Chapter 3

A week later, I was discharged. I went back to my office, seeking refuge in the familiar lines and angles of my work. Designing buildings was logical, predictable. Unlike people.

I was in the lobby of a new client' s building, waiting for a meeting, when I saw her. Chloe. She was standing by the elevators, talking on her phone, laughing. She was wearing a new dress, a bold, confident red that screamed for attention.

She saw me at the same moment I saw her. Her smile faltered for a second, then returned, wider and sharper. She ended her call and walked over to me, her heels clicking on the marble floor.

"Ava. Fancy seeing you here," she said, her tone dripping with false sweetness.

"I have a meeting," I said, my voice flat.

"Oh, that' s right. You' re still trying to work," she said, a pitying look on her face. "You should be resting. After... everything."

Her eyes flickered down to my stomach for a fraction of a second. The rage was instant, hot and fierce.

"Don' t you dare," I warned, my voice low.

She feigned innocence. "Don' t I dare what? I' m just concerned. Mark is so worried about you. He thinks you' re pushing yourself too hard. He says you' re fragile."

Fragile. There was that word again. A label they had put on me to excuse their own cruelty.

"I' m not fragile," I said, my voice hard. "And you will stay away from me. You and Mark both."

Chloe' s smile turned into a sneer. "You really don' t get it, do you? Mark doesn' t want you anymore. You' re a reminder of a life he' s trying to escape. He' s with me now. We' re happy."

She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "He told me you were always so cold, so focused on your career. He said he needed someone who would actually love him. Someone warm. Like me."

Every word was a calculated blow. I felt the air leave my lungs.

I turned to walk away, but she grabbed my arm. "Where are you going? I' m not finished."

I tried to pull my arm free, but in the process, I stumbled back. Chloe, with a look of theatrical shock, let go and staggered backward, tripping over her own feet. She fell to the floor with a loud cry of pain.

"My arm!" she shrieked. "You broke my arm!"

It happened so fast. One moment we were talking, the next she was on the floor, cradling her arm and wailing. People started to stare. A security guard rushed over.

And then, as if on cue, Mark appeared. He had just come down the elevator. He took one look at Chloe on the floor and me standing over her, and his face contorted with fury.

"Ava! What the hell did you do?" he roared, rushing to Chloe' s side.

"Mark, she pushed me," Chloe sobbed, clinging to him. "She just attacked me for no reason."

"I didn' t touch her!" I said, my voice shaking with a mixture of anger and shock. "She fell!"

No one was listening. All eyes were on me, filled with accusation. Mark was cradling Chloe, whispering soothing words to her, his glare fixed on me. It was a look of pure hatred.

"I knew you were unstable, but this..." he spat, his voice filled with venom. "Attacking a defenseless woman in public. Have you no shame?"

The humiliation was a physical thing, a hot wave that washed over me. I was standing in the middle of a crowded lobby, being publicly condemned for something I didn' t do.

"Mark, listen to me," I pleaded, my voice barely a whisper. "She' s lying."

He didn' t even look at me. He was focused entirely on Chloe, helping her to her feet, his touch gentle and protective.

"I' m warning you, Ava," he said, his voice cold and menacing as he brushed past me, supporting Chloe. "Stay away from us. If you ever come near Chloe again, you' ll regret it."

He walked away, leaving me there alone, in the center of a circle of staring, judging faces.

I felt like I couldn' t breathe. The man who had vowed to love and protect me, the man I had built a life with, had just looked at me as if I were a monster. He had chosen, once again, to believe her over me.

The memory of his loving gaze, the warmth of his hand in mine, the easy laughter we once shared-it all felt like a story about someone else. That love was dead. He had killed it. And in its place was this ugly, twisted thing, a relationship built on lies and betrayal.

The pain in my abdomen, a phantom reminder of my lost child, flared up again. It was a dull, constant ache that mirrored the ache in my heart.

He had abandoned me. Utterly and completely. I was nothing to him now. In that moment, surrounded by strangers, I had never felt more alone. The marriage wasn't just broken; it was annihilated. And I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that it could never be repaired.