Chapter 1

Gloria's Pov

"Get out of my house."

His voice was low and menacing, each word landing like a stone dropped into still water.

For a few seconds, I simply stared at Marcus, unable to make sense of what I'd just heard.

I was standing in the middle of our bedroom, still trying to understand what had just happened. His words seemed to hang in the air between us, too cruel and too sudden for me to accept them as real. I searched his face for some sign that he would take it back, but he only stared back at me, unmoving.

Outside, rain tapped steadily against the bedroom window, a soft and relentless rhythm that seemed to mock the storm building inside the room. It was almost midnight, and the only light came from the bedside lamps and the faint amber glow of the city seeping through the curtains.

"Marcus," I finally whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. "What did you just say?"

"I said you should leave," he growled, repeating himself as though the first time hadn't been clear enough.

His voice wasn't bitter or angry. It was cold, deliberate, stripped of any emotion at all. And somehow, that frightened me more than if he had shouted the words at the top of his lungs.

I took a small, hesitant step toward him, as if closing the distance between us might somehow close the distance between what he'd said and what I could bring myself to believe.

"Leave where?" I asked, my voice trembling as I struggled to process what I was hearing.

"Anywhere you want."

I stared at him, searching his face for some indication that he was only speaking out of anger, that this was a moment of temper he would regret by morning. Maybe tomorrow he would pull me into his arms and tell me none of it had been true.

But there was nothing in his expression. Only resentment, worn openly now, as if he'd been holding it back for a long time and had finally grown tired of pretending.

"It's almost midnight," I said. "Where am I supposed to go?"

Marcus let out a bitter laugh, short and humorless.

"That isn't my problem."

I felt my throat tighten painfully.

"How can you say that to me?"

"Because I'm tired, Gloria."

"Tired of what?"

He looked at me as though the answer should have been obvious, as though I were slow for even asking.

"You."

The word struck me harder than I expected, harder than I thought a single syllable could.

I blinked several times, trying to steady myself.

"Me?"

"Yes. You."

He walked toward the window and stood with his back to me for a long moment, staring out at the rain-streaked glass as though it held something more interesting than the woman he'd just wounded.

Then he turned around.

"Three years, Gloria."

I already knew what was coming. Still, I wasn't prepared for it.

"Three years of marriage," he said. "And what do I have to show for it?"

I swallowed hard, my throat dry.

"Marcus, we've talked about this."

"No. You've talked. I've listened."

"I've tried."

"You've tried?" he fired back immediately, cutting me off.

"Yes."

My voice cracked on the single word.

"You know I've tried everything I could."

He shook his head slowly, as if disappointed by my answer before I'd even finished giving it.

"Apparently, everything you could wasn't enough."

I felt tears gathering hot behind my eyes.

"I went to the hospital. I took the medications. I did the tests. I changed my diet. I've prayed. I've done everything you asked me to do. What else do you want from me?"

"A child."

The answer came so quickly, so easily, that it made my chest ache.

"A child," he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost distant. "That's all I wanted."

"I wanted one too."

"But you couldn't give me one."

I looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer.

That was the part that always hurt the most. Not that we hadn't conceived. Not even the questions from his family, the pointed looks at holiday dinners, the whispered comments I wasn't meant to hear. It was the way Marcus had slowly, quietly started making me feel as though my inability to get pregnant had erased every other thing I had ever been to him.

I had been his wife. The person who had stayed beside him through difficult times, who had built a life alongside him brick by brick. But somewhere along the way, I had become nothing more than the woman who hadn't given him a child.

"It's not something I can control," I whispered.

Marcus stared at me, his jaw tightening.

"And that's exactly the problem," he said, his voice growing harder with every word. "I can't continue living with a woman who can't give me a child. What does a woman who doesn't give birth even have to show for a marriage?"

My lips parted, but no sound came out. For a moment, I simply couldn't speak.

The tears I had been fighting finally slipped down my cheeks, warm against my cold skin.

"Marcus…"

"What?"

"I am your wife."

He laughed without humor, the sound hollow in the quiet room.

"And?"

I stared at him, disbelief settling over me like a second skin.

He stepped closer, close enough that I could see the coldness in his eyes wasn't fading.

"I didn't marry a man, Gloria. I married a woman. I expected a family. I expected children running around this house. I expected to become a father."

His eyes hardened further.

"Instead, I've spent three years waiting."

I wiped my cheeks with the back of my hand, trying to compose myself even as my whole body trembled.

"You think I'm happy about this?"

"I don't care anymore."

My heart sank straight through the floor. Those four words were worse than everything else he had said combined.

I had spent years worrying that I wasn't enough. I had cried alone whenever another month passed without a positive pregnancy test, sitting on the edge of the bathtub with the test still in my hand. I had smiled whenever one of my friends announced a pregnancy, even when I had to lock myself in the bathroom afterward because I couldn't stop crying. I had prayed more nights than I could count. And whenever Marcus had held me and told me everything would be fine, I had believed him, because I needed to.

Now he was standing in front of me, telling me that he didn't care at all.

"Is there someone else?" I asked.

He didn't answer immediately. That silence stretched long enough to answer for him.

My stomach twisted painfully.

"Marcus?"

"There is no point talking about that."

"So there is someone else."

He looked away, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Does it matter?"

A bitter laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

"Of course it matters."

He said nothing.

I stared at him, trying to understand when the man I married had become someone who could stand in front of me and calmly, methodically destroy me.

"Who is she?"

"Don't make this about her."

"Then what is it about?"

"You."

He walked toward the wardrobe and opened it, the doors creaking against the silence.

"You're leaving."

I stared at him, my mind struggling to keep up.

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

I looked at the wardrobe, at the clothes hanging inside it.

"My clothes?"

"Leave them."

I thought I had misheard him.

"What?"

"Leave your things."

"But they're mine."

Marcus turned toward me fully now.

"Are they?"

I frowned, confusion cutting through my grief for a moment.

He gestured around the bedroom, his arm sweeping across everything we'd built together.

"The clothes? I paid for them. The jewelry? I paid for it. The phone you're holding? I paid for it. Everything in this house was bought with my money."

My fingers tightened around my phone until my knuckles ached.

"You're my husband."

"That doesn't mean you own my property."

I felt humiliation wash over me, hot and suffocating.

"After three years, you're really going to stand there and tell me that I have nothing in this house?"

"You came into my life with nothing."

His words were merciless, delivered without hesitation.

"I gave you everything."

I looked down at my wedding ring, the metal suddenly feeling heavier than it ever had.

"You gave me a marriage."

"And what did I get?"

I slowly lifted my eyes to meet his.

"A wife who couldn't give me a child."

I closed my eyes. His words pierced me somewhere deep, somewhere I hadn't known could still be hurt further.

I didn't want to cry in front of him anymore. But my tears continued falling anyway, and I no longer had the strength to stop them.

Marcus picked up my handbag from the chair and threw it onto the bed.

"Take that."

I looked at it, then at him.

"That's all?"

"Yes."

"Marcus, please."

"I've made my decision."

"Where am I supposed to sleep?"

"That's for you to figure out."

"It's raining."

He shrugged, as though the weather outside was of no more concern to him than the weather in my heart.

"I can't keep living like this because you're afraid to leave."

I stood there for several long seconds, waiting for something in him to soften. Nothing did.

Then I walked to the bed and picked up my handbag. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely open it. I checked what was inside — my wallet, a little cash. That was it. Three years of my life, and this was what remained in my hands.

I looked around the room one last time. Three years of my life surrounded me — our photographs on the wall, the bed we had shared, the little decorations I had bought because Marcus once told me he liked them. Everything remained exactly where it had always been.

Only I was being removed from it.

I turned toward the door. Before I reached it, I stopped.

"Marcus."

He didn't respond.

I turned back.

"Did you ever love me?"

For a moment, his face changed. Or maybe I imagined it, desperate for even the smallest sign that this had once meant something to him.

Then he looked away.

"Just leave, Gloria."

My chest tightened until it was hard to breathe.

I nodded.

"Okay."

I opened the door.

"Gloria."

I stopped, my hand still on the frame.

"Don't come back."

I didn't answer. I stepped into the hallway, and a few moments later, the door closed behind me.

I stood there, staring at it, as if staring long enough might make it open again. Somewhere inside that house was the life I had believed would last forever. But I wasn't part of it anymore.

I slowly walked downstairs, each step heavier than the last. When I reached the front door, I hesitated, my hand resting on the handle. I thought about calling my mother or my best friend. But what would I say? *My husband threw me out because I couldn't get pregnant.* The shame alone was enough to make me feel sick.

So I opened the door instead.

Rain poured down almost immediately, soaking my hair and clothes within seconds. I stepped outside, and the door closed behind me with a finality that felt like the end of something much larger than a single night.

I stood on the pavement, clutching my handbag against my chest. I had nowhere to go. For three years, I had known exactly where I belonged. Now I didn't even know where I would sleep.

I started walking.

I didn't know how long I walked for. I only knew that I didn't want to stop. The rain blurred the streets around me, and my tears disappeared into it. Maybe that was better. Nobody could see me crying, or how broken I truly was.

After some time, I noticed the bright lights of a pub across the road. I stopped.

I had never imagined myself walking into a place like that alone at midnight, but tonight I didn't care. I crossed the road and pushed the door open.

Warmth surrounded me instantly. Music played softly in the background while people talked and laughed over their drinks. Nobody seemed interested in the soaked woman who had just walked inside.

*Good,* I whispered to myself. I didn't want anyone's attention.

I walked toward the bar and sat on one of the stools. The bartender looked at me.

"What can I get you?"

"Something strong."

He studied me for a moment, taking in my soaked clothes and reddened eyes.

"Whiskey?"

I nodded.

He poured a glass and placed it in front of me. I stared at it for a long moment before picking it up and taking a sip. It burned my throat, but I welcomed the sensation — anything to feel something other than the hollow ache spreading through my chest.

For a few moments, I simply sat there. I didn't think about Marcus or tomorrow.

When I reached for the glass again, I felt someone's eyes on me. I looked up. A man was sitting several stools away, alone, with a glass of whiskey in front of him. Our eyes met.

I don't know how long we stared at each other. There was something strangely familiar about the sadness in his eyes. He looked like someone who had also been having a terrible night. Neither of us smiled, and neither of us looked away.

Eventually, I lowered my gaze and took another sip.

A few moments later, I heard the stool beside me move. The man had come closer.

"Is this seat taken?"

I glanced at the empty stool.

"No."

He sat down. For a moment, we remained silent. Then he looked at my glass.

"Rough night?"

I gave a small, humorless laugh.

"You could say that."

He nodded, as though he understood more than his simple response let on.

"I know the feeling."

I turned toward him.

"You too?"

His fingers tightened slightly around his glass.

"Yeah."

I studied him. There was something about his expression that told me he wasn't looking for a casual conversation. Neither was I.

"What happened?" I asked.

He looked at me for a moment before answering.

"Someone I trusted disappointed me."

I lowered my eyes.

"I'm sorry."

He gave a faint smile.

"Don't be. You look like you need the apology more than I do."

I almost laughed.

"Maybe I do."

He looked at me again.

"I'm Adriel, by the way."

I hesitated for a second before giving him my name.

"Gloria."

"Gloria."

The way he repeated my name made something flutter strangely in my chest, an unfamiliar sensation after everything that had just happened.

I looked down at my drink.

"Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too."

He raised his glass slightly.

"To terrible nights?"

I looked at him. Then, despite everything, a tiny smile touched my lips.

"To terrible nights."

Our glasses touched.

And just as Adriel opened his mouth to say something else, a loud voice suddenly rang out from behind the bar.

"Everyone, listen up!"

The music was lowered. People turned toward the bartender. He was holding a piece of paper in his hand, a huge grin spreading across his face.

"Someone has just decided to settle the entire bill for everyone in this pub tonight!"

The room erupted. Cheers broke out from every corner. People began looking around, trying to find the mysterious person who had just offered to pay for everyone's drinks.

I stared at the bartender in disbelief. Beside me, Adriel chuckled softly.

"What kind of person does something like that?"

I smiled faintly.

"I have no idea."

The bartender raised his voice over the cheering crowd.

"Whoever you are, tonight's drinks are on you!"

The pub erupted into another round of cheers. And for the first time that night, I forgot about Marcus for a few seconds.

I looked at Adriel. He was already looking at me.

Neither of us said a word.