Chapter 2

"Your wife tripped on her own feet and hit her stomach against the edge of the coffee table. Her father and I are taking her to the hospital right now."

Helen’s voice drifted from the back of the ambulance. She was on the phone with Ethan.

I lay on the stretcher. I didn't even feel the pinch when the nurse inserted the IV catheter into the back of my hand.

All my senses were concentrated on my lower abdomen. It was a sharp, tearing pain that kept pulling downward, as if someone were violently ripping something out from inside me.

My dress was completely soaked from the waist down. The heavy metallic smell of blood filled my nose, making my head spin.

"It’s not a big deal. If you’re busy at the conference, don't rush back. I’ve got things handled here."

He couldn't rush back. Ethan was at a business conference in the capital, a four-hour train ride away.

Helen hung up the phone and slipped it back into her coat pocket. Her eyes swept over me—only for a fraction of a second—before landing on the IV drip in my arm.

"Doctor, can we save the baby?"

"The situation doesn't look good. We’ll have to run an ultrasound and evaluate once we reach the ER."

She nodded curtly and leaned back into her seat.

Richard sat on the folding stool beside her, his hands clasped over his knees, staring blankly at the ambulance floor.

The magenta lipstick smudge was still on his collar. Under the harsh white lights of the ambulance, it was painfully glaring.

His buttons were still mismatched, his collar crooked, making him look like he had thrown his clothes on in a panicked rush.

But Helen hadn't asked him to change.

From our living room to the ambulance, Helen had only done two things: dial 911 and call Ethan.

Before getting into the ambulance, she had leaned down and whispered a warning in my ear.

"Keep your mouth shut when we get to the hospital."

It wasn't a plea. It was a threat.

When they wheeled me into the emergency room, the corridor lights were blindingly bright, flashing past one by one.

I heard voices shouting about gestational age, blood loss, and blood pressure.

I opened my mouth to speak, but not a single sound came out.

Before the operating room doors swung shut, I heard Helen explaining the situation to the triage nurse outside.

"She tripped at home. Her belly slammed right into the corner of the wooden coffee table."

The nurse asked, "Who was home at the time?"

"My husband and I. We both saw it happen."

Richard stood beside her, remaining silent.

He didn't need to say anything. His silence was his consent.

I don't remember much of what happened after that.

There were bright lights, the clinking of metal instruments, the suffocating pressure of an oxygen mask pressed over my face, and cold hands pressing against my abdomen.

I wanted to scream, but I couldn't.

I wanted to hold onto something, but my fingers only found the cold, sterile edge of the metal operating table.

When I finally regained consciousness, I was in a ward.

White ceiling, white sheets, and an IV bag dripping steadily above my head.

My stomach was flat.

It wasn't an empty feeling of hunger. It was a hollow, deflated sensation, as if a vital part of me had been violently scooped out.

I reached down and touched it.

Soft. Flat.

Eight months. I was only six weeks away from my due date.

The door was slightly ajar, letting in a sliver of light from the hallway.

A nurse pushed a cart past, glanced at me, stopped, and poked her head in.

"You’re awake? Don't move. I’ll get the doctor."

She hurried out.

The other bed in the room was empty. The entire space felt incredibly hollow.

Soon, I heard soft footsteps in the hallway.

They were light and hesitant, as if trying not to disturb anyone.

Then, a familiar voice spoke.

"Richard, I brought you a change of clothes. I also brought some hot herbal chicken broth in the thermos. Drink it while it’s hot."

It was Jessica, my best friend.

She was wearing a cream-colored cardigan, her hair styled in a neat bun. She held a shopping bag and a thermos, her makeup absolutely flawless.

The young nurse at the station took the thermos and placed it on the counter, asking casually, "Are you a family member?"

Jessica offered a soft, sweet smile.

"Practically. They don’t have much family in the city, so I’m just helping out."

When she handed the bag of clothes to Richard, her fingers lingered on the strap for a second.

Richard took it and, for the first time, lifted his head.

Their eyes met.

Jessica was the first to look away, offering a shy, demure smile.

I knew that smile all too well. Throughout our four years of college, I had seen her use that exact same smile on guys a thousand times.

Helen walked down the hallway. When she saw Jessica, her steps hesitated for a moment.

Jessica immediately stepped forward and gently took Helen’s arm.

"Helen, you must be exhausted after sitting here for so long. I just asked the nurses, and there’s a lounge nearby. Why don’t you go take a nap? I’ll watch over Chloe."

Helen stared at her.

She stared for three long seconds.

"Alright. Thank you, Jessica."

The door to my room was pushed open. Jessica walked in carrying the thermos. Seeing my open eyes, she froze slightly.

"Chloe, you're awake?"

She set the thermos on the nightstand and leaned over me.

She placed her hand on my arm. Her fingers were cool, her nails perfectly manicured and painted with a sheer topcoat.

"How are you feeling? Does it hurt? I came as soon as I heard."

I stared at the spot where her fingers touched my skin.

"You got here incredibly fast."

"I heard about the baby... Don't think too much about it right now. Just focus on recovering."

Her eyes welled with tears, her eyelashes fluttering dramatically.

I had known Jessica for eleven years. She did this every single time she faked crying.

"Chloe, get some rest. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right outside."

She straightened up and walked out with the empty bag.

She didn't close the door all the way.

From the hallway, I could hear her whispering to Richard, their voices low and intimate.

"I put the clothes in your bag. Change into them tomorrow."

"Okay."

"I already took care of the stain on your collar. No one will notice."

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