Chapter 4

I woke up in a hospital room.

My leg throbbed.

A doctor told me it was a bad sprain.

And a mild concussion.

I must have hit my head when I slipped on the muddy bank after Olivia ran to Caleb.

The last thing I remembered was her face.

Furious.

Accusing.

Olivia walked in.

Her eyes were red-rimmed.

But her face was set.

Determined.

"Ethan," she said. Her voice was low. Urgent.

"Caleb needs blood. He's a rare type. AB negative."

She paused.

"You're AB negative, Ethan."

I stared at her.

Was she serious?

"He lost a lot of... fluid. From the pond. And he hit his head. There's internal bleeding."

It sounded ridiculous.

But her face was deadly serious.

"The doctors need to operate. He needs blood. Now."

She came closer.

"Ethan, you have to give him blood."

It wasn't a request.

It was a demand.

I looked at my bandaged leg.

At the IV in my arm.

"Olivia," I said. My voice was rough.

"I'm the patient here too. Remember?"

"I know, Ethan. I know you're hurt."

Her voice softened.

But her eyes didn't.

They were fixed on me.

Pleading.

But also demanding.

"But Caleb is critical. He could die."

She wrung her hands.

"Please, Ethan. For me."

For her.

Always for her.

Or for him, through her.

"No," I said.

The word was quiet.

But firm.

Her eyes widened.

"Ethan! You can't mean that!"

"He's lying, Olivia. He fell on purpose. He accused me."

"It doesn't matter right now!" she cried. "He needs blood!"

A nurse bustled in.

"Mrs. Beaumont-Miller? We need to prep your husband if he's donating."

Her voice was brisk.

Olivia looked at the nurse. Then back at me.

A new urgency in her eyes.

"Ethan, please."

She grabbed my hand.

Her grip was strong.

Too strong.

"They're waiting."

She pulled me.

Gently at first.

Then harder.

"Olivia, stop," I said.

Pain shot up my leg.

"We don't have time!" she hissed.

She was practically dragging me out of the bed.

"Think of the baby, Ethan!" she suddenly cried.

What did the baby have to do with this?

"What if it was our child who needed this? Wouldn't you do anything?"

The baby. Caleb's baby.

Her plea was a hammer blow.

She knew my weakness.

They took my blood.

Lying on a gurney. Next to the operating room.

The needle was thick.

It hurt.

I closed my eyes.

Remembered another needle.

Years ago. A bad cut on my hand.

Stitches.

Olivia had held my other hand.

So tight.

Her face pale with worry.

For me.

Now, her worry was a laser.

Focused on Caleb.

I opened my eyes.

She was pacing.

Outside the OR.

Her phone pressed to her ear.

Talking to her grandmother, probably.

Updating her on the Beaumont heir's father.

The donation finished.

I felt weak. Drained.

A nurse helped me back to a wheelchair.

Pushed me to a recovery area.

Olivia was there.

Waiting.

Not for me.

For news of Caleb.

A doctor came out.

Smiled at Olivia.

"He's stable, Mrs. Beaumont-Miller. The transfusion was just in time."

Olivia sagged with relief.

"Thank God."

She rushed towards the recovery room where they were taking Caleb.

I watched her go.

Then I saw it.

Around Caleb's wrist.

As they wheeled him past.

A thin leather cord.

With a small, silver charm.

An architect's compass.

I had given it to Olivia.

Our first anniversary.

She said she'd wear it always.

A symbol of our life.

Our plans.

Our dreams.

Now it was on his wrist.

Her gift.

To him.

I wheeled myself out of the recovery area.

Found an empty waiting room.

Quiet. Dark.

The tears came then.

Hot. Salty.

For the lost charm.

For the lost love.

For the lost me.

My chest ached.

A deep, physical pain.

Like something inside had finally broken.

Beyond repair.

A few hours later, a nurse came to my room.

"Mr. Miller? There's a form here. Standard hospital discharge. Just need your marital status for our records."

I took the pen.

My hand was steady.

"Marital status," I said.

Loud enough for Olivia, who had just walked in, to hear.

"Separated."

I wrote it down.

Calmly.

"And I'll be filing for divorce as soon as possible."

I looked up.

Met her eyes.

Olivia stood in the doorway.

Her face was a mask of shock.

Disbelief.

She opened her mouth.

But no words came out.

The color drained from her face.

She finally understood.

This was real.