Chapter 3
I woke to the soft beeping of monitors and the distant murmur of hospital staff. The hollow feeling in my body matched the emptiness in my heart. My babies were gone. My marriage was a lie. And Alexander was still nowhere to be found.
Marcus dozed uncomfortably in the chair beside my bed, his normally neat appearance rumpled from spending the night in the hospital. The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast thin stripes across his face, highlighting the worried furrow between his brows even in sleep.
"You should go home," I whispered when his eyes fluttered open. "Get some real rest."
He straightened immediately, leaning forward. "Not a chance. How are you feeling?"
A pointless question we both recognized. How does one feel after losing everything?
"Has he called?" I asked instead.
Marcus's jaw tightened. "No. Nothing."
Twenty-four hours had passed since I collapsed. Twenty-four hours since our children had died. And Alexander hadn't appeared, hadn't called, hadn't even sent a message.
"I need to know," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I need to see it for myself."
"Claire, you should rest—"
"Please, Marcus. I can't just lie here wondering."
Reluctantly, he reached for his messenger bag and pulled out his laptop. "What do you need?"
"Alexander's laptop. It's in my bag. I took it when I went to surprise him."
Marcus retrieved the sleek device, placing it gently on my lap. My fingers trembled as I typed in the password—our anniversary date, a bitter irony now.
"You don't have to do this right now," Marcus said softly.
"I do." I needed evidence. Needed to know if what I'd seen was a momentary lapse or something more sinister.
The screen illuminated with Alexander's desktop. I navigated to his email, a knot tightening in my stomach. There it was—a folder labeled simply "V." Hidden in plain sight.
I clicked, and dozens of emails appeared, dating back months. My vision blurred as I scanned the exchanges.
*Miss you. Lunch tomorrow? The usual place. – V*
*Can't stop thinking about you. Late meeting tonight. Will tell C I'm working. – A*
*Remember that night in Santorini? I still have the dress you tore off me. – V*
Each message was like a knife, twisting deeper. I scrolled through weeks of their secret correspondence—planning rendezvous, reminiscing about their past, building a parallel life while I tended to our home, carried our children, and believed in our future.
"Claire." Marcus's voice sounded far away. "That's enough."
But I couldn't stop. I opened Alexander's text messages next, finding a thread with "V.Hayes" that contained hundreds of exchanges. The most recent had been sent yesterday evening, hours after I'd been rushed to the hospital.
*A: I'm so sorry about what happened. Are you okay?*
*V: Shaken, but I'll survive. Is she gone?*
*A: Yes. Don't worry about Claire. I'll handle everything.*
I stared at the screen, unable to comprehend the callousness. He was comforting her? While I lay in a hospital bed, our babies lost?
"Claire, please." Marcus gently closed the laptop. "This isn't helping."
"He doesn't even know," I whispered, a strange calm settling over me. "He doesn't know they're gone."
As if summoned by my words, the hospital room phone rang. Marcus answered, his expression darkening as he listened.
"It's the receptionist," he said, covering the mouthpiece. "Your husband's office just called. Apparently, someone there finally checked the messages."
I nodded, unsurprised. "What did they say?"
"His assistant is asking about your condition." Marcus's voice was tight with barely controlled rage. "Not him. His assistant."
"What did you tell them?"
"Nothing yet." He held the phone, waiting for my direction.
I closed my eyes, seeing again the image of Alexander and Victoria by the window, their foreheads touching, his hands cradling her face with such tender care. I heard his whispered words—*I never stopped loving you*—and felt again the sharp, devastating pain as our children slipped away.
"Tell them I'm fine," I said, opening my eyes. Something cold and resolute settled in my chest where grief had been raging. "Tell them everything is perfectly fine."
As Marcus relayed my message, I stared at the ceiling, a plan forming in my mind. Let Alexander believe all was well. Let him continue his deception a little longer.
Because now I knew the truth. And knowledge, even the most painful kind, was power.
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