Chapter 3 The Last Selfishness

By the time dawn fully broke, Edric had already left the mansion.

The black car glided along a tree-lined road, sunlight flickering through the glass window, tracing pale streaks across his cold, weary face.

Inside, he leaned back in his seat, eyes closed, trying to smother the fragments of memory still burning from last night.

Anne's trembling breath, soft cries.

The way her tear-stained eyes clung to him, as though the slightest blink might dissolve everything between them.

As though her heartbeat had sought to chase him, until the two became one.

Such a beautiful woman, yet Edric had almost forgotten that she had been his wife for two long years.

He turned on his phone.

A message sat unsent on the screen. He stared at it for a long while, then finally added a few more words before pressing send.

"Take the morning-after pill. I don't want another mistake."

He gazed at the text for several seconds.

His eyelids fluttered; his lips quivered faintly.

Then the message was gone.

A soft ding broke the silence inside the car, slicing through the heavy air.

Edric exhaled slowly, eyes still closed.

He knew he had just done something cruel.

But he didn't know any other way to face the mistake of the night before.

Their marriage contract had only a few weeks left. If she kept anything that could bind them together like a child, a memory, or anything else, he feared he might falter.

The marriage had been a mistake from the beginning, and he refused to make another, whether toward her or himself.

He had given Anne comfort, money, a home, and he would ensure she had everything she needed even after the divorce. A stable future, untouched by him.

Edric wanted to settle his past before it destroyed him completely.

"It was just one night..."

He sighed.

The mansion was silent, so quiet the ticking clock could be heard marking each passing second.

Anne sat alone in the kitchen, a cup of coffee long gone cold between her hands, eyes fixed on the glowing phone screen.

The message stared back at her, stark and cruel, a clean incision across the heart.

"Take the morning-after pill. I don't want another mistake."

She read it again. And again.

Each repetition carves the words deeper into her chest.

Her shoulders trembled.

That was when she realized how violently her heart was pounding, rage, shame, grief all tangled together.

Last night's warmth returned like a cruel joke.

His breath. His touch. His arms around her.

Had it all been an illusion?

She pressed her lips together, swallowed the bitterness on her tongue, and blinked hard to keep the tears from falling.

Two years of marriage, and she had never expected love. But last night, just one night, she had dared to believe she could be loved.

She rose, opened the cabinet, and took out a blister pack of pills.

Her fingers trembled as she stared at the small white tablet resting on her palm, a perfect, round verdict.

She sat down again, looking at it for a long time.

The morning light filtered through the blinds, glancing off her pale skin and tired eyes.

Her lips moved in a whisper only she could hear.

"All right, Edric. I won't leave you with any mistakes."

And she swallowed the pill with no hesitation, no pause.

But as the bitterness spread down her throat, she felt her stomach twist. A wave of dizziness washed over her, sharper, heavier.

Maybe it was exhaustion. Maybe emotion.

But minutes later, the pain surged violently. It tore through her abdomen like claws.

Her breath hitched. Sweat gathered cold on her skin.

She stumbled toward the sink, clutching the counter for balance.

The world tilted, walls, floor, light and everything spinning into a blur.

Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her, ghostly white, lips drained of color, eyes glassy and unfocused.

She looked like a stranger. A ghost of herself.

The nausea hit.

She doubled over, trembling, tears and sweat mingling as they fell to the cold tile below. Her heartbeat thundered in her chest, each pulse a desperate echo.

With shaking fingers, she reached for the fridge, searching for her phone.

She dialed emergency, her voice barely a breath.

"H-help... me... I can't... breathe..."

The phone slipped from her hand, clattering against the floor. She reached it out, but the strength was gone.

Her vision dimmed, only light and sound, fading.

Maybe this... was another mistake too...

A faint, broken laugh escaped her lips. Tears burned her cheeks, mixing with that fragile, crooked smile.

Just before she collapsed, she caught a glimpse of sunlight falling through the window, golden and soft, like the end of a dream.

Then everything went still.

A sound echoed from the front door...

...

The emergency room doors burst open.

Doctors shouted, machines beeped, metal instruments clanged in the chaos.

Anne lay on the gurney, pale as paper, an oxygen tube pressed to her nose, an IV dripping into her arm. Faint bruises colored her veins.

"Anaphylactic shock from contraceptives! Start gastric lavage immediately!"

The doctor's command cut through the air, sharp and urgent.

Everything moved fast, cold, mechanical.

In her delirium, Anne felt the sting of disinfectant, the rush of water, the nausea clawing up her throat.

She tried to open her eyes, but the world was blurred beyond recognition.

She didn't know where she was, only that tears burned against her temples, hot and salty, like the taste of her life itself.

Anne wanted to smile, but her lips wouldn't move.

Not too much... just a little mistake...

And then she sank back into darkness.

When consciousness returned, it was faint, only the sterile scent of medicine, and the rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor.

Anne opened her eyes slowly.

Everything was white.

White walls, white sheets, white curtains. Even her hands looked pale, bloodless, foreign.

A nurse's voice drifted by.

"She's stable now, but her stomach's severely damaged. She'll need to be monitored closely."

Anne heard it, but didn't answer.

She turned her head and saw a glass of water on the nightstand, her phone beside it, dark, silent.

No messages and no missed calls.

A faint smile curved Anne's lips.

"So... no one came."

Her whisper echoed softly, dissolving into the still air.

The pain in her abdomen pulsed again, a dull reminder of what she'd done.

If there really had been a child... maybe it was the only thing that had ever truly belonged to both of them.

Her chest ached when she thought about this.

She wouldn't take those pills again ever, not after this.

She didn't cry because she couldn't. Crying only exhaustion remained, heavy and endless.

If that fragile life had survived, she thought, she would keep it. She would love it, even if it meant raising it alone.

Outside, the rain had stopped.

The afternoon light streamed through the window, soft and pale, falling across her face.

She stared up at the ceiling, a voice whispering inside her mind...

'Edric... I did as you asked. I made sure there were no mistakes left for you. But this time... I'll leave only one thing for myself.'

She closed her eyes.

The monitor kept its steady rhythm beep... beep... that the fragile heartbeat of a woman refusing to disappear.

A single tear slid down her cheek, soaking into the pillow, leaving behind only a faint, fading stain.