Chapter 2

The miscarriage hit Chloe hard, a physical and emotional blow that left her hollow.

Ethan drove her to the hospital, his jaw tight with irritation.

"This is really inconvenient, Chloe," he muttered, checking his watch. "I have that Kincaid meeting in the morning."

She didn't respond, just curled into herself on the passenger seat.

At the hospital, he was impatient, tapping his foot, scrolling through emails on his phone while she waited for the doctor.

After the procedure, he brought her home and left her on the couch with a glass of water.

"I've got to run," he said, already shrugging into his coat. "Work won't wait. Call if you need something, but try to handle it."

She lay there, bleeding, aching, alone.

A few days later, she was still fragile, moving slowly, her eyes often distant.

He came home late, smelling of expensive cologne and the faint scent of another woman's perfume he hadn't bothered to hide.

He found her in bed, reading.

He dropped his briefcase, unbuttoned his shirt.

"You feeling better?" he asked, not waiting for an answer.

He moved towards her, his intentions clear.

Chloe flinched, pulling the covers tighter. "Ethan, please. I'm still... I'm not ready."

His face hardened. "It's been days, Chloe. Don't be dramatic. It wasn't even a real baby yet."

He saw the flicker of pain in her eyes, the way she bit her lip to stop a sob.

He ignored it.

"Come on," he said, his voice rough, pulling at the blanket. "Don't make this difficult."

She turned her face away, silent tears finally escaping, tracing paths down her temples into her hair. He took what he wanted, then rolled over and fell asleep, leaving her to cry quietly in the dark.