The day I left the hospital, I unexpectedly saw Grant with a woman at a prenatal clinic. Seeing him support her with a smile felt like a stab to my heart. When he turned to look at me, surprise flickered across his face. We acted like “strangers” in front of the woman, exchanging polite words. Following my divorce from Grant, he lost it when he saw me in the arms of another man on the street.

After spending a few days recovering in the hospital, today I was finally getting discharged. I'd arranged for a decent outfit to be brought to me, hoping to leave behind the air of illness. Carrying a small bag of personal belongings, I walked out of the hospital ward.

"Grant!"

Something like a sixth sense made me turn towards the voice. Not far off stood a couple, the woman’s arm linked with the man’s, his hand resting gently on her belly, cherishing the new life within. The sight hit me hard, and I froze.

That's when Grant noticed me. When our eyes locked, his body tensed. The woman followed his gaze to me, then turned back to him with a smile and asked, "Do you know her?"

Grant nodded, "Yes, we went to high school together."

"Should we go say hi?"

They walked towards me, their closeness making me feel out of place.

"It's been a while," I said, aware of my awkwardness and my usual pallor. Grant didn’t pry, sticking to small talk.

"How’ve you been?"

"Okay."

As I glanced at the woman’s belly, I forced a smile. "I’ve got to run. Take care and all the best."

With that, I left quickly. Even though the doctor advised against running, preferring moderate activity, I couldn’t watch Grant share an intimacy I’d never experienced.

I knew her—Harlow, the girl Grant had admired since high school, now pregnant. Clutching my own belly, I found a bench in a nearby park.

Just ten days ago, I was shopping when the elevator broke down, forcing me to take the stairs. As I descended from the fourth floor, someone pushed me from behind. I lost my footing and fell.

I hit my head and felt dazed, unable to figure out who shoved me, too weak to open my eyes.

When I came to, the doctor told me I’d lost the baby, over a month along without me knowing. There was no one to care for me, and I didn't even know whom to call.

Grant was out of the question. He was always distant, our only contact at night when he insisted on holding me as he slept. He was away on business, probably not concerned with my whereabouts. I soldiered on alone, surviving these ten days.

I eventually gathered myself, slowly heading toward the hospital exit, and arranged a ride home.

When I finally returned to that lonely home, Grant wasn’t back yet. He was likely still with Harlow. As usual, when I came home, nobody was there to welcome me. Yet when Grant arrived, a team of servants would appear to cater to him.

Exhausted, I prepared to go upstairs for a shower and some sleep.

But, stepping out of the bath, I bumped into Grant coming up the stairs. I instinctively stepped back, wary of annoying him.

“What were you doing at the hospital today?” Grant asked, his voice unexpectedly gentle.

He never asked such things, and I hesitated. His slight smile reminded me of how tenderly he’d treated Harlow.

"I was picking up medication for my father," I lied.

Grant seemed placated, his eyes softened, and I headed to bed. As I was falling asleep, he wrapped his arm around me, holding me close.

“You've lost weight. Have you been eating right?” he murmured near my ear.

I nodded silently, keeping my eyes shut.

“Take care of yourself,” he whispered, “Your parents wouldn’t understand otherwise.”

I was turned over to Grant Duncan by my parents because he was the only one who could save our family’s struggling business. I was still in college when they informed me during Thanksgiving that the next day, I would be marrying a man. My protests were futile; perhaps it's more accurate to say I didn’t protest at all.

That was the first time I saw Grant Duncan since graduating high school. He sat on the couch, initially glancing up at me. Yet I felt an invisible grip tighten around my neck. He seemed so high and mighty, while I was just a nominal "wife" with no real power. I couldn't interfere with his life, even when I found out in our first week of marriage that he was seeing another woman. I couldn’t call home to complain because my parents were the biggest beneficiaries of my marriage to Grant.

I felt the constant warmth of his presence behind me when a hand suddenly rested on my stomach, unmoving, just lingering there. This simple act brought back the image of Grant in the hospital today, his hand gently placed on Harlow Graham’s stomach. A wave of nausea hit me.

I placed my hand over his and gently moved it away. “It’s a bit warm; let’s just keep a bit of distance,” I suggested.

Instead, Grant held me tighter. “Are you not feeling well? You looked pale today. Did you get sick while I was away on business?”

As he spoke, his hand wrapped around my waist. “Let’s get some sleep.”

At least it wasn't back on my stomach. I fought the growing unease inside me, trying to lull myself into sleep with a mental refrain: "Fall asleep, fall asleep."

Eventually, I drifted off, a fog of disorientation enveloping me. In my dreams, I recalled the first time Grant held me while we slept. I’d blushed fiercely, lying stiff as a statue in his arms while he chuckled softly, "Don’t be so tense, just sleep."

Only a week later did I discover he’d met up with Harlow Graham the morning after. It struck me: perhaps he only needed a companion for sleep and nothing more. In my naivety, I had thought there could be love after marriage.

The next morning, Grant had already left, as he always did. After freshening up, I went downstairs to make myself some lunch. Unexpectedly, Amanda Hall was there. She was the only one among the staff who treated me as if I mattered.

“Amanda,” I greeted.

She looked up and smiled warmly at me. “Oh, Mrs. Duncan, the lady of the house is visiting today, so I came by to check if anything’s needed.”

Grant’s mother was coming over. I nodded in acknowledgment.

“Are you having lunch, Mrs. Duncan? I can make something for you.”

When Amanda offered, there was no changing her mind. I thanked her with a smile and took a seat in the living room to wait.

Before long, she brought over a bowl of pasta. “Here you go, Mrs. Duncan. I’ve added some extra seafood for you. You don’t look too well; I’ll make you some chicken soup for dinner.”

Her hand gently patted my head before she returned to her duties. I took a bite of the pasta and paused. The taste was so familiar.

On our first wedding anniversary, I had prepared a gift and waited for Grant all day. But by ten o’clock at night, he still hadn’t come home. I knew he was likely with Harlow Graham, having completely forgotten the significance of the day. Exhausted, I went to bed past midnight, still no sign of him.

The next morning, Amanda had watched over a bowl of pasta, waiting for me to wake up. “Mrs. Duncan, you’re finally up. Mr. Duncan made this for you himself. He returned very late last night and had to rush off to the office this morning, but he made sure to leave this for you.”

I ate that bowl of pasta while crying, foolishly believing I still held a place in Grant’s heart. But Amanda’s well-intentioned lie was revealed today by her own doing. Grant probably never came home that night, but she’d felt sorry for me waiting all day and made up the story to comfort me.

I shook my head to clear the thoughts and finished my meal, washing the dishes in the kitchen. Then I heard the sound of the door opening. Curiosity got the better of me, and I peeked out to see Grant had returned.

He seemed ready to march straight upstairs but changed course when he saw me. His presence exuded an intimidating aura, anger rolling off him as he approached.

Startled, I took an involuntary step back. “Xyla, are you hiding something from me?” he demanded.

Hearing him call my name made me shiver. He rarely used my full name, only when he was serious, usually on the verge of anger. Like when I foolishly asked him to stop seeing Harlow.

“What?” I asked, trying to maintain my composure.

He stepped forward, grabbing my wrist, the other hand landing on my stomach. At that instant, I knew he was aware of my miscarriage.

“When did you get pregnant? Did you go behind my back?”

His first concern upon learning of my miscarriage was how I’d gotten pregnant in the first place. I let out a bitter laugh, pondering how my marriage over the past two years had become nothing but a joke.