4: Are my words not enough for you?

Fiona’s POV

The word hit me like a physical blow. “What?”

My face must have gone ghostly pale, drained of all color, as Sebastian’s accusation sank into my bones.

Someone tried to take their own life because of me? The thought was a cold blade, slicing through me, leaving a shiver that settled deep in my core.

My hands trembled, and my mind spiraled, replaying that fleeting phone call, searching for any word, any tone that could have caused such a catastrophic reaction.

“I just said you weren’t available to answer the phone and that I was your assistant. The call lasted less than a minute,” I said, my voice shaking as I fought to piece together what had happened.

“I don’t know which of my words could’ve caused her to…” I trailed off, unable to say it. The idea was too monstrous, too far beyond comprehension.

Sebastian’s face was a mask of storm and shadow, his jaw tight, his dark eyes blazing with certainty. “I don’t need your explanation. You’re coming to the hospital with me to explain to Ross.”

His voice was ice, cutting through me with the weight of his conviction that I was to blame for Ross’s despair.

The air between us crackled with tension, so thick it pressed against my chest, making it hard to breathe.

“I know you’re upset right now,” I said, forcing the words past the lump in my throat. “I’ll go with you and figure this out. But I swear, I didn’t say anything to make her do this.”

My voice cracked, hoping him to see the truth, but Sebastian turned his back, his silence louder than any words. It was a rejection, a dismissal, and it hurt more than I could bear.

My nose stung, the burn of tears threatening to break through.

Sebastian drove to the hospital with a reckless urgency, navigating the streets with a familiarity that twisted the knife deeper. This wasn’t his first time racing to her side.

He knew these roads, these turns, because of Ross. The realization gnawed at me, a bitter reminder of where his heart truly lay.

Hospitals were his personal hell. He’d told me once, in a rare moment of openness, how much he despised them.

His parents had died in one, their loss leaving a wound that never healed. The sterile halls, the sharp smell of antiseptic—it was all tied to pain for him.

Even after his eye injury, he’d avoided hospitals, choosing to recover at home. He’d never set foot in one for me, not once in our three years together. But for Ross? He’d brave this place without hesitation.

It was a stark, painful truth: love changes how someone acts. I’d poured everything into our marriage, hoping to be enough, but I was never his priority. Ross was, always had been.

We entered Ward 302, and I followed, my steps heavy with dread. Inside, two women caught my attention.

Ross, lying on the hospital bed, had long, glossy black hair and piercing blue eyes that gave her an almost angelic fragility, despite her pale, weakened state.

Beside her stood a tall, striking woman with cascading golden curls and sharp gray-blue eyes that seemed to judge me in an instant.

“Ross, how are you feeling?” Sebastian’s voice softened, laced with a tenderness I rarely heard directed at me. It was like a blade to my heart.

“Sebastian, thank you for coming,” Ross replied, her voice frail, her pale face managing a faint smile. “I know you hate hospitals. I’m sorry for dragging you here again.”

“Just call me anytime you need help instead of hurting yourself,” he said, his tone gentle but urgent, like he was pleading with her to choose him over her pain.

The blonde woman interrupted, her gaze locking onto me with unveiled contempt. “If Ross’s call to you hadn’t been answered by someone else, she wouldn’t be in this state,” she said, her words dripping with accusation.

“Ross suffers from severe depression. Any malicious trigger can push her over the edge.”

Her implication was unmistakable: I’d deliberately provoked Ross. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, the pain grounding me against the surge of anger. I wouldn’t accept such a vicious lie. I hadn’t done anything to hurt her.

“Helen, it’s my fault. It has nothing to do with anyone else,” Ross murmured, her voice breaking into a cough that immediately pulled Sebastian’s full attention to her bedside. He leaned closer, his concern palpable, as if I wasn’t even there.

“Fiona, I know you wouldn’t hurt Ross on purpose,” Sebastian said, his eyes still fixed on Ross, “but please, say something to make her feel better.”

I gritted my teeth, my heart pounding with a mix of frustration. What did he expect from me? An apology for something I didn’t do? An explanation to soothe her while my own feelings were trampled? No. I was innocent, and I wouldn’t grovel to prove it.

What hurt even more was that Sebastian didn’t defend me. His only concern was Ross’s well-being, as if my pain, my humiliation, didn’t matter.

The injustice of being slandered, the helplessness of being misunderstood—it was a tidal wave threatening to drown me.

My chest tightened, and I fought to keep my composure, to hold onto the fraying threads of my dignity.

If no one would stand up for me, I’d stand up for myself. That’s why I came here.

“Sebastian, can I have your phone? I’ll prove it,” I said.

Helen scoffed, her tone biting. “Trying to erase evidence of a crime, are we?”

I ignored her, focusing on what I needed to do. I took Sebastian’s phone from his hand and pulled up the call log. The conversation with Ross had lasted thirty-five seconds.

“Thirty-five seconds,” I said, holding the phone up for them to see, my voice firm. “Not even a minute. How could I drive someone to that in such a short time?”

Sebastian frowned, his skepticism clear. “What are you planning, Fiona?”

“I’ll reenact the entire conversation to prove I’m innocent. It was recent; I remember every word.” My voice didn’t waver, though my hands trembled slightly as I prepared to speak.

I recited the exchange exactly as it happened: how I’d said he wasn’t available, that I was his assistant, and nothing more. I timed it as I spoke, and it took thirty-four seconds—almost identical to the call log.

“There’s no recording, but the timing matches. I’m not lying,” I said, locking eyes with Sebastian.

Helen’s face twisted, her confidence faltering. “That’s just a coincidence. You could’ve made it up.”

“In thirty-five seconds?” I shot back. “I couldn’t invent a conversation that fits so precisely. You know that.”

Sebastian’s expression softened, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “Fiona, I believe you. I’m sorry. We were just worried about Ross’s condition and misunderstood you.”

His apology was hollow, a formality that did nothing to ease the ache in my chest. Once again, he’d dismissed my feelings for Ross without hesitation, just like he’d chosen to divorce me for her. I’d known his heart belonged to her, so why did this still tear me apart?

“Your apology means nothing to me,” I said, my voice low, cold, barely containing the hurt.

I turned and strode out of the ward directly, abandoning him behind.

But as I walked down the hospital hallway, I overheard a nurse’s voice, her words slicing through me, making my blood sink.