Chapter 3
Iris played the lady of the house to perfection, instructing a servant to show me and my daughter to a guest room.
The servant led us to the far end of the second floor — the room furthest from the master bedroom.
I said nothing. I made up the small bed for my daughter and gently laid her down.
The little one was so well-behaved. Not a single cry.
Ethan came into the room in the small hours of the morning.
Same as always, he wrapped his arms around me from behind, his hot breath grazing my cheek.
My stomach lurched.
Every touch of his was like a poisoned blade, carving into the softest part of my heart, over and over again.
The pain was unbearable.
He felt me stiffen and pulled back, confused.
He turned on the light.
"I asked the doctor. After one month, it's fine."
I sat up and looked at him, my gaze utterly flat.
My voice came out weightless, almost detached. "You broke your promise when I came out of the delivery room. I had an emotional breakdown, hemorrhaged, lost nearly three-quarters of my blood. My body is too weak right now. I can't do this."
With every word I spoke, the color drained a little more from Ethan's face.
He held me tight. I could feel his hands trembling.
"Babe, I'm sorry. It's my fault. I'm a bastard. Hit me."
He grabbed my hand and slapped it hard against his own cheek.
I pulled my hand free without expression.
"It's done."
Perhaps to make amends, Ethan called the bank's customer service line right in front of me, and my supplementary card was reactivated. "I'm staying with you and the baby tonight."
The words had barely left his mouth when Iris's shrill voice pierced through the walls.
Ethan's jaw tightened with irritation.
"Go," I said. "I don't want the baby woken up."
He let out a quiet sigh, leaned down, and kissed my cheek.
"I'll be right back."
The moment he left, I rushed into the bathroom.
I scrubbed the spot where his lips had touched until the skin was raw and swollen. But my stomach still wouldn't stop churning.
That night went exactly as I'd expected. Ethan didn't come back.
The next morning, I was heading downstairs for breakfast when I ran into him stepping out of Iris's room.
Through the gap in the door, I caught a glimpse of her lying on the bed — bare back exposed, nothing but a thin sheet draped across her waist.
Something detonated inside my skull.
My legs buckled.
Ethan caught me before I hit the floor, pulling me into his arms.
"Nothing happened. I was sitting on the edge of the bed the whole time."
I pushed him away, careful not to let it show.
Then he saw my face.
Something seemed to click.
"You... You're that disgusted by me already?"
Disgusted?
It wasn't just disgust. It was revulsion.
"I'm going to eat breakfast."
I turned and walked downstairs. Before stepping into the dining room, I tossed my jacket into the trash.
He'd touched it. It was contaminated.
Ethan saw.
His fist slammed into the wall. Blood seeped from his knuckles.
Something inside him ached in a way he couldn't name.
Threaded through with a flicker of panic. Of dread.
After breakfast, I went back to my room to look after the baby. When I picked her up, her forehead was burning, and her tiny body was covered in red blotches.
I grabbed her and rushed to the master bedroom.
"Ethan, the baby — she's —"
Before I could finish, Ethan came barreling out with Iris in his arms.
His face was drawn with alarm. "Iris saw me talking to you this morning and convinced herself you were trying to seduce me again. She had an episode. I need to get her to the hospital."
I stepped in front of him.
"Something's wrong with the baby. Let me ride with you."
Iris bit her lip, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Ethan, please... I don't want to be in the same car as that homewrecker."
A flash of something — barely perceptible tenderness — passed through Ethan's eyes.
He looked at me. "It's probably just the new environment. The baby's adjusting. She's so little — she'll be fine. Let me take Iris to the hospital first, and I'll send someone to pick you up."
Before I could say another word, Ethan was already carrying Iris downstairs.
I looked down at the baby in my arms — gasping, struggling, in obvious pain — and bit back a scream of helpless fury.
Ten minutes passed. No one came.
I called Ethan, frantic.
It rang for a long time before he finally answered.
"Iris's situation is complicated right now. I can't be interrupted. Don't call again for a while."
Then the baby vomited blood.
The color drained from my face.
"Ethan, the baby — she —"
He hung up. When I called back, the phone was already off.
Despair and anguish closed in around me from every side.
You may also like
