Prologue

She awoke in a strange, frigid environment. Every breath she took sent waves of discomfort through her body, making it a struggle to even pry open her eyes. The overhead lights were blinding, casting a harsh glow that pierced through her closed eyelids. Faint sounds echoed in the distance, their origins shrouded in mystery. Seeking solace, she shut her eyes momentarily, only to be greeted by the gentle waft of a familiar fragrance that tickled her senses.

Lavender scent… Where am I?

As the haze lifted from her eyes, her gaze swept across the room. Heavy window curtains, a tiled floor, get-well lavender flowers on the side table, and IV bags are all she sees. 

“O-Ouch.” She flinched in an attempt to sit on the bed. The needle that pierced through her veins made it difficult to put force in her hand, causing her to fall back.

She had no recollection of how or when she was transferred to the hospital; the last thing she remembered was being inside the bathroom before her vision went blank.

“You’re finally awake.”

Her gaze was drawn to the owner of the voice that she had not realized had entered her room. It was Fynn, her protective brother. 

With deliberate movements, Fynn pulled the chair closer to the bedside and settled down. “You should rest. You need it.”

“Why am I here?” she asked weakly, ignoring what he had said.

He licked his lower lip and cleared his throat. “You have to rest first. You need to rest. Once you fully recover, I'll tell you what happened.”

She shook her head. “No, tell me. Where is Lazare? Does he even know I’m here?”

He clenched his jaw. “Can’t you just f-cking listen to me?! You have to rest, Vlada.”

“No, where is Lazare—”

“He’s f-cking gone! He’s nowhere. If you want an answer whether he knows that you’re in the hospital right now, the answer is yes. He knows, and he doesn’t give a f-ck.”

She squeezed the bed sheets until the back of her palm felt numb. With each breath she took, a searing pain pierced through her chest as if an invisible dagger relentlessly stabbed at her heart.

Why did she even bother hoping? Why did she even expect that Lazare is the person she’ll see once she wakes up?

Fynn threw a brown envelope that landed on her lap. “He’s divorcing you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

A lump formed in her throat, rendering her voiceless. Uncertainty lingered within her, unsure if the tightness stemmed from her throat or the emotional weight of discussing the divorce with Fynn. The complexity of explaining a situation she had yet to fully comprehend left her at a loss for words.

“I-It’s positive. I’m pregnant.” 

Her racing heartbeat gradually found its rhythm, a calming melody, as her gaze fixated on the pair of distinct lines etched on the pregnancy test clutched in her hand. In that profound moment, the undeniable reality washed over her—she was carrying life within her. It was real. She was pregnant.

She placed her hand on her stomach and started caressing it.

"This is not a dream," she told herself. After years of trying, she was finally pregnant. She couldn't contain her excitement to tell Lazare about the pregnancy. 

This is what he always wanted—to become a father.

"The baby... How is my baby?" she asked, her voice trembling.

His jaw tightened, and he turned his eyes away. The unreadable expression on her brother's face left her guessing, but his actions spoke volumes. She sensed the probable answer to her question, yet an insatiable need compelled her to hear it directly from him.

“Fynn, answer me. Is my baby safe? Please answer me.”

He gazed at her and met her eye to eye. The flames of anger flickered within his eyes, searing with an intensity that was hard to ignore. Yet, as she continued to peer into his gaze, a glimmer of sorrow emerged, mingling with the fury. The burden on her shoulders gradually lifted, and her body felt weightless as if transformed into a delicate sheet of paper.

“The baby didn’t make it,” he whispered, his words barely audible, yet it was enough confirmation for her.

Her gaze fixated on the brown envelope, deliberately placed on the dining table by her husband. She reached for it and slowly opened the envelope.

"D-Divorce papers..."

“I want to see Lazare. Take me to him,” she commanded with distinct certainty and determination in her voice.

“Are you out of your mind?”

The tears she had been holding back rolled down her cheeks as she forced herself to sit on the bed.

“C’mon, don’t be stubborn, Vlada. You just lost your baby…”

She placed her hand on top of Fynn's resting hand on the bedside table and squeezed it firmly. “Please let me see him. It’s not just my baby, Fynn. He’s the father of my child. I’m begging you to let me see him. I want to tell him this face to face.”

Fynn clenched his jaw. “He knows everything. I texted him last night. Now where is he, huh? Is that the kind of man you want your child to call a father?”

“My child is dead! Take me to him,” she said firmly. “I can't lose him too, Fynn. I can't…”

Her fingers tightened around the paper, oblivious to the tearing sound it made. The intensity of her grip increased, her nails digging into her palm, a sharpness that mirrored the pain in her heart. Tremors coursed through her lips, rendering her speechless. Every muscle in her body felt frozen as if disconnected from her will.

“Our baby. How about our baby?” Her final words escaped her lips, hanging in the air, as her body surrendered to gravity. Limbs devoid of strength, she sank onto the frigid floor, devoid of any remnants of dust from her husband's shoes.

At that moment, she longed for it all to be a figment of her imagination, a cruel dream she could wake up from.