The Bad Boy's Problem

On the tenth day after filing for divorce, I ran into Quentin Gulley in the hospital corridor. He held Rita Hart with exaggerated care, as if she were something precious.

But the moment he saw me, his brows drew tight.

"What are you doing here? Are you trying to cause trouble for Rita again?"

His wary stare was so cold it seemed to sink straight into my bones.

Rita tugged gently on his hand and looked at me with an apologetic smile.

"Cammy, don't misunderstand. Quentin just cares about me a lot."

As she spoke, her gaze shifted to my stomach.

"I heard you were hospitalized too. Is the baby okay?"

Before I could answer, Quentin rushed to reassure her.

"She probably just strained herself a little. It'll be fine. Don't overthink it. Just focus on taking care of yourself."

My hand went instinctively to my belly, bitterness rising in my throat.

Yes—what could possibly be wrong? It was only that the baby was gone. How could that ever matter as much as Rita?

Otherwise, why would Quentin go days without visiting me, even knowing I was in the same hospital? A single step into my ward and he would have known that our child was already gone.

My lips twitched as my fingers brushed the small glass bottle in my pocket, warm from being held so often.

Ever since Rita had returned, Quentin disappeared every few days to be with her.

He always said, "Rita's been sensitive since she was a child, and now she's sick. What if something happens when I'm not there?

"Don't worry. I just don't want her to do anything stupid. There's nothing else between us."

He promised me he would only accompany her ninety-nine times. After ninety-nine, he would pull back completely and live our life properly.

So every time he left, I dropped a soybean into the glass bottle.

Seven days ago, I finally reached ninety-nine.

But when I went to find him—full of hope—what I saw instead was Quentin holding Rita tightly in his arms.

I was his wife. Yet in that moment, all I could do was stand on the side of the street, watching from a distance as he held another woman like she was his entire world.

"What are you doing?" My eyes were red as I walked up to them, stunned by the sight.

Quentin jerked away from Rita as if shocked, panic flashing across his face.

"Cammy, don't misunderstand. It's not what you think."

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, Rita cut in first, "It's my fault. I'm the one disrupting your relationship. I'm sorry.

"Quentin, don't worry about me anymore. Just let me die out here."

With that, she dashed into the street—straight into the path of an oncoming bicycle, which knocked her to the ground.

Quentin's expression changed instantly. He shoved me aside and rushed to scoop her into his arms.

I didn't have time to steady myself and fell hard to the pavement. A dull, twisting pain shot through my abdomen. When I reached down with trembling hands, all I felt was the hot slickness of blood.

"The baby… my baby… my baby… Honey—Quentin!"

Clutching my stomach, I called his name, hoping—praying—he would turn back.

He paused. But when he finally looked at me, his eyes were filled with nothing but resentment.