TO LATE TO LOVE ME

Evelyn's POV

---

Blood was not supposed to be part of this story. Not today. Not like this.

I sat on the cold bathroom floor, my knees pulled tightly to my chest, my arms shaking. The white tiles beneath me were stained red. The pain in my lower stomach came in waves, sharp and cruel. I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I just sat there, rocking slowly like a child trying to calm herself.

I was losing my baby.

Our baby.

A tiny life that had barely begun, now slipping away without a sound. No heartbeat. No chance.

I didn't know what to do. I should've gone to the hospital. I should've called an ambulance. But I didn't want strangers. I wanted him.

I reached for my phone on the counter, my hand smearing blood across the screen as I unlocked it with shaking fingers.

Damian.

His name was still saved as My Love.

I hit call.

It rang once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then finally-

"Yeah?" His voice was calm. Distant. Like I had interrupted something.

I pressed the phone to my ear, my lip trembling. "I... I lost it," I whispered. A long silence.

I waited.

And then, he sighed.

"Evelyn... I'm with Lillian right now. She needs me."

I froze.

He didn't ask if I was okay. Didn't ask where I was. If I needed help. Nothing.

"She needs you?" I asked softly, my voice barely holding together. "I'm your wife. I'm losing our baby."

"She's going through something. I'll check in later, okay?"

Then I heard it-Lillian's voice, light and sweet in the background.

"Who are you talking to, Damian?"

And his answer, sharp and final.

"No one."

Then the line went dead.

I didn't even realize I had dropped the phone until I heard it hit the floor. The crack echoed through the bathroom like a gunshot.

I stared at the screen, now broken, lying face-down beside my blood-soaked knees. No one.

That's what I was to him.

No one.

The call ended.

The screen went dark. No one.

I don't know how long I sat there, staring at the broken phone. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. Everything moved in slow motion.

The blood between my legs had cooled. My thighs were sticky. The ache in my stomach had faded into a deep, dull emptiness.

I was cold. So cold.

I looked down at the towels I had tried to wedge beneath me. Useless. They were soaked through. Red everywhere. The floor. My hands. The hem of my nightdress. My baby was gone, and all I had left was a mess I had to clean myself.

There was no one coming.

No arms to carry me. No soft words to soothe me. No voice saying, "You're not alone."

I reached for the edge of the counter and pulled myself up. My legs shook, but I didn't let myself fall. I couldn't afford to fall.

Damian wasn't coming.

I took off the stained nightdress. Moved like a ghost under the harsh white lights. My hands trembled as I wiped the floor. I scrubbed and scrubbed, tears blurring my vision until all I saw was red. Red on tile. Red on skin. Red in the sink.

I threw the towels into the basket. Ran a bath. Sat in the steaming water with my arms wrapped around my knees, my forehead resting on them.

I didn't cry.

Tears would've made it real.

I stayed in that tub until the water went cold. Until my skin puckered and my fingers turned pale and wrinkled.

I got out, dried myself, changed into fresh clothes. Slower than I ever had in my life. Then I opened the linen closet. Pulled out clean towels. Bleached the floor.

I wiped every trace of it away. Every drop. Every memory.

It didn't happen. If I could erase the evidence, maybe it didn't happen.

By the time I was done, it was past two in the morning. My body was screaming at me to rest. But I didn't want to lie down. I didn't want to close my eyes and dream of what could've been.

Still, I made tea. The same kind I used to drink when I was pregnant and nauseous. It sat untouched on the table.

I sat beside it in silence.

I waited.

Not for him.

For the numbness to go deep enough so it wouldn't hurt anymore.

I don't know when I fell asleep. My head dropped against the chair. My arms wrapped around my stomach, as if I could hold the baby that was no longer there.

And when I woke to the sound of the door opening... it wasn't hope I felt. It was shame.

---

---

The next morning, the pain had dulled, but the emptiness stayed.

I moved slowly around the apartment. The same apartment where we once laughed, where he once kissed me against the kitchen counter, where I once believed he loved me.

I cleaned the bathroom in silence. I didn't cry. I couldn't.

The smell of bleach mixed with the coppery scent of blood. I washed every towel, threw away the test I had saved-the one that read positive in soft pink lines. I had planned to surprise him. I even bought tiny white baby shoes.

They were still hidden in my closet.

By evening, I was sitting at the table with a cup of untouched tea. The clock ticked past ten. Damian still wasn't home.

I thought about texting him. Asking if he was okay. But what would I say?

"Did Lillian need you again?"

"Do you still remember I exist?"

"Do you know what it feels like to lose a child while lying alone in a pool of blood?"

No.

I wouldn't text.

I had already reached out. He'd already let me fall.

The door finally opened at 10:43 p.m.

He walked in like everything was normal. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, the top buttons undone. He looked... relaxed. Like he had a good evening.

His eyes barely flicked to me.

"Hey," he said, dropping his keys on the counter.

I stared at him. Said nothing.

He sniffed. "Something smells weird in here."

I swallowed, tightening my fingers around the mug.

That smell was bleach. And blood. And heartbreak.

"I cleaned the bathroom," I said softly.

He didn't respond.

Just shrugged off his jacket and walked down the hall toward our bedroom. His bedroom now. I hadn't slept there in days.

The door clicked shut behind him.

I sat in silence.

And that's when it hit me.

He never asked.

He never asked how I was. Never mentioned the baby. Never said a word about what I'd told him.

As if it never happened.

As if I never happened.

I slowly rose from the table and walked to the bedroom door. My hand hovered over the handle.

But I didn't knock.

I turned and walked to the guest room.

My bed now.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, the silence pressing heavy against my chest.

My hand drifted to my stomach.

Empty.

Gone.

And just before my eyes closed, I heard the faint sound of a woman's laugh... coming from down the hall.

Evelyn's POV ---

I woke up feeling like I hadn't slept at all.

The room was too quiet. The kind of quiet that isn't peaceful - just empty. It was the same guest room I'd been in for days, though it still felt borrowed, like I didn't belong.

I lay still for a long time, blinking at the ceiling.

My body ached. My stomach felt hollow, like it had been scooped out. But it wasn't just my body that was sore - it was my soul. My heart. My everything.

When I finally got up, I moved like someone underwater. Slow. Careful. Numb.

I walked to the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror.

I didn't cry. Not because it didn't hurt - but because I was afraid if I started, I wouldn't stop.

My reflection looked foreign. Pale skin. Hollow eyes. My lips were dry. My hair hung loose, uncombed.

I whispered to the woman in the mirror, "You were pregnant. It was real. It happened."

I needed to say it out loud. Because he hadn't. Because maybe if I kept saying it, I wouldn't start to believe his silence.

---

I went to the kitchen and made breakfast like I always did.

Toast. Scrambled eggs. A bowl of cut fruit.

I set the table for two.

Habit.

Stupid, foolish habit.

I stood there, staring at the plates, asking myself why. Why was I still trying? The front door opened.

Damian stepped in, talking on the phone. His voice was soft, relaxed.

He ended the call before entering the kitchen, stuffing his phone into his pocket like it didn't matter.

When he saw me, he gave a small nod. "Morning."

I just looked at him.

He sat down, picked up a slice of toast, took a bite, and casually reached for his phone again.

I sat across from him, hands in my lap. My appetite was gone, but I had to ask.

"You didn't ask about the baby."

He didn't even look up.

"I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you would."

I stared at him. My hands trembled slightly. "I told you last night. I called you."

"I know." He finally looked at me, but there was no emotion in his face. "I was with Lillian. I told you she needed me."

"I needed you," I said softly. "Damian, I was-"

"We all grieve differently, Evelyn." His tone sharpened like a knife hidden in silk. "You always take things so personally."

I swallowed hard. "I lost our child."

He scoffed. "It wasn't a child. It was a bunch of cells. A mistake. We agreed we didn't want kids."

My throat burned. "You said that. I never agreed. I just... stayed quiet."

"Well, that's not my fault, is it?"

He stood up, stretching like he'd finished a nice meal. Not like he'd just gutted me with his words.

"I'm meeting Lillian for lunch. She's helping me with a presentation." My heart stuttered. "Today?"

He glanced at the time. "Yeah. I promised her. Don't make it a thing."

"What about me?"

He stopped walking. Looked at me like I was an inconvenience.

"This is why I said we needed space, Evelyn. You're always trying to make me feel guilty. I can't breathe around you."

My lips parted, but I couldn't find words. He grabbed his keys and walked out. No goodbye.

No pause.

Just... gone.

---

I cleaned the kitchen again.

Even though it wasn't dirty.

I wiped the counters. Washed the already-clean dishes. Scrubbed the sink until it was shining.

The smell of lemon cleaner filled the air.

I stood there with the sponge in my hand, staring into the steel basin, wondering how a house could feel like a stranger.

---

By afternoon, I sat on the couch, holding a pillow tight to my chest. The TV was on, but I wasn't watching it.

My thoughts were loud. Too loud.

He's meeting her.

She gets his time. She gets his attention. She gets his care.

I couldn't remember the last time he looked at me like I was worth choosing.

---

He came home late.

Laughing into his phone as he walked through the door. "No, no, you're right. You always get me, Lily."

That name again.

Lily.

Not Evelyn.

Never Evelyn.

---

I stood up and walked to the kitchen, trying to focus. Just something to do with my hands.

I picked up the plate from my sad, cold dinner and moved to wash it.

But my hand slipped.

The plate shattered in the sink - a sharp, loud crack that echoed in the silence like glass breaking inside my chest.

I stared at the shards.

Still didn't cry.

Still didn't move.

Damian's voice called from down the hall. "What was that?"

I didn't answer.

I just kept staring at the broken pieces.

At least something finally looked how I felt.

---

["What broke?" he asked.

Me, Damian. I think it was me.

Evelyn's POV

---

Damian told me about the dinner that morning.

"Be ready by seven," he said flatly, without looking up from his phone. "You'll look good on my arm."

That was the only reason I was invited - not because he wanted me beside him, but because he needed me to play a part.

Still, I agreed. Because part of me... still wanted to matter.

---

I stood in front of the mirror for too long, second-guessing everything.

I finally settled on a simple black off-shoulder dress that hugged my waist but flowed at the legs. Elegant, understated. My makeup was soft - just a little blush, neutral eyeshadow, a touch of lipstick I hadn't worn in weeks. The heels were low, my hair fell in soft curls over one shoulder.

When I stepped out of the bedroom, Damian didn't look up. No compliment. No reaction.

He just grabbed his keys and said, "Don't be late."

---

The restaurant was luxury in every inch. Crystal chandeliers. Gold-lined menus. A scent of white wine and expensive secrets.

We were led to a private room where laughter was already spilling out - a dozen of Damian's business partners and guests gathered around a long glass table.

That's when I saw her. Lillian.

Already seated beside Damian's name card. A silk wine-red dress clung to her body like a secret she was proud to share. Her makeup was bold, hair in effortless waves. She looked like the cover of a fashion magazine.

And everyone was drinking her in.

---

My name card wasn't beside Damian's. It was three seats away, between two older men who barely acknowledged my presence.

Damian walked around the table and sat beside Lillian like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I sat slowly, my stomach twisting as the conversations picked up. Toasts. Laughter. Lillian's voice ringing above it all.

She leaned into Damian's ear once and he chuckled - that deep, genuine laugh I hadn't heard in months. Maybe years.

---

A man across the table stood to raise a glass. "To Damian and Lillian - the power couple we've all been waiting for!"

The room erupted into claps and grins.

My hands went cold.

Lillian just smiled. Sipped her wine with practiced grace. Damian?

He didn't say a word.

He didn't correct them.

He didn't even glance at me.

---

A woman leaned toward the man beside her and whispered - not quietly enough: "Wait... isn't that his wife?"

"No, I think they split."

"Then why is she here?"

---

I stared down at my plate, the food untouched.

My eyes lifted only once - and that's when I saw it.

The necklace.

Rose gold. Delicate. With a single teardrop diamond.

The same one I had pointed out to Damian months ago. I had whispered about it at a boutique, smiling, excited.

He'd laughed.

"Why do you always want to waste money on things that don't matter?" Now, there it was - around Lillian's neck.

Like it belonged there. Like I never existed.

---

In a conversation about Damian's "taste in women," someone joked, "He clearly has a type - sweet, quiet, obedient."

Lillian laughed, touching Damian's wrist gently. "He used to. But I think he's grown out of that." Everyone laughed.

Damian smiled.

My hand slipped off the table. I didn't even realize it was shaking. "I'll be right back," I whispered to no one in particular.

---

I walked to the restroom like a ghost.

Inside, I gripped the sink. My chest rose and fell quickly, my breath uneven. My lipstick had faded. My eyes were glassy.

I wiped my mouth clean and stared at my reflection.

"You are not crazy," I whispered. "You are not small."

But the woman in the mirror looked like she'd already been replaced.

---

When I returned to the table, someone had taken my seat.

I froze for a second, unsure of where to go - until I heard a low, smooth voice beside me.

"You can take this one," he said, pulling the chair out next to him. I turned.

And there he was.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Impossibly handsome.

A rich charcoal suit clung to his frame, tailored perfectly. His jaw was sharp, with faint stubble. His hands rested loosely on the table - one of them covered in dark tattoos that peeked beneath his shirt cuff and disappeared under his sleeve.

He looked expensive.

Like power dressed in silence.

But it wasn't just that.

It was the way he looked at me.

Not like I was broken. Not like I was pitiful.

He looked at me like I was real.

I sat down, stunned by the weight of his presence.

He didn't speak for a moment. Just watched the table quietly, like he was studying the room.

Then he leaned in slightly and said, "That was brutal."

I blinked, startled. "Excuse me?"

His voice was calm, quiet - meant only for me. "Everything they just did. That? It wasn't subtle. And it wasn't deserved."

I didn't know what to say.

He turned his face to me fully then - dark eyes meeting mine. "I'm Rafael," he said, offering a hand.

I hesitated... then placed mine in his.

Warm. Firm. Unshaken.

"And you," he added with a slight tilt of his head, "don't belong at the end of any table."

---

I didn't know who this man was.

But he saw me.

And for the first time in a long time... I felt it. "Evelyn"

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