Chapter 3

Liam held Chloe, murmuring soothing words into her hair that the distance and the car window couldn't completely block. His hands stroked her back, a gesture of comfort so intimate and natural it made my stomach churn. He was a stranger to me now, or perhaps, he had been a stranger all along.

"It's okay," I could just make out his voice, a low rumble of reassurance. "I'm here now. I won't let anyone hurt you."

The promise was a blade twisting in my gut. He was her protector, her savior. And what was I? The audience. The inconvenient wife watching from the sidelines.

Slowly, as if in a trance, I got out of the car. My legs felt like lead. The crowd was starting to disperse, whispering excitedly among themselves, their gossip quota filled for the day. Liam, Chloe, and the man Mark, who was now picking himself up off the ground with a murderous look in his eyes, were the only ones left in the small, cleared space on the sidewalk.

I walked towards them, each step an effort.

"Liam," I said. My voice sounded thin and weak, even to my own ears.

He turned his head, his arms still wrapped around Chloe. When he saw me, his expression flickered for a second-not with guilt, but with annoyance. As if my presence was an unwelcome interruption.

Chloe peeked at me from the safety of his embrace, her eyes red from crying but holding a clear, unmistakable glint of triumph.

"Sarah," Liam said, his tone flat and businesslike. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "I was worried. You didn't come home."

"I was busy," he replied, his gaze already shifting back to Chloe. "As you can see, something came up." He gently pushed Chloe a little behind him, shielding her from me as if I were the threat.

The casual cruelty of his words stole the air from my lungs. He was dismissing three years of marriage, dismissing my concern, dismissing me, in front of the woman he had just publicly rescued.

"We should go," he said, not to me, but to Chloe. He started to lead her away, his arm securely around her waist.

"Liam, wait," I called out, a desperate edge to my voice. "We need to talk."

He stopped but didn't turn around fully. "Not now, Sarah. Chloe is upset. I'm taking her home."

"Home?" The word was a bitter taste in my mouth. "To our home?"

He finally turned to face me then, his eyes cold. "No. To her hotel. I'll call you later."

And with that, he walked away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk like a fool. I watched them go, his body curved protectively around hers, until they disappeared into a taxi. The scene replayed in my head: his tender concern for her, his cold dismissal of me.

My phone buzzed in my hand. It was an alert from a social media app. My thumb moved numbly to open it.

It was a new post from Chloe Davis.

The photo was a selfie. She was in the back of a taxi, her head resting on a man's shoulder. You couldn't see his face, only the sleeve of his expensive suit-a suit I recognized instantly. It was the one Liam was wearing today. Chloe' s face was still tear-streaked, making her look vulnerable and beautiful. But her eyes, looking into the camera, were anything but. They were victorious.

And on her finger, she was wearing a simple, elegant diamond ring. A ring I had seen before, in old photos from before she left. Her ring from Liam.

The caption was simple: "Some things are worth waiting for. #reunited"

Underneath the photo, she had tagged Liam's public profile.

The world tilted. It wasn't just a moment of weakness, a heroic impulse. It was a reunion. A continuation of a love story that had never really ended. My role in his life was a temporary measure, a business deal that had now expired.

I stood there on the busy sidewalk, the city noise fading into a dull roar in my ears. The pain was so sharp, so immense, it was almost physical. Every kind word he had ever said to me, every gift, every kiss-it all replayed in my mind, now tainted with the poison of deceit.

My hand automatically went to my own ring, the heavy diamond wedding band Liam had placed on my finger three years ago. It felt foreign, a costume prop from a play that had just ended.

With a final, ragged breath, I pulled the ring off my finger. It was surprisingly easy to remove. I looked at it in the palm of my hand, this symbol of our sham of a marriage.

Then I walked to the nearest trash can and dropped it inside. It made a small, insignificant clinking sound as it hit the bottom.

I turned and walked away, not looking back. I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I was not going back to the house we shared. It wasn't my home anymore. Nothing was. My mind was eerily clear on one thing. I took out my phone again, my thumb no longer hesitating. I found the number for the clinic and pressed call.

"Yes," I said, my voice steady and cold. "I'd like to schedule an appointment. For a termination."

The life I had been carrying, the last link to Liam, was a hope I could no longer afford to have. It had to end, just like everything else.