan took her to the OB-GYN clinic, didn't he?"

My mom's face bleached white.

Henry frowned instinctively. "How do you know about that?"

I didn't answer him.

While packing up just moments ago, I had dug through an old photo synced to my backup from the old phone—a picture Henry had sent to Mom back then before frantically recalling it.

In the photo, Emma sat beside a hospital bed while Declan leaned down to straighten her collar with a gentle expression.

The date stamped on it was the very day after my miscarriage.

The accompanying note sent by Henry to Mom read: [Don't let Harper see this.]

I shoved that photo right in front of their faces.

"You all helped her keep this hidden from me?"

My mom's eyes reddened, her lips trembling.

Henry spoke up first, "Your mental state was unstable back then, and we were afraid of triggering you."

Looking at him, a sudden, terrifying sense of alienation washed over me, making the person standing right in front of me feel like a complete stranger.

"So, you just let me play the fool, crying for three years in the arms of the exact person who destroyed me?"

This time, nobody gave me an answer.

Footsteps suddenly echoed from outside the door.

Emma had arrived.

She stood in the doorway, looking even paler than before, her eyes swollen raw, the friendship bracelet still dangling from her wrist.

Catching sight of me, tears spilled instantly from her eyes, and she stumbled against the doorway, gripping the frame.

"Harper, I'm going to leave Declan."

Her voice shook with violent sobs.

"I'll give him back to you, okay? As long as you stop hurting yourself, I swear I can give up everything."

I watched her, completely dead inside.

If this had happened in the past, my heart probably would have melted because I still remembered all the ways she had looked out for me.

When my dormmates isolated me in college, Emma was the one who helped me move out.

When I suffered from acute gastroenteritis, she carried me on her back all the way to the hospital.

Those three darkest years of my life were also spent with her—she was the one who handed me my pills, walked me to my check-ins, and sat with me through countless long, agonizing nights.

Yet it was precisely because all of those memories were real that the betrayal hurt so viciously.

Swallowing down the hard lump in my throat, I asked her, "Emma, did you ever feel guilty toward me, even for a single second?"

She shook her head through her tears, her face deathly pale.

Before I could press further, she suddenly clutched her lower stomach and collapsed weakly against the entryway.

My mom let out a sharp shriek. Henry scrambled forward to catch her.

Almost simultaneously, Declan burst out from the elevator lobby.

Seeing Emma collapse on the ground, his expression morphed instantly, and he swept her up into his arms, rushing her out toward the exit.

As he bolted past me, he slowed down for a brief second, his eyes flashing with raw disgust.

"Harper, if anything happens to her and the baby, I'll never forgive you."

I froze dead in my tracks.

The baby.

Those two words drove like freezing iron spikes straight into my heart.

So that was why he had been in such a ruthless rush to divorce me.

It wasn't just because he loved Emma. It was because she was pregnant.