Chapter 3

Olivia POV

I felt nothing for Michael anymore.

It wasn't hate. Hate is passionate. Hate requires energy.

I felt exactly what you feel for a stranger passing on the subway: absolute indifference.

I was walking down the sterile corridor toward the physical therapy wing when I saw her.

Selena.

She was carrying a wicker basket of fruit, looking every bit the picture of a concerned friend. When her eyes landed on me, they widened in feigned surprise.

I didn't break stride. I kept walking, my gaze locked on the exit sign like a lifeline.

"Olivia!"

She hurried after me. I could hear the sharp staccato of her heels clicking on the linoleum.

"Olivia, please, wait."

She reached out, her fingers clamping around my arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong, bordering on desperate.

"Let go of me," I said, my voice flat.

"We need to talk," she pleaded, breathless. "You have to understand. Michael... he isn't trying to hurt you. He's just confused. He feels responsible for me."

"I don't care," I said. "I truly, really don't."

I tried to wrench my arm away, but she held on.

"He loves you," she lied, her eyes wide and wet. "He talks about the baby constantly."

The lie was so grotesque it made bile rise in my throat. I yanked my arm back hard, putting my whole body into the motion.

Selena stumbled. She flailed, reaching out to steady herself, but her hand slammed into a large decorative vase perched on a pedestal in the hallway.

The ceramic crashed to the floor.

Shards exploded outward like shrapnel.

Selena gasped, a sharp, wet sound. A large, jagged piece of ceramic had sliced across her forearm. Blood welled up instantly, bright crimson against her pale skin.

In the ensuing chaos, I lost my footing. My slipper slid on the polished, slick floor.

I went down backward.

My head cracked against the wall with a sickening thud.

The world went white for a heartbeat, then black around the edges. Pain detonated in my skull. I slumped to the floor, dazed, my limbs refusing to obey.

"Selena!"

Michael's voice was a roar that shook the walls.

He came sprinting from down the hall. He didn't even glance my way. His trajectory was a straight line to her.

"Oh my god," he choked out, seeing the blood streaming down her arm. "Did she do this to you?"

He glared at me then. I was lying crumpled on the floor, clutching my throbbing head. I felt something warm and wet trickling down the nape of my neck.

"Michael, no, it was an accident," Selena cried, clutching her wounded arm to her chest.

He scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed nothing.

"I won't let anyone hurt you," he snarled, looking down at me with eyes devoid of humanity. "I don't care who she is. If she touches you again, I will destroy her."

He turned his back on me.

He carried her toward the nurses' station, screaming for help.

I lay there on the cold tiles, alone. The hallway began to spin, a carousel of fluorescent lights.

A nurse ran over to me, her face swimming in my vision. "Ma'am? Can you hear me? You're bleeding."

"I'm fine," I whispered, letting the darkness take me.

When I woke up, I was back in my hospital bed. My head was heavily bandaged.

My phone buzzed against the nightstand. It was Michael.

*Is Selena okay? Did you hurt her bad?*

I stared at the screen, the light stinging my eyes. He hadn't asked about me. He hadn't asked about the baby he thought I was still carrying.

*I have a concussion,* I typed back, my fingers trembling. *I fell.*

He didn't reply for ten minutes.

Then, the door opened.

He walked in, looking disheveled, his tie loosened.

"Selena needed stitches," he said, his tone accusatory. "But she's going to be okay."

"That's good," I said. My voice was a fragile whisper.

He seemed to realize then that I had a thick bandage wrapped around my head. His expression softened, just a fraction.

"I... I'm sorry I yelled," he said, stepping closer to the bed. "I just panicked. You know how fragile she is."

He reached out to touch my hand. I didn't pull away. I just let my hand lie there, limp and cold as marble.

"Michael," I said softly.

"Yeah?"

"You and Selena. Did you know each other before college? A long time ago?"

He froze. His eyes shifted imperceptibly to the left. A tell.

"No," he said, too quickly. "Just college. Why?"

"Just wondering," I said.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. It felt like a brand, searing and possessive.

"Get some rest, Liv. I have to go check on the billing for her procedure."

He walked out without looking back.

I looked at the digital calendar on the wall.

My lawyer, Ms. Albright, had told me the divorce papers would be ready in three days.

Three days.

I closed my eyes and listened to the rhythmic hum of the machines.

I wasn't a wife anymore. I was a ghost haunting the ruins of my own life, waiting to fade away.