His Three Minutes Cost Him His Wife Chapter 03
My migraine flared up hard that afternoon.
Sharp pressure dug into my temples, so intense I couldn’t even crack my eyes open by nightfall.
I laid in the guest bed, reaching for my phone to shoot Nico a text.
[My head’s throbbing terribly. Can you swing by the pharmacy and pick up migraine relief oral tablets? We ran out at home.]
He replied almost instantly with a single word: [Alright.]
I waited forty full minutes for him to show up.
Every second dragged on painfully slow, tangled up in raw heartache.
I sent a follow-up text begging him to hurry, but he never responded again.
When I dialed his cell, the line went straight to a dead signal—he’d powered his phone all the way off.
My screen didn’t light up with a new message until midnight rolled around.
[Serena’s in long-term trauma & psychiatric outpatient therapy right now, I silenced my phone. Are you feeling any better? There’s a pharmacy right downstairs, you can walk over and grab the meds yourself.]
I stared at those lines for a long stretch of time, then pulled my coat over my shoulders and headed outside alone.
The elevator mirrored my pale, exhausted face as I rode down to the ground floor by myself.
The pharmacy sat two hundred yards right of the Valenti townhouse front gates.
A brutal night wind whipped through the neighborhood, amplifying the stabbing pain behind my eyes.
The main pharmacy doors were locked shut hours earlier.
Only a dim 24-Hour Pickup sign glowed above the night window, which sat completely dark and unattended.
A paper slip taped over the service buzzer read OUT OF SERVICE.
I pressed the button repeatedly, no response came at all.
Cold wind seeped down my coat collar, my whole body trembling from the migraine’s severity.
When I needed his support most, he’d dropped everything to sit with Serena through her therapy.
I had no choice but to drive myself to the emergency wing of our partnered private hospital.
The ER waiting room stayed packed even in the dead of night.
Crying patients, hacking coughs, and cart clatters filled every corner.
I waited in line alone, went through every scan by myself, and collected my lab results without anyone beside me.
Pages of medical jargon blurred across the paper; the only phrase I processed was recommended further examination.
As I stepped out of an exam room, I spotted Nico standing in the corridor clutching a printed therapy report sheet.
He frowned when he laid eyes on me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I texted you I was crippled with a migraine.”
He barely glanced up from Serena’s incoming texts, answering me without care.
“Is it really that serious?”
“We don’t have any medication left at the house—you were supposed to pick some up for me.”
Nico froze for half a second.
I spoke to him softly. “Do you even know why these migraines keep hitting me nonstop?”
He finally lifted his head to meet my gaze.
“I’ve slept in the guest bedroom for two full months, trapped in my own marital home. The guest pillows sit far too high for my neck. I never mentioned it because you never considered any of these small discomforts important enough to fix.”
His fingers crumpled the therapy paper tight in his grip.
But irritation clouded his features only a second later, his tone sharp and impatient.
“It’s just a simple headache, Clara. Can you really not get over this? You’re not a little kid anymore.”
He’d sworn years ago he’d take care of me through every hardship life threw our way.
I’d clung to that promise through every time he asked me to step aside for Serena.
Serena’s trauma from the crash. Serena’s fragile mood swings. Serena’s lack of surviving family.
But what about my pain? I felt hurt and lonely too.
I’d stood out in freezing midnight wind alone, hammering a broken pharmacy buzzer when I needed my husband’s help.
I locked eyes with Nico, said nothing more, and turned to walk away without waiting for a single reply.
