Chapter 3

The sun was high in the sky when Liam finally walked out of the hospital entrance.

He looked exhausted. His shirt was rumpled, his hair a mess. He rubbed his eyes, a gesture of pure fatigue.

As he walked under the bright morning light, I saw it. A smudge of pink lipstick on the collar of his pale blue shirt. It wasn't my shade. It was the exact shade Olivia had been wearing at the bar.

My heart, which I thought couldn't break any further, seemed to splinter into dust.

He crossed the street and went into a small diner. A few minutes later, he came out with a takeout bag. He didn't get in his car. He walked back into the hospital.

He was bringing her breakfast.

I told the cab driver my address and leaned my head against the cool glass of the window. The city passed by in a blur. I was so tired. So incredibly tired.

I made it home, to the house we had chosen together, and fell into bed without even taking off my shoes. Sleep claimed me instantly, a deep, dreamless abyss.

I was woken by a soft touch on my lips.

I flinched away, my eyes snapping open. Liam was leaning over me, trying to kiss me.

"Chloe," he said softly, his eyes full of a pained, confusing emotion.

I scrambled back on the bed, putting distance between us. The sight of him, the thought of his touch after he'd been with her, was repulsive.

"Don't touch me."

He recoiled as if I'd slapped him. He straightened up, holding a bag from my favorite brunch spot. "I brought you some food. You must be hungry."

An offering. A pathetic attempt to smooth things over.

I ignored the bag. "Where were you last night, Liam?"

He had the grace to look ashamed. He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding my eyes. "I... I was worried about you. I stayed at a hotel nearby to clear my head."

The lie was so blatant, so insulting, it was almost funny.

"A hotel?" I asked, my voice flat. "That's strange. Because I saw your car parked at the hospital all night."

His head snapped up, his eyes wide with panic. He was caught.

"Chloe, I can explain..."

"Don't bother," I cut him off. "Just tell me one thing. The lipstick on your collar. Where did you put Olivia up? Did you get her a nice apartment? Close to us, so it's convenient for you?"

Each question was a stone, and I watched them hit him, watched him flinch.

He sank to his knees by the bed, and his face crumpled. Tears streamed down his cheeks, real, gut-wrenching sobs. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. I messed up. I messed up so badly."

He told me the story then. How Olivia's father, his mentor, had died saving him from a climbing accident years ago. How on his deathbed, he'd made Liam promise to look after Olivia. How she'd shown up a few months ago, a mess, and he'd felt bound by that old, heavy promise.

"I never meant for it to go this far," he choked out. "The kidnapping... I panicked. I thought they would kill her. And last night, when she told me she was pregnant... I just... I broke, Chloe. I broke."

He grabbed my hand, his grip desperate. "Please. Please don't leave me. We can fix this. I'll do anything."

I looked down at our joined hands. His hand, which had once felt like home, now felt like a cage. I felt nothing. No pity, no anger, just a vast, cold emptiness.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand. The screen lit up with Olivia's name.

He glanced at it and quickly pressed the ignore button.

"Answer it, Liam," I said, my voice devoid of emotion.

"No. It doesn't matter. You're what matters."

The phone buzzed again. And again.

"She's pregnant with your child, Liam," I said. "She's in a hospital. She's probably scared. You should answer your phone."

The words were calm, reasonable. But they were a test. And I knew, even before he did it, that he would fail.

He hesitated, his jaw working. Then, with a look of profound guilt, he picked up the phone.

"Liv? Is everything okay?... No, no, calm down. I'm on my way back. Just stay in bed. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

He hung up and looked at me, his eyes pleading. "She's having a panic attack. I just need to go calm her down. Then I'll come right back, and we can talk. I promise."

He stood up and walked out of the room. He walked out of our house. He walked away from me. Again.

I listened to his car start and drive away.

I remembered how he used to be. If I so much as sneezed, he would rush to my side, feeling my forehead, making me tea. He used to look at me like I was the only person in the world.

Now, that look was for someone else.

The exhaustion washed over me again, heavier this time. I laid back down on the bed, in the empty house, and closed my eyes.