Chapter One AT The Hospital 

 

Sarah’s POV 

I walked into the clinic with a fragile hope, nurtured over years of managing the fatigue, the breathlessness, and the palpitations that had long become my new normal.

Peripartum cardiomyopathy had always been a part of me, an uninvited guest I had learned to live with, especially because my husband, Abraham, always reminded me that he loved me even with my heart condition. His reassurance made it easier to face each day.

So when I stepped into the clinic and walked into Dr. Chen’s office, I wasn’t expecting anything drastic. Maybe a slight adjustment in my medication. A gentle reminder to take it easy. Nothing more.

But the atmosphere told a different story.

Dr. Chen’s silence stretched longer than usual, making the air in the room thick and unnerving. He tapped his pen against my file, the rhythmic sound echoing like a warning bell.

“Sarah,” he finally said, his voice low and careful, “I’m sorry. The numbers… they’re not good.”

I blinked, confused. My calm exterior cracked. “Not good? What does that mean? I’ve been feeling mostly okay. A bit more tired maybe, but I thought it was just stress from work.” I gave a small laugh, dry and humorless.

“It’s PPCM. It’s always a bit worse,” I offered, almost hoping he’d agree.

But he slowly shook his head, his expression heavy with something that unsettled me. “No, Sarah. This isn’t a bit worse. This is a significant decline. Your heart is struggling more than ever. We’re at a critical point now. Your life…” He didn’t finish the sentence, but I could feel the weight of what he meant. My life was at risk.

I took in a deep breath, carefully, so I wouldn’t trigger another episode. My hands trembled slightly. Hearing those words—“your life is at risk”—was like being hit by something invisible but devastating. It was a phrase that demanded courage, strength, and resilience. I wasn’t sure I had any of those in that moment.

But what could I do?

Ten years ago, I had been diagnosed with peripartum cardiomyopathy. The heart condition came unexpectedly, three months after I gave birth to my daughter, Cynthia. I had just stepped into motherhood when the illness crept in and changed everything.

That morning, before heading to the clinic, I had packed Cynthia’s lunchbox myself—even though my chest had been feeling tighter than usual. She’d stood on her toes and kissed my cheek. “Bye Mommy,” she beamed. “Don’t forget to rest!” Her tiny wave from the school bus window still lingered in my mind. I smiled just thinking about it. For her, I had to fight.

It was overwhelming at first. I cried often, believing that my life had taken a tragic turn. I thought I was suddenly weak, suddenly pitiable. But Abraham never saw me that way.

He stood by me. Loved me harder. Told me I was strong and that my heartbeat, however irregular, still beat for him. His comfort pulled me through the early years.

And by some miracle, I managed it. Ten full years. No major flare-ups. No life-threatening emergencies.

So now I couldn’t help but ask myself: What changed? Why now? Why did things suddenly get worse?

I watched Dr. Chen scribble down the names of medications I was to collect at the clinic pharmacy. When he handed me the paper, I stood up gently, not rushing. Even standing too quickly could make the room tilt slightly. I braced myself against the chair before moving.

“Thank you, doctor,” I said softly and stepped out of his office.

At the pharmacy, I collected my prescriptions and carefully tucked them into my bag. I was cautious with every move. I had learned that even emotions could betray me. If I got too excited, I could trigger breathlessness. If I sat or lay without proper back support, my chest would tighten. If I got too emotionally stressed, I’d feel it first in my heartbeat.

Standing just outside the clinic, I pulled out my phone and dialed Abraham’s number.

We had talked earlier in the week about him driving me, but I understood that his meeting might take priority. Still, I knew better than to drive myself. If something happened on the road, a sudden tightness in my chest or a dizzy spell, it could turn fatal within minutes.

The phone rang twice before he picked up. “I wish I could, darling. But the meeting is today. I told you, remember? I’ll come pick you up myself once I’m done.”

I paused. He was right. He had mentioned it more than once. I had just hoped things would line up differently.

“It’s okay,” I replied. “I’ll wait. Just be careful on your way.”

Since Cynthia was already in school, I waited outside the clinic, sitting on a low bench and keeping my back straight like the doctor always advised. Thankfully, Abraham’s meeting wasn’t too far from the hospital. He arrived in about fifteen minutes.

He pulled up right at the front door. I took just five careful steps and slid into the passenger seat.

“So, what did the doctor say?” he asked as he started driving.

I hesitated. The words were right there, but my mouth didn’t open. I didn’t want to burden him yet. Not before I got the chance to prepare his favorite meal. Not before I got to see that satisfied look on his face after a good plate of food.

I could have told him then. But I knew his heart. I knew how much he loved me. If I said it now, it would ruin his entire day. It would ruin mine too.

“I’ll tell you when we get home,” I said, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

We arrived home, and the first thing I did was help him out of his suit. I loosened his tie and gave him a kiss on the forehead. I had to stretch a little on my toes because Abraham was taller than me.

Then I folded into his embrace. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to fall apart in his arms. Not yet. If I could survive ten years with this heart, I could survive this moment too.

Even though Dr. Chen said my heart had worsened, I believed I still had a fighting chance. With Abraham beside me, with Cynthia’s love, and with strict attention to my medication, I could push through.

As I held onto him, I noticed something strange. A scent. It wasn’t his cologne. It was softer, more floral—feminine. I wanted to shake off the thought immediately.

It was silly, I told myself, to assume anything. He had just come from a meeting. Maybe one of his female business associates had hugged him. In real estate, that wasn’t unusual. I pushed the doubt away.

I leaned into his chest. His arms wrapped around me tightly. Then, he kissed my forehead and whispered, “I love you. You know that, right?”

I nodded. That reassurance calmed me.

“Let me go prepare something for you to eat,” I said, gently pulling away and heading into the kitchen.

Even as I said it, my legs felt heavy. My breathing had shortened a bit. I knew I needed to rest, to lie down with pillows stacked under my head like the doctor advised. But I also knew how much Abraham loved a warm, home-cooked meal after a long day. Especially when it was made by me. So I gathered what strength I had and kept moving.

I was going to tell him everything after eating. I had made up my mind.

But as I entered the kitchen, turned on the stove, and brought out some meat to boil, I heard his voice—low and careful.

“I can’t talk right now. She’s somewhere around here, and she’d heard us,” he whispered.

I froze.

Abraham never whispered on the phone. Even during business calls, he would talk freely around me. I remembered many nights he sat on the couch with his phone on speaker, explaining figures and projects to investors while I dozed off nearby. He never hid anything from me.

So why now?

I walked quietly to the kitchen doorway and paused. I didn’t want to confront him immediately. I just wanted to hear more.

“C’mon babe. You know I’m home right now. Talk later. Please.”

My heart skipped. My breath caught. Who did he just call babe? Did babe actually mean what I thought it meant?

Was it possible? Could Abraham… could he be cheating?