Chapter Seven: Alone and Abandoned

Alice’s POV

The moment the words were out, the air seemed to drain from around us. Everything went unnaturally still. Silent.

I stood at the top of the stairs, back straight, body tensed. Facing him down. David. The man I have loved for so many years.

The look on his face was almost fascinating — shock, disbelief, then something close to denial. He had never imagined this version of me.

Not the woman who had spent six years being agreeable, quiet, perfectly playing the role of Mrs. Newcombe. Not the obliging wife who smoothed over discomfort, and swallowed disappointment like it was part of the marriage contract.

He never expected me to step out of that polished shell and say the word divorce, out loud.

The three of us froze, suspended in a silence so thick it smothered reaction.

Then, “Alice, have you lost your mind?” David scoffed, his voice full of that familiar tone — superior, authoritative, condescending. As if he had just heard a pathetic joke.

“Divorce? Do you have any idea what that means? I have supported you and protected you all this time. You can’t even afford to pay rent, if you walk away from this house. The world outside is harsh, Alice. How could you hope to survive?” he demanded. “This marriage isn’t something you casually throw away.”

Looking at David, I realized I was no longer eager for his approval. I felt detached. As if I no longer recognized him.

“This family only worked because I kept quiet,” I continued. “I played my part. I kept the peace. But I’m done pretending.”

Something shifted in his expression. His shoulders slackened just a little. The anger faltered, replaced by something closer to panic — because authority only works when someone agrees to be controlled.

“Stop playing this low-level attention-seeking game. It makes me sick. Put away such ridiculous ideas. If you really want to leave me, think it over very carefully. Do you plan on living in the slums and picking up trash for a living?”

David‘s reproach dashed me in the face like ice chips.

Lily lifted her pale, delicate face, eyes shining with something sharp — almost hungry — as she locked onto David’s words.

Camilla gripped her father’s hand tightly, while she steadfastly avoided looking at me. Now, her focus was only on her aunt, laying in a crumpled bundle at the foot of the stairs.

“Daddy… does Aunt Lily hurt a lot?”

“Daddy, help Aunt Lily!” she cried, clutching at his hand and pointing at me. “Mommy was scary! She pushed Aunt Lily. That’s bad!”

She was just five years old yet the look in her eyes — those eyes I once thought were innocent — was sharp with resentment.

“Camilla…” My voice shook. “What are you saying, honey? I told you; I didn’t push her. She —”

“You did!” she screamed, cutting me off. “You’re bossy, always telling me to do things. You don’t even like me! Aunt Lily tells me stories and plays fun games. She’s way better than you!”

Camilla hurried down the stairs again, and sat beside Lily.

Now she was crying again. “Daddy, I don’t want mommy anymore. Can we let Aunt Lily stay?”

Lily chose that exact moment to cry. A few carefully placed sobs. She reached out, gently stroking Camilla’s hair, her voice trembling just enough. Letting her hand shake.

“Sweetheart, don’t say that about your mother… She’s just tired. That’s all,” said Lily.

That was the moment something inside me broke. The daughter I had raised with my own hands. The child I loved more than my own life.

She had chosen a stranger over me. She had fallen for her aunt’s duplicity. Just a gullible little child.

David’s gaze flickered back to me for a brief second. Then it settled on Lily. In his eyes, Lily was the fragile one and Camilla was the confused child, longing for a gentler mother.

And I — I was the flaw. The villain ruining the picture.

“No one is going anywhere,” David said finally, his voice low and firm. “I’ll take care of this.”

“Stay here,” he said, looking at me — but sounding as if he was making a monumental declaration. “I’ll handle everything.”

His eyes brushed over me and locked onto Lily. He hurried down the stairs, bent over and lifted her into his arms.

In his arms, Lily let out a faint whimper, burying her face in the crook of his neck, her arms weakly wrapped around his shoulders, like a white lotus that might wither at any moment. David hugged her tighter. It was an unconscious kind of tenderness, without needing to think.

And I, Alice Newcombe, legal wife, woman who had held this household together for six years— stood there alone, abandoned.

That was when my world blurred. Shapes began to overlap. It felt as if an invisible hand had closed around my insides and twisted. Pain exploded from my chest and spread outward down my limbs. Then a violent sensation gripped my abdomen — sudden in its fury, and inescapable.

I grabbed the wall beside me, knuckles whitening. My body wouldn’t obey me and my vision was fading.

The last thing I was aware of, before the darkness took over, was David holding Lily — his face tight with concern — and my housekeeper asking softly, “Sir, should I call the doctor to come over to see to your wife? See looks poorly.”

“No, there’s no need,” David said without turning around. “Don‘t worry about her. If she were really sick, would she have the energy to make such a big fuss about getting a divorce? She knows she can‘t threaten me, so she’s looking for a way out. Leave her at it, and when she‘s finished acting sick, she’ll get up and just continue her tirade of abuse.”

He told the butler, “Arrange a car for me. I’ll take Lily to the hospital, myself. Her injury needs professional medical attention.”

He headed out, and as the door closed after them, my body went completely limp and I collapsed.

“Ma’am? No, she’s fainted!” I heard the housekeeper exclaim, just as I lost consciousness.

When I opened my eyes again, the ceiling above me was pale and unfocused, swaying slightly. The smell of disinfectant burned its way into my senses, sharp and intrusive, dragging pain back into my body, piece by piece.

“You’re awake.” The voice was calm, professional. Someone leaned closer, checking my pupils, my pulse.

Another voice followed — low, warm, exhausted.

I turned my head with some effort, and met a pair of light brown eyes filled with concern.

Adam Ferrald.

A senior from my med school. The one who used to stand beside me in the lab, amazed at my hands.

And also — ironically — one of David’s few actual friends.

“Did David bring me here?” I asked hoarsely.

Adam snorted. “You people are unbelievable,” he said dryly. “He rushed in, carrying a woman with a tiny scratch on her forehead. Another five minutes and it would’ve healed itself. Meanwhile, his unconscious wife was brought in by the staff.”

He handed me a slightly crumpled manila envelope.

“I was planning to stop by the Newcombe house, looking for you. I guess this unexpected emergency has saved me the trip. Your mentor sent these documents from Switzerland and I intended to give them to you, personally.”

I was mystified. “Thank you,” I whispered.

I hadn’t expected that, in my lowest moment, the person sitting by my bed wouldn’t be my husband but someone I’d barely spoken to since getting married.

I took the envelope from Adam.

“Take a look. Dr. Heinrich hasn’t forgotten you,” he said softly. “A personal recommendation. And invitations to several international medical projects he’s leading. He said if you’re willing, you can reach out any time.”

He met my eyes. “Alice, with your talent, you coming back to surgery is inevitable.”

I opened the envelope and my fingers brushed the paper inside. Dr. Heinrich. The strict but kind old German who used to pat my shoulder and say in his blunt English: You were made for the operating room.

I had buried that version of myself to become someone’s perfect wife. This envelope was light — yet it weighed more than anything I’d ever held.

Adam hesitated. Then he spoke, his words clean and precise. “Alice, I ran a full workup after you were admitted. Aside from hypoglycemia and stress-induced shock… there are two more things you need to know.”

He paused. “They affect your future. And your life.”