Chapter 7

When I stepped out of the operating room, Cillian stayed by my bedside.

His tie, which was usually fixed properly, was off-center. There were still stark blood stains on his white shirt.

The pair of eyes that were usually calm and still now contained a look of pain that could not be wiped off.

Cillian closed his eyes for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was raspy, “I’m sorry, Margaret. I didn't know it was you.”

I looked away. That was the first time I ignored him.

I did not speak for the entire week that followed.

Did I resent him?

Probably.

If it were not for him, I would not have lost my child.

However, I resented myself even more.

If I had realized I was pregnant, I would not have gone to him.

Cillian must have felt guilty too because he made a point of spending time with me at the hospital nearly every day despite his usual complaints about how busy he was.

However, I remained silent.

One night, I dreamt of a girl with pigtails running up to me and throwing her arms around my leg.

“Mommy, don’t be sad. I’ll be back.”

I woke up to a pillow wet with tears.

When Cillian came to the hospital the next day, I broke my silence for the first time.

“I want to go home.”

Ever since then, we made a silent agreement not to talk about the child we lost.

I did not ask about him and Beau either, pretending as if everything was back to normal.

The only notable difference was that the frequency of Cillian talking about how busy he was had gone down. I rarely heard him tell me “next time” either.

However, on the occasions when he did tell me he was busy or used his usual “next time,” I would find glimpses of him on Beau’s page.

What kept me going was the love I had carried for him since my youth, and the future I had once dreamed we would have together.

It all ended today.

Cillian had missed yet another appointment, and with it, whatever love I had left for him finally died.

Perhaps that was also why we never had another child. Somewhere deep down, my child must have known they did not want to have a father who was never there.

That was why I chose to leave.

After hearing my story, Anna’s eyes were rimmed with red.

“I…” Her voice was caught in her throat.

Though she wanted to comfort me, she did not know where to start.

“Don’t worry, I’ll compile this interview with everything I’ve got! I’ll make your scumbag husband regret what he did to you!”

I smiled and hugged her when I saw the determined look on her face.

“Sure, I’ll be waiting for it.”

For my part, I did not care whether Cillian regretted what he did or not.

“Our next stop is Roddemhill. Passengers who are…”

I hardly realized it was day already.

It was my stop.

After exchanging contact information with Anna, I picked up my suitcase and stepped off the train.

The first thing I did after leaving the station was take a taxi to the nearest law firm.

After the lawyer drafted the divorce papers, I picked up a pen and carefully signed the documents.

The next thing I did was to pack the ring that was not meant for me along with the divorce papers in a parcel before I had the firm mail it to Newberry Corporation.

The recipient, needless to say, was Cillian.

After everything was done, I took a bus home.

It was only a thirty-minute bus ride back home, but for me, it took four whole years.

When I stood in front of my mother with my suitcase in hand, she covered her mouth in disbelief. Her eyes immediately welled up with tears.

After rubbing her eyes to make sure she was not dreaming, she immediately embraced me while sobbing, “You silly girl, you should’ve told me you were coming back!”

It sounded like she was complaining, but the joy in her voice was unmistakable.

Then, she looked behind me before asking softly, “Where’s Cillian? He didn’t come with you?”

I lowered my eyes and gave a soft hum.

My mother did not pester me with questions. She took the suitcase from me and excitedly led me into the house.

“Let me call your father and have him come back! He’s playing chess at the park right now. I’m sure he’d be so happy to see you. We’re going to have a feast tonight!

“No, I need to tell him to swing by the market to buy some pork ribs and fish, your favorite dish…”

My mother went on and on and on.

This was the most peaceful I had felt in four years.

The boat that had been adrift had finally returned to its harbor.

After rambling a little longer, my mother comically smacked her forehead before nudging me toward my bedroom. “Oh no, I was so excited that I forgot that you must be tired from the journey home. Go on and take a nap. I’ll wake you up when dinner is ready.”

Even after she closed the door, I could hear the sound of her humming a tune.

I lay on the bed that reminded me of another life. It smelled like the sun, and there was hardly a trace of dust.

Finally, I switched on my phone.

Cillian happened to call around the same time.

I answered.

“Are you home?”

“Yes.”

“What did you mean when you said you wanted a divorce last night? I wanted to call you back, but it wouldn’t go through.”

Maybe it was just my imagination, but I could sense a hint of lament in his voice.

I shook my head to dismiss the very idea of it.

I figured Cillian would make sense of it eventually when he received the divorce papers.

“I had something shipped to you. You’ll understand once you see it.”

With that, I hung up and blocked his number.

...

Third-Person POV

For Cillian, it was only the second time his wife had ever hung up on him.

When he tried to call again, he realized it would not go through. He had been blocked.

He was confused. What was the reason Margaret was causing such a scene? Was it because he came home late?

She had never been so upset about that in the past.

He wearily rubbed his temples.

Cillian barely slept a wink last night.

Then again, he reasoned everything was fine since Margaret mentioned she was shipping something to him. Perhaps this meant she had calmed down.

After a couple more days, once he had finished his work, he would find time to head down to Roddemhill to collect her.

With that in mind, he went back to work.

The next day, his secretary, Dorsey Friedman, went to him with a parcel.

“Sir, this is from Roddemhill.”

Cillian was signing documents and did not even bother to look up when he ordered, “Open it. Take a look at what's inside.”

He spoke with a hint of joy.

After a rustling sound, Dorsey froze.

Held in suspense, Cillian looked up with a frown.

“Why aren't you saying anything?”

Dorsey clenched his jaw. His hands were shaking as he reached for the divorce papers and handed them to Cillian.

“Mr. Newberry, they’re… Divorce papers.”