The Ring He Was Putting on My Finger, the Money He Was Sending to Her Chapter 05
I don’t know how I made it out that door.
My driver, who’d been waiting downstairs, saw me holding my stomach and the blood on my skirt. His face went white, and he sped me to the hospital like a maniac.
When the ER doctor came over with the ultrasound report, his brow was deeply furrowed.
“Do you have any idea you’re almost two months pregnant?”
I froze, staring at the tiny blurry shape on the printout.
Seven weeks.
Right around when he’d taken me to that island resort and kissed me under the stars, saying he wanted a baby. Our baby.
“The pregnancy wasn’t developing well to begin with, and now with the trauma to your abdomen… it’s not viable,” the doctor said, her tone firm but not unkind.
“We need to do a D&C right away. I’ll need your next of kin to sign the consent form.”
I leaned back in the ER chair. My mind wasn’t buzzing. It was just… clear.
“No,” I said, my voice perfectly steady. “I’ll sign it myself. Do the surgery now.”
Afterward, the doctor strongly recommended I stay overnight for observation. I refused.
Late that night, I dragged my hollowed-out body back to the apartment.
The living room was dark.
In the blackness, a small red glow glowed from the couch—a cigarette.
When he heard the door open, Dylan stubbed it out and stood up.
He walked over to me. In the dim light from the hallway, I could see dark circles under his eyes.
For the first time ever, he dropped to one knee and took my cold hands in his.
“I’m sorry, Claire.” His voice was thick with exhaustion and a barely concealed panic. “I was a total jerk this afternoon. I shouldn’t have hit you. Are you okay? Tiffany got two stitches, but I hired a nurse. I’m not going there anymore.”
“Let’s reschedule the fitting for tomorrow. I swear I’ll—”
Ding ding.
His phone on the coffee table lit up, shattering this fake moment of tenderness.
On the lock screen, Tiffany’s name flashed, along with a preview of a WhatsApp message.
[Dylan, my stitches hurt so bad. And the thunder is freaking me out. Can you please come over?]
Dylan’s whole body went stiff.
His eyes drifted to the screen against his will. His grip on my hands loosened.
“Her mood’s unstable again…” He swallowed hard, unable to look me in the eye. “I need to go check on her. Make sure she doesn’t do something stupid.”
He stood up, grabbed his keys, and walked out into the stormy night without looking back.
The front door closed in a hurry.
In the dark, I sat on the couch and stared at that shut door.
Five years ago, when he was a broke college student, I’d mentioned having a stomachache late one night.
He ran miles in a downpour, holding a box of antacids against his chest, and showed up soaking wet, saying, “I’m here, Claire. Don’t be scared.”
Back then, his eyes were only for me.
Back then, I thought I had the whole world.
Now here was another storm, and he was running to someone else.
Turns out time really does eat people.
It ate his love. And it ate the girl who used to look at him like he was everything.
I pulled out my phone and opened Facebook.
Five minutes ago, Tiffany had posted: [The Hillcrest I lost and found again. And the one who’s been here all along.]
The photo showed two hands interlaced, with the mansion in the background.
I didn’t text Dylan to ask.
I just closed the app and opened a rental listing site.
