Lyra lay on the hospital bed, her whole body freezing.

The soup Wesley had sent sat on the nightstand. Cold now. She reached for it, trying to sip, but her hands shook too hard to keep the spoon steady.

Pain knifed through her lower stomach, sharp and relentless.

She grit her teeth. "Doctor," she called, barely loud enough to hear.

The door swung open. The doctor took one look at her color, lifted the blanket, and froze.

The sheets were soaked through with blood.

"You're severely anemic," he said, voice tight. "This level of blood loss is dangerous—especially after donating so much. We need emergency surgery, now, or your life's at risk."

She closed her eyes and nodded. "Okay."

After a beat, she added quietly, "Don't tell Wesley."

***

Lyra lay on the cold operating table, her awareness slipping. It felt like being dragged back five years.

The first time they met, Wesley had waited for her in the rain, eyes soft, full of warmth.

At their wedding, he'd held her hand and promised, "Lyra, I'll be good to you for the rest of my life."

Later, he changed. He thought she was too strong, not gentle enough, always above everyone else.

She believed it was her fault. That she wasn't enough. So she tried to behave, to obey, to soften herself into someone smaller.

Only now did she understand.

It was never that she wasn't good enough.

He had simply never loved her.

The anesthesia crept in. Cold instruments brushed her skin. She closed her eyes. One tear slid down.

The baby was gone.

And these five years of marriage were over too.

***

After the surgery, Lyra was wheeled back to her room.

The nurse tucked the blanket around her. "Ma'am, get some rest."

Lyra asked softly, "Did Wesley come by?"

The nurse paused, then shook her head. "No."

Lyra pulled at the corner of her mouth. She already knew.

She pushed herself up and walked to the window.

In the garden below, Wesley was supporting Irene as they moved slowly along the path. Irene looked healthy, glowing, leaning into him as she acted spoiled. He bent toward her, eyes gentle, full of care.

Lyra watched in silence. It felt like her heart was being cut open, piece by piece.

Once, he'd taken care of her the same way.

She turned away, pulled the signed divorce agreement from her bag, and set it neatly on the bed.

Then she left without looking back.

At the end of the hallway, the people Victor had sent were already waiting.

"Ms. Leighton, the car's downstairs."

Lyra glanced back one last time at Wesley helping Irene into the building.

She stepped into the elevator and never turned back.