Chapter 5

Clara's POV

Ethan took an apple from the fruit basket and pulled out a small folding knife.

The peel dropped into the trash can in smooth, continuous ribbons.

He sliced the apple into neat, bite-sized pieces, arranged them on a small plate, and set it beside my pillow.

Pulling out a chair, he sat down by my bed.

"I canceled all my meetings for the next three days," Ethan said, looking at me. "I'm staying right here in the hospital with you."

I leaned against the pillows, my eyes completely motionless.

Over the past three years, I had waited to hear those words countless times.

Now I was finally hearing them, but the price had been the life of the child in my womb.

Ethan hadn't even been sitting there for ten minutes when his phone buzzed in his pocket. It was a FaceTime request from Evelyn.

He swiped his thumb across the screen to answer.

Evelyn's voice boomed out immediately, with a stunning, sun-drenched Hawaiian beach in the background.

Chloe had her arm looped through Evelyn's, wearing a wide-brimmed sunhat, her cheeks glowing with health.

"Ethan, the ocean breeze here in Maui is so lovely! Chloe's appetite has been wonderful these past two days—she finished an entire bowl of oatmeal this morning."

Evelyn tilted the camera closer to Chloe's face.

"If you're done with work over there, book a flight and come join us! Chloe's been talking about how much she misses you since sunrise. She wants you to take her out on a sailboat."

Lying in the bed, I heard every single word crystal clear.

I turned my head, fixing my gaze on Ethan's face.

Ethan lowered his voice. "Evelyn, I don't have time. Clara just had surgery, and she needs someone to—"

"What could possibly happen to her?" Evelyn interrupted bluntly. "She's young and resilient. A few days in bed and she'll be good as new. Do you honestly think the hospital is going to let her starve?"

Evelyn waved her hand dismissively on screen.

"Get over here right away. Don't drag your feet. Chloe is waiting for you to take her out on the water."

The phone camera shifted slightly, catching a glimpse of my deathly pale face.

Evelyn offered a perfunctory smile. "Clara, you just get plenty of rest in the hospital. Don't distract Ethan from his business."

I looked at the screen and said flatly, "I'm fine. Have fun."

With that, I closed my eyes.

He had claimed he cleared his schedule to take care of me, yet a single phone call from them was all it took to pull him away.

The call ended.

Ethan placed his phone face down on his lap. The only sound left in the room was the rhythm of our breathing.

"Go," I said without opening my eyes.

"I'm not going," Ethan said, his voice dropping an octave. "I told you I'm staying here with you for these three days."

"Chloe's waiting by the beach for you to tie her sandals," I said, my voice completely flat. "Sitting here looking at you makes me sick. I can't even stomach food with you in the room."

Ethan shot up from his chair.

The metal legs screeched sharply against the linoleum.

"Clara, what do you actually want from me?"

"I want you to leave."

"Have you just been waiting for an excuse to push me away?"

I didn't even open my eyes.

In the past, I had begged him to stay, even if it was just to finish a simple dinner with me. The response was always, "Chloe needs me."

Now, he was staying only to ease his own guilty conscience.

I refused to give him that pathetic absolution.

Ethan stood frozen at the foot of the bed for two minutes. He let out a cold, bitter laugh, grabbed his coat, and slammed the door as he stormed out.

The heavy wooden door rattled in its frame, shaking a dusting of plaster from the wall.

His dress shoes clicked briskly down the hallway, fading without the slightest hesitation.

I slowly opened my eyes.

Reaching out, I shoved the plate of neatly sliced apples into the far, dusty corner of the nightstand.

Over the next two days, my phone buzzed incessantly.

They were all high-definition photos sent by Chloe.

The first was a picture of her under a palm tree by the ocean, clinging to Ethan's arm, beaming brightly.

The second was an afternoon tea spread at an oceanfront restaurant, accompanied by a caption: Clara, Ethan mentioned you always wanted to come here. He brought me to try it today, but honestly, the food is pretty mediocre.

The third was on the sandy beach. Ethan was down on one knee in the sand, his head bowed, tying the loose straps of Chloe's sandals.

I looked at them without an ounce of emotion.

I had saved that oceanfront restaurant in my phone notes three years ago. Back then, Ethan said it was too far away and he never had time.

He remembered all along. He just chose to take someone else.

Chloe sent over a dozen messages. Each time, I replied with just a single word:

"Okay."

"Fine."

"Got it."

On the fifth afternoon, Chloe sent another photo showing Ethan's back as he swiped his black card at a duty-free luxury boutique.

I tapped on Chloe's profile, went into the settings, and muted her notifications.

Then, I backed out to the chat list, held down her thread, and hit delete.

Every time I looked at those photos, I felt physically ill.

I placed my phone face down on the table, slipped out of bed, and pulled the blackout curtains shut, plunging the room into darkness.

In the far corner of the nightstand, the plate of sliced apples had shriveled into a dried, oxidized mass of dark brown.

I never looked at it again.