TWO

ELENA

The first thing I noticed was the smell. Sharp, sterile, unmistakable alcohol, disinfectant, something chemical that clung to the air and burned faintly at the back of my throat. A hospital. I didn’t need to see the room to know where I was.

“Ma’am, you’re awake, finally.”

A voice hovered at my bedside, kind but professional. I tried to peel my eyes open, but the second the light hit them, I squeezed them shut again. Too bright, too harsh. My body wasn’t ready for the world yet.

I swallowed, my mouth dry.

“Where…?” My voice cracked, thin and weak, but before I could finish, the voice answered the question I was afraid to ask.

“The child is fine,” the doctor said gently. “But there’s a risk of premature birth. Pregnant women are advised to avoid excessive stress and maintain a healthy mind and body.”

For a moment, I just lay there, eyes still closed, clinging to those words: the child is fine. Relief washed over me, heavy and overwhelming, but it was laced with guilt, because what kind of stress was I supposed to avoid when my husband—the father of this child was the one breaking me piece by piece?

I turned my head slightly against the pillow, trying to ignore the ache in my body. Healthy mind and body. Easier said than done when your heart is cracking in places no one can stitch back together.

Mr. Hensley’s chased the doctor out, but I could vaguely distinguish him asking the doctor some precautions, his voice gradually drifted away what I could eat, how much I should walk, how often I’d need to come back.

Just me left behind in the ward, staring at the pale ceiling. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above me, and for a ridiculous second, I wanted to rip them down, to find some way to release the storm swelling inside my chest.

It was past four in the morning. The world outside was dark, but I felt darker. I should have been resting, should have been grateful the baby was safe for now. Instead, my eyes stayed open, burning, refusing to close. Sleep felt impossible when my heart wouldn’t stop pacing.

The sound of the door opening jolted me. Instinctively, my body went rigid, my breath shallow. Something in me already knew who it was before I turned. Slowly, painfully, I shifted my head toward the doorway.

Damian.

He looked… wrecked. His shirt was wrinkled, tie dangling uselessly around his neck, dark hair mussed as if he had dragged his hand through it one too many times. My chest clenched. He looked like a man who had rushed here, like maybe all the ugly thoughts I’d been drowning in were wrong, and he hadn’t abandoned me; he had just been delayed.

My heart betrayed me, beating faster, aching at the possibility. Maybe he did care, maybe he had been running through the night to reach me.

But then…. her.

A tall woman stepped in behind him, her heels clicking softly against the hospital floor, her perfectly styled silhouette cutting through my fragile hope like glass.

My face burned, my throat tightened, and every bit of foolish warmth I had felt for him curdled into something cold.

It was her. Isabelle. Damian’s first love. My former best friend.

For a second, I honestly thought the pain in my chest was worse than the cramping that had brought me here. My stomach clenched, and it had nothing to do with the baby this time. Had they been together all night? The thought stabbed sharp, poisonous.

“Elena,” Isabelle’s voice was smooth, practiced, warm in a way that made my skin crawl. “Damian and I heard you were in the hospital and were very worried. Thank God, I’m glad you’re okay.”

We? She said it like they were a unit, like they belonged to each other.

I just stared at her, my throat too dry to answer, my hand clutching the thin blanket over my belly. Damian hadn’t mentioned her once since he came back into my life. I had convinced myself their story was in the past, that they weren’t in contact anymore, but here she was, her hand looped casually around his arm, her body pressed against his like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And the worst part? He didn’t shake her off.

Their clothes even matched. His suit and her skirt, both charcoal grey, crisp, deliberate. They looked like they had dressed from the same closet, like some well-coordinated couple in a glossy magazine.

I felt something bitter and ugly twist across my lips, a smile that wasn’t really a smile at all.

“Well,” I croaked, though the words I wanted to say wouldn’t come. My mouth moved, but nothing coherent made it out. I hated myself for it, hated that in this moment, I was the silent one.

The room shifted into a silence so sharp it could cut glass. Isabelle’s confident little grin began to falter, stiffening as though she finally realised I wasn’t going to play along with her sweet friend act.

Damian’s brows furrowed, his gaze flicking between us. And then, as if my silence offended him, he sighed and turned to her.

“Wait for me outside.” he said flatly.

Isabelle hesitated, her manicured fingers lingering on his sleeve, before she finally let go and slipped out, leaving a faint trail of expensive perfume behind her.

Damian moved only then, stepping forward at last, though not too close. His hands were in his pockets, his posture sharp, distant. He stopped at the edge of my bed but didn’t look at me the way a husband should look at his pregnant wife lying in a hospital bed. He looked at me like I was something fragile, foreign… maybe even contagious.

“Since the child is fine,” he said, voice clipped, “you can go back. I still have things to do.”

The words knocked the air from my lungs harder than any contraction could. The child is fine. Not you’re fine. Not I was worried. Not I’m sorry I wasn’t here.

I lay there, staring at him, wondering how the man I loved could stand two feet away and still feel a thousand miles apart.

“Where have you been?” The words scraped out of me, hoarse, ragged, my throat dry from too much silence. I hated how weak I sounded, but I couldn’t hold them in. “If it weren’t for Mr. Hensley… if it weren’t for him, the child might have—”

“I said I was working.” Damian’s voice was cool, flat, already tired of me. “There are a lot of things happening in the company recently…”

My heart twisted so hard it hurt.

“Is it also your job to accompany Isabelle?!” The name ripped out of me before I could stop it, jagged with all the betrayal I’d been choking on since she walked into this room clinging to him.

For the briefest moment, something flickered across his face, an uncomfortable shadow, a crack in the mask. But just as quickly, he smoothed it over, stone again. He didn’t answer, he didn’t explain. He just stood there, letting my question rot in the air between us.

“I don’t have time to argue with you,” he said finally, dismissively, like swatting at an insect. “The result is that you are fine, and the child is fine, so don’t hold on to this matter anymore, as if it is a big deal.”

Not a big deal. My nearly collapsing on the floor, clutching my belly, begging for help, not a big deal.

He took a few steps back, as if even standing near me was too much.

“You have medical staff and security personnel assigned to you at home. You will not be in danger. So…” His eyes hardened. “Don’t call me again, and don’t ask me what I am doing.”

And just like that, he turned and walked out. No backward glance, no hand on my shoulder, and no apology. Just gone, as if I were nothing more than chewing gum on his shoe, an inconvenience he couldn’t wait to scrape off.

I closed my eyes. For once, I didn’t try to hold the tears back. They slid down my cheeks, hot, endless, and unstoppable. Silent proof of everything he refused to say, everything I refused to believe until now.

I finally understood my love for him wasn’t enough. Not for him. Maybe not for us.