I got married when I was twenty to my dad’s friend, Dominic Faviano.
He was eighteen years older. The kind of man people called dangerous when they thought I couldn’t hear. Cold. Ruthless. Always in control. But when it came to me, he acted like I was glass.
If I said I liked something, he’d buy it before I could even finish the sentence. If I said my stomach hurt, he’d cancel meetings, make ginger tea, and feed it to me like I was some fragile thing.
Sometimes at night, when he kissed me, his voice would go low and rough. “Be good, baby,” he’d whisper, like loving me was something that broke him a little.
All his passwords, usernames, accounts… they all had one name: “Loriana”
I thought it was because of ‘My Loriana’, the song I was playing when we met. I thought it was romantic.
But then one night, I was cleaning his study and opened one of his old photo albums.
There she was. A girl who looked like me, but prettier. Softer. Smiling beside a piano. On the back of every photo were the same words:
“My dearest Loriana.”
That night, something inside me cracked.
I don’t remember falling, only the sharp pain blooming low in my belly, and the wetness spreading down my thighs.
“Call 911,” I whispered to the maid. “Now! Please. And don’t ever… call Dominic.”
When I woke up in the hospital, the world felt too white, too still. A nurse with soft eyes said, “I’m sorry… The baby didn’t make it.”
Then she asked if I wanted to see the child.
I turned my face away. My whole body was trembling.
“No,” I whispered. “Please, no.”
I had been five months along. The baby was gone.
When they discharged me, I went home to an empty house. I sat at the dining table and wrote out the divorce papers by hand. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but I finished.
Then I called Dominic.
He usually picked up fast. Always saying something like, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” with that fake warmth in his voice.
But that night, he didn’t answer.
I called again. And again. Twenty-three times.
When he finally picked up, there was music in the background. Laughter. Glasses clinking.
“Man, you really left your pregnant wife for your old flame?” someone said, laughing.
“She’s just a stand-in. Everyone knows he’s been obsessed with Loriana for years,” another voice said.
Then someone else joined in, “That wife of his though… I’d keep her quiet and sweet like that.”
“Please. Dominic’s hopeless. Loriana says her feet hurt and he’s already on his knees.”
I didn’t even realize I was crying until my vision started swimming.
Then, his voice. “Who’s got my phone?” Calm. Cold.
“Uh, no one. It just—must’ve answered by accident.”
I could hear footsteps. Then silence.
When he spoke again, his tone changed completely. Sweet. Gentle. Like he was playing husband again.
“Baby? You still up? I’ve got a late meeting tonight. Go rest. I’ll come home and take care of you and the baby, alright?”
My throat hurts. “Dominic, I called to say I want—”
Then I heard her. A woman. Soft voice, close to the phone. “Dom, my feet hurt!”
He went quiet for a moment. Then quickly said, “Rosie, be good. Go to sleep. I’ll be home soon.”
And the line went dead.
I stared at the phone, then I started laughing. Not because it was funny. But because there was nothing else left in me.
When I stopped, my cheeks were dry, and I was looking at two things on the table…my divorce papers, and the small box they gave me at the hospital. The one with what was left of my baby.
I loved him. God, I loved him so much. But I could still leave.
I don’t know how many hours I sat there before I stood up. I picked up the little box, sealed it and put it in the freezer.
A few minutes later, I heard the front door open.
“Baby, why aren’t you asleep yet?” Dominic’s jacket slung over his arm, tie hanging loose. He looked tired but still perfect, like always. “What are you doing in the fridge? You hungry?”
I didn’t answer. I just stared at him.
He hesitated, then smiled and from behind him, he pulled out a small, pretty box. “Look what I found. You’ve been craving this, right? I had to go all over the city just to get it.”
He opened the box carefully, laying out the pastries one by one… the same ones I used to eat when I couldn’t keep anything down during the pregnancy.
Once, I would’ve run into his arms, kissed his cheek, thanked him for being so thoughtful.
Now I just felt sick.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning when I didn’t react. “Is the baby making you uncomfortable again?”
He reached out to touch my stomach. I caught his hand before he could.
“Sign this first,” I said quietly, handing him the envelope I’d left on the counter.
He blinked, confused. “What is it?”
Before he could open it, his phone rang. The name flashing on the screen made my stomach twist. Loriana.
He didn’t even hesitate. He answered. His tone softened instantly. I couldn’t hear what she said, but his face shifted… his brows eased, his mouth tilted the way it used to when he looked at me.
By the time he hung up, he didn’t even look at the papers again. He just grabbed a pen, scribbled his name on the last page, and picked up his keys.
“Something came up,” he said, already walking toward the door. “Go to bed early, alright?”
He paused before leaving, turning to give me that same gentle smile that used to melt me. “Next time you want to buy something, just get it. You don’t need my permission. What’s mine is yours. We’re husband and wife.”
My hand tightened around the signed papers. “Not for long,” I murmured.
He didn’t even hear me. The door closed softly behind him.
That night, I dreamed of the first time I met him.
I was eighteen. It was a party my father dragged me to. I remember spotting Dominic standing by the piano in that black suit, a glass of champagne in his hand. Everyone seemed smaller when he was around. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
Later that night, I did something stupid and brave. I kissed him.
He laughed, low and warm. “That’s not how you kiss, sweetheart.” Then he leaned down and showed me how.
It was deep and slow, and I remember thinking that no man would ever touch me like that again. I didn’t know that kiss would ruin me years later.
When I woke up, my pillow was wet. I didn’t even realize I’d been crying.
The sky outside was turning pale. I sat for a long time before calling my father.
“Dad,” I said, my voice rough. “I’m divorced.”
He went quiet for a moment. Then, sharp and worried, “Did he hurt you?”
I stared out the window. “No. We just stopped loving each other.”
But that wasn’t true. He stopped loving me.
And I stopped surviving it. I didn’t tell my father that part. Some things hurt more when spoken aloud.
After I hung up, I just sat there, staring at my phone. Then it buzzed… a new friend request.
Without thinking, I tapped accept.
A second later, a video popped up.
Dominic was asleep on a couch, shirt half unbuttoned, hair messy, face soft in the dim light. His lips moved faintly. I turned the volume up and almost dropped my phone when I heard it—
“Lory…”
Then came the messages.
“Hi, I’m Loriana Moores. Dominic’s first love. I didn’t expect that even after all these years, even after getting married, he still hasn’t forgotten me. I saw his tattoo today… my nickname, still there. He kept our old photos too. And the letters… The diaries he wrote just for me. He still calls my name in his sleep, did you know? I guess first love never really goes away.”
My chest tightened until I could barely breathe. My fingers hovered over the screen for a long time before I typed back:
“What do you want from me?”
A minute passed. Then another.
Finally, she replied.
“Nothing. I just want back what’s mine. He’s about to wake up. Want to bet that if I tell him I had a nightmare, he’ll stay with me for five days straight? He won’t even text you.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t need to.
Ten minutes later, Dominic’s message arrived.
“Baby, something came up. I’ll be on a business trip for a few days. Call my secretary if you need anything. Take care of yourself and the baby.”
My vision blurred. I started laughing, the kind of laugh that hurt your ribs. My tears fell anyway, hot and soundless.
He really was that predictable.
….
For the next five days, he vanished. No calls, no texts, nothing.
But Loriana didn’t disappear.
She sent photos every day.
One of them was walking barefoot on the beach. Another sitting by a campfire in the mountains.
Another with their hands linked, driving through open fields.
“These were our old spots,” she wrote. “He still remembers them.”
I scrolled through every picture.
He’d taken me to those same places too. Back then, I thought he was building new memories with me. Turns out, I’d just been a body to fill an empty frame.
By the fifth night, I started packing.
All the jewelry he bought me. All the dresses he chose. All the shoes, the handbags, the perfume he said smelled like “his girl.”
Box after box, I sealed them up and pushed them into the storage room. I didn’t even cry this time. When he finally came home, his suitcase hit the floor with a soft thud. He looked around, confused.
“Baby? What are you doing? Why’s the closet half-empty?”
I didn’t look up. “Just getting rid of stuff I don’t need.”
He chuckled a little, like I was being dramatic again, then reached into his bag. “Look what I found for you.”
He handed me a box of art books. The same limited-edition ones I mentioned a month ago. He’d remembered, of course. He always remembered the small things. The big ones? Never.
“Baby,” he said softly, wrapping his arms around me. His hand went to my stomach, automatically. “How’s the baby doing? Tomorrow’s your checkup. I’ll come with you, okay?”
I stepped out of his hold. “No need. You don’t have to anymore.”
His voice dropped, confused. “What do you mean? Are you feeling sick?”
One of the maids spoke up from behind us. “Sir, Miss Rosie hasn’t been eating much these past few days.”
He immediately loosened his tie. “I’ll cook. You’ll eat, alright? Just a little. I’ll make your favorites.”
He said it like I was a child. Like if he was gentle enough, I’d forget the bruises his indifference left on me.
He turned to the maids before leaving. “Watch her. Make sure she doesn’t bump into anything.”
The maids giggled when he walked out.
“He’s so caring.”
“She’s so lucky. That’s the kind of husband every woman wants.”
I stood there, staring at the door he’d walked through, feeling something hollow inside me twist and curl. Once, I believed I was lucky too. I thought I’d found someone who would never hurt me.
Now I understand.
I was just the shadow he loved because she wasn’t there.
The doorbell rang the moment Dominic’s car disappeared down the street. I thought maybe he’d forgotten something, so I wiped my eyes, forced myself to stand straight, and went to open it.
But it wasn’t him.
It was her.
A woman stood there, tall, graceful, holding a fancy pastry box with a pink ribbon tied around it.
“Hi,” she said, tilting her head a little. “I’m Loriana. We’ve been talking.”
Her name hit me like a punch, but I didn’t say anything. My mouth just went dry.
She kept smiling, though her eyes were full of amusement. “Dominic’s been so kind to me lately. I wanted to make him something special to say thank you. Since I’m already here, you won’t shut the door on me, right? You’re not that kind of wife.”
Before I could even breathe out a word, she brushed past me and walked right in, her heels clicking on the marble floor like she owned the place.
“Wow,” she said, looking around. “It hasn’t changed much. I almost forgot how beautiful this house was.”
Her perfume spread through the air… something soft and floral, the kind that lingered long after she left. My hands were trembling so hard I had to hide them behind my back.
She wandered through the hall like she was taking a trip down memory lane. When she stepped into the garden, her face lit up. “These orchids. I can’t believe he’s still growing them. They’re my favorite.”
My throat burned. I remembered Dominic misting those orchids every morning, trimming their roots with surgical care. I used to think it was his way of finding peace before work.
He never told me they were her favorite.
We moved toward the veranda, where the wind chimes danced in the breeze.
Loriana smiled, tilting her head. “Still hanging here. I remember the day we bought them in Kyoto. He said the sound reminded him of me.” She looked at me then, “Don’t you just love how sentimental he can be?”
The sound that once calmed me now scraped against my heart. Every evening, Dominic would open the windows to let the wind move through them. I used to think he liked the sound. Now I knew he was listening for her.
In the living room, her fingers drifted across the piano. “Oh, he kept this too. I used to play every night after dinner. He hated it at first… said it distracted him from work. But after a while, he’d just sit there, listening.”
Her smile deepened. “Does he still do that? Sit here while you play?”
I said nothing. I couldn’t.
She strolled toward the shelf, tracing the spine of an old vinyl record. “My favorite album,” she murmured. “He used to say it was too melancholic. Funny how men pretend to forget what they can’t let go of.”
I followed her quietly, every word of hers slicing through me. My home didn’t feel like mine anymore. Every corner, every sound, every detail? It all belonged to her first.
Then she went to the bedroom.
She opened the wardrobe and let her fingers graze the neatly folded shirts. “He’s still using the linen ones. I bought those for him in Florence. He swore he’d never wear anything that soft, but look at him now.” She glanced at me over her shoulder, her smile sweet as honey. “You must take good care of them. He likes his things kept just the way I left them.”
My chest ached so badly I thought I might shatter. I’d ironed those same shirts, thinking I was building a life with him. But all I’d really been doing was preserving a ghost.
Loriana turned, her eyes glinting with that perfect blend of nostalgia and pity. “You’ve done well, really,” she said softly. “Not every woman could live surrounded by someone else’s memories.”
I couldn’t speak. The silence pressed down like a confession I hadn’t meant to make.
Then she stopped in front of the wall where our wedding photos hung. Her expression softened, and she let out a quiet laugh.
“How funny,” she murmured. “Dominic and I used to talk about doing three photoshoots; desert, ocean, and forest. We never got to finish them before I left. Looks like you two made my dreams come true.”
I froze. My stomach twisted.
Those exact themes… he’d chosen them himself. I’d thought he was romantic, creative. Turns out, he was just finishing what she started.
My vision blurred for a moment. Then a voice cut through the air, sharp and cold.
“What are you doing here?”
Dominic stood by the doorway, his face hard, eyes darting between us.
Loriana turned slowly, her whole demeanor changing. The challenge in her eyes disappeared, replaced by a soft, startled look. “Oh, Dominic,” she said sweetly, holding up the pastry box. “I made these for you. I stopped by to drop them off, and your lovely wife invited me in. She’s been so kind… she even said I should stay for dinner.”
My jaw tightened. Dinner, huh? She was lying through her perfect teeth.
Dominic’s glare softened a little when he looked at her. “Loriana’s just my neighbor’s niece,” he said, turning toward me. “We grew up together, that’s all. Like family. She went abroad for a while, that’s why you haven’t met her.”
I stared at him. In a calm way he said it. At the ease in his voice when he spoke her name.
He didn’t even notice that my hands were shaking.
He didn’t even notice how broken I looked.
He just kept smiling… like there was nothing wrong at all.
Neighbor’s niece? Wow.
Loriana smiled sweetly, the kind of smile that made your stomach twist because you knew it wasn’t real. “Oh yes. Dominic’s always looked after me. He used to cook for me when I was young. I was such a picky eater. He learned all my favorites! Sweet and sour ribs, steamed sea bass, braised meatballs…” She giggled, “I used to tease him that he’d make a great husband one day.”
My nails dug into my palms so hard.
Those were the dishes he cooked for me every weekend. He told me he learned them because I liked them. I’d believed him. I thought it was love.
I couldn’t stand there for another second. I mumbled something about feeling dizzy and went upstairs before my face gave everything away.
A few minutes later, there was a knock on my door.
Loriana again. Of course.
She came in holding a steaming bowl, smiling that same gentle, fake smile. “Dominic made this for you,” she said softly. “He told me to bring it up. It’s a tonic for your pregnancy. You should drink it while it’s still warm.”
The smell hit me before she even handed it over: bitter, sharp, heavy. I felt my stomach turn.
“Thanks, I don’t wanna drink it. Give that back to him.”
But she just tilted her head, looking around my room like she owned it. “You two didn’t pick any baby names yet, did you?” she asked, pretending to sound curious. “It’s funny… Dominic and I once came up with names for our future kids. Dom for a boy, Loralie for a girl. Cute, right?”
My hand trembled.
Those were the exact names Dominic said when we talked about our baby. The same ones. He’d even smiled when he said them, like he’d just thought of something special.
Now I realized he hadn’t.
Nothing was ever really ours. Not even our unborn child. Just another leftover from her.
My heart felt like it was splitting open. I couldn’t breathe.
Then suddenly, the bowl slipped from Loriana’s hands and she gasped dramatically. “Oh no!” she pretended to panic when the hot liquid splashed across my arm and chest going down to my stomach. The pain shot through me so fast I screamed.
“Ahh!”
“Careful!” she said quickly, reaching for me with that fake worried face. “I didn’t mean to! I’m so clumsy—are you okay?”
The skin on my arm was already turning red, the blisters rising. I could barely hear her through the pain. My breath came in short gasps as I turned and stumbled toward the stairs, desperate to get to the bathroom, to the ointment or anything to stop the burning.
But before I could reach the first step, something hit me hard from behind.
I didn’t even have time to scream properly. Just one sharp sound when my body went flying forward.
Everything blurred.
Then pain. Crashing. My body hit each step before landing flat on the cold floor.
For a moment, I couldn’t move. I just saw red spreading on the carpet under me. It took me a few seconds to realize it was blood. My blood.
Then Loriana’s scream filled the house. “Rosie!”
I heard her footsteps, light, calculated. She threw herself down the stairs too, landing beside me like she was part of the tragedy.
In the kitchen, I heard Dominic shout, the fridge door slamming. He came running. I saw him freeze when he saw us.
“Lory!” He rushed straight to her. Not me. Her.
He grabbed her, checking her ankle, his hands shaking. “Where does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts?!”
“I’m… I’m fine,” she said weakly, playing her part so well. “Please… check on Rosie.”
He didn’t move. He just looked at me like he’d only now noticed there was someone else on the floor.
And then Loriana went limp in his arms.
“Lory!” he shouted. Panic in his voice. Real panic.
He picked her up like she was made of glass and ran out the door, calling for the driver. He didn’t even look back.
Didn’t even see the blood still dripping from me.
I lay there, the world spinning, and the last thing I saw before everything went dark was the fridge door, still open and inside, a small white box. I smiled bitterly.
….
When I woke up, everything was bright and cold. White walls. The sound of machines.
A doctor was standing over me, checking something on a clipboard.
Dominic was there too, standing by the bed. He spoke first. “How’s the baby?” His voice shook just a little.
The doctor blinked, confused. “The baby?” He looked up, his eyes flicking between us. “Mr. Faviano… the pregnancy was already termi—”
“W-water… water.”
The moment I woke up, my throat was dry and my chest felt like someone had dropped a stone inside it.
“Rosie!”
Dominic was at my side in seconds, “Rosie, baby, you’re awake? Does it hurt anywhere? Tell me, please.”
I just stared at him. My lips moved, but no sound came out. Then I shook my head, slow and weak.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the doctor stiffen. He looked like he wanted to say something but didn’t dare. I knew why.
Dominic turned to him, still holding my hand, “Doctor, what were you saying earlier? I didn’t quite hear it.”
The doctor hesitated. His mouth opened, but I gave him a tiny shake of my head. Please. Don’t.
He pressed his lips together, exhaled quietly, and said, “The patient needs rest. No more stress for now.” Then he walked out and left us alone.
The room went silent. Only the sound of the air conditioner filled the space.
Dominic looked at me, his eyes soft, almost breaking. He reached for my cheek. I turned away.
He froze for a second, then his tone changed to gentler, “Hey, I know you’re mad at me. I get it. I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve noticed you fell too.” He took a deep breath, like he was struggling to hold himself together. “But thank God, you and the baby are both okay. I swear, Rosie, if anything happened to you two, I’d never forgive myself.”
I didn’t say a word.
He kept going, his voice shaking just enough to sound convincing. “Please don’t stay mad at me. I’ll do better, I promise. You mean everything to me.”
It sounded real. It always did. His words were soft, his eyes were full of guilt, his hands trembled like he was hurting too. Anyone else would’ve believed him.
But I didn’t.
Because I could still hear the echo of him calling her name first. Because I still remembered how he ran out carrying her while I bled on the floor.
“I’m tired,” I whispered, pulling my hand out of his.
I closed my eyes and turned my head away. I couldn’t keep pretending.
…..
FOR THE NEXT few days, he didn’t leave my side. He played the role perfectly.
He brought soup every morning, holding the spoon to my lips as if he was afraid I’d break. He followed me to every checkup, asking questions, nodding like a dutiful husband. When I shifted in my sleep, he was instantly awake, asking if I needed water, or another pillow, or his hand to hold.
Even the nurses started whispering. “You’re so lucky,” one said once when she thought I couldn’t hear. “Your husband really loves you.”
If only she knew.
I’d sit by the window sometimes, watching people walk outside… people who didn’t have to pretend. Dominic thought I was quiet because of hormones, so he got even sweeter. Always smiling. Always careful. Always pretending we were perfect.
When I was finally cleared to leave, he told me he had a surprise planned. His eyes lit up like he couldn’t wait to see me happy again.
But I didn’t feel anything. Just this cold, heavy emptiness in my chest.
I’d already lost everything that could be surprising.
….
He booked out an entire floor of the fanciest restaurant in the city just for me. No noise, no strangers but just us and a table full of food I couldn’t taste. He smiled the whole time, pouring my drink, cutting my steak, like we were the picture of some perfect marriage.
After dinner, he took me through one boutique after another, swiping his card every time my eyes lingered on something for more than a second. Shoes, bags, dresses… it didn’t matter. “Whatever you want, baby,” he kept saying.
By the time night fell, we were standing by the river. Fireworks shot up into the sky, bursting into shapes and letters. Bright red sparks spelled out I LOVE YOU. It should’ve been breathtaking. It should’ve felt like a dream.
“Do you like it?” he whispered against my hair, wrapping his arms tight around me from behind. “I planned everything. Just for you.”
I stared at the colors blazing in the dark. For a second, I almost slipped back into the past—the early days, when his love felt so big it filled every room, when I thought I was the happiest woman alive. But then my hand drifted to my belly, flat and empty, and it all cracked apart.
He felt me stiffen. His arms loosened. “Rosie… what’s wrong?” He turned me around, holding my face, “You’ve been so quiet lately. I’m scared for you.”
His thumb brushed my cheek, “Maybe you should see someone. A therapist. Pregnancy depression happens, you know. You don’t have to handle it alone. Tell me what’s on your mind. I’ll listen.”
I stared into those warm, lying eyes. Eyes that had carried another woman’s name while looking at me. “If I tell you something… will you be honest with me? Completely honest?”
He blinked, then smiled that soft, practiced smile. “Of course, baby. You’re my wife. We don’t keep secrets from each other.”
I took a slow breath, feeling my fingers curl into fists at my sides. “I heard about someone,” I said quietly. “A woman you loved before me. A woman you never really let go of.”
My eyes locked onto his. “Have you let her go now?”
He froze. Didn’t even breathe. And in that pause, I already knew the answer.
His hand went stiff, the veins in his knuckles showing white. But in the next breath, he forced a soft smile, pretending calm like nothing had happened.
“Of course I’ve moved on,” he said smoothly. “That was years ago. We broke up and never spoke again. She’s part of my past now.”
My throat went dry. He said it so easily… no pause, no flicker of guilt. Just another lie dressed up like the truth.
When he reached out to touch my cheek, I turned my head away. It was automatic, but it made something dark flash across his face.
“Who told you that? Is that what’s been bothering you?”
I opened my mouth, trying to decide whether to tell him but his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and for a moment, something unreadable crossed his eyes. Then he answered.
“Dominic!” A woman’s voice burst through the speaker, trembling and breathless. “Please help me… I think someone’s following me. I’m so scared!”
Loriana.
His whole body went tense. “Send me your location.”
He hung up and grabbed his jacket. Didn’t even look at me.
“Baby, there’s something urgent at work. Go home first, alright?”
The door slammed behind him.
I didn’t go home.
Something in my chest burned—rage, heartbreak, maybe just that quiet knowing that I’d been a fool for too long. I called a cab and told the driver to follow him.
He stopped in an alley. From the shadows, I saw him. Dominic was standing in front of Loriana like a shield, facing a group of men holding metal rods.
She clung to him, pretending to cry, but I could see it, how she watched him through her tears, how not one of them touched her.
Dominic fought like he wasn’t even human… every punch was wild, desperate, like he’d die before letting anyone near her. I’d never seen him like that. Not once for me.
Then one of the men pulled out a knife. He charged toward her.
“Lory!” Dominic shouted, and without a second thought, he threw himself in front of her.
The knife plunged into his chest.
Blood spread fast across his shirt, bright against the white. Loriana screamed like she was the one stabbed.
“Dominic! No, please!” she sobbed, holding his face, crying so hard it almost looked real.
He tried to smile, weak and shaking. “Don’t cry… I promised I’d protect you. I’ll keep that promise…”
I stood there, frozen at the mouth of the alley, my hands trembling. It felt like someone had ripped out my heart and left me hollow.
…..
Outside the operating room, Loriana cried so hard she could barely talk. “He’s always like this,” she told anyone who’d listen. “Once, he risked his life in a car race just to win me a necklace. When I was in an accident, he gave so much blood he passed out…”
I leaned against the cold wall, listening in silence.
And suddenly, the memory came back.
That night months ago. The empty street. The sound of footsteps behind me that wouldn’t stop.
A man’s shadow followed me from the train station, closer and closer until I could hear his breathing. I’d called Dominic, terrified, my voice breaking.
“Dom, someone’s following me. Please—”
He’d cut me off with a sigh. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I’m really busy right now. Stay calm, okay? I’ll send some cops to your location.”
The line had gone dead before I could say another word. The stalker had grabbed my wrist and tried to drag me toward the alley. His hand reeked of sweat and cigarettes. I still remember how my throat burned from screaming.
And then by sheer luck a stranger passed by.
Tall, broad-shouldered, built like a wall.
The stalker took one look at him and bolted into the dark.
That night, I walked home alone, shaking. Dominic never called back. Never even asked what happened.
So that’s what his love looked like… wild, selfless, burning. The kind of love I begged for and never got.
A nurse came out, her scrubs stained with blood. “The knife missed his heart by just a millimeter,” she said. “Is Miss Lory here? We need a family member’s signature.”
Loriana’s tears sparkled like pearls under the light. “Oh… I’m not family. His wife is right there.”
The nurse turned to me, startled. “But… the patient kept calling for someone named ‘Lory.’ And when he was conscious earlier, he… he said he wanted to leave all his assets to Miss Loriana. His wife.”
Her words trailed off when she realized what she’d said.
I gave her a small, tired smile. “It’s fine,” I said quietly, taking the clipboard and signing the papers. My hands didn’t even shake.
When I turned to leave, Loriana’s voice followed me, soft and trembling, perfectly rehearsed. “Rosie! How can you walk away like that? Don’t you love him? He’s fighting for his life in there!”
I stopped at the doorway, the smell of antiseptic thick in the air.
“Don’t I love him?” I repeated, my voice calm but cold enough to cut. “You think love means waiting outside an operating room to prove something?”
She blinked, uncertain now. “You’re his wife. You should—”
“Am I?” I interrupted. The words made her flinch.
She tried to recover, dabbing her eyes with trembling fingers. “Of course you are. Legally, yes, but you can’t just—”
I stepped closer, close enough to see her reflection tremble in my eyes.
“Legally?” I echoed with a faint smile. “Then maybe from now on, you can have that title too. Consider it a gift.”
She froze. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I’m tired of holding on to something that doesn’t want to be held,” I said. “You already have his love, his loyalty, his name whispered on his dying breath. Why not take the paperwork too?”
Her face paled, her mouth opening and closing like she couldn’t believe I wasn’t screaming or sobbing.
“You can’t mean that. You’re angry, that’s all—”
“Anger fades,” I said softly. “But disgust stays. And right now, I can’t stand the thought of being his wife when all he ever wanted was you.”
Her tears stilled. Even she couldn’t cry through that.
“So congratulations, Loriana. From this moment on, you can have the title, the pity, and the man who bleeds for you. Be his wife. Be his everything. Just remember… you earned it in blood.”
Her hand flew to her mouth, eyes brimming again. “Rosie…”
But I was already walking away.
“I hope he survives,” I said without turning back. “Not for me. For you. Because I’d hate for you to lose your prize before the ink even dries.”
The door closed behind me with a soft click.
And that was the moment I knew… whatever love I’d had for Dominic died on that operating table long before he did.
When I got home, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just sat on the floor with a stack of papers and started sorting through our things.
Bank cards. Jewelry. Property papers. All of it.
I lined them up neatly on the table, as if I were doing an inventory after a long, foolish dream that had finally ended. Every swipe, every gift, every lie—here they were. Proof of how much I gave and how little it meant.
….
Two weeks later, he came back.
Dominic looked perfect, as always. Clean suit, sharp tie, the faint trace of hospital disinfectant still clinging to him. It didn’t make him human… it made him polished again, restored, untouchable.
“Baby,” he said softly, stepping inside as though nothing had happened. “I’ve been so busy at work. I missed you.”
He tried to hug me. I stepped back.
He didn’t mention the hospital. He thought if he smiled the same way, if he kept his voice tender and routine, I’d keep pretending I didn’t know. But I’d seen everything. I’d seen him shield her. I’d seen him bleed for her.
He never bled for me.
“Where were you?” I asked finally, my voice low.
He blinked, then exhaled deeply, “My father,” he began. “He got into an accident two towns away. I drove there the moment I heard. It was bad, Rosie. I spent the first week night at the hospital, the next managing things with his doctors and lawyers. I didn’t want to worry you.”
His tone was careful, deliberate, each word dripping with practiced exhaustion. “I wanted to call, but everything was chaos. I barely slept. I kept thinking about you, though. About how I’d make it up to you once I got home.”
I said nothing. His story was airtight, polished smooth by guilt and preparation.
“Rosie,” he murmured, reaching for me. “I’m sorry. You know how much my family means to me. I thought you’d understand.”
“I do,” I said. “Completely.”
He smiled faintly, relieved. He didn’t see the way my hands curled into fists.
“How’s the baby?” he asked suddenly, his gaze flicking to my stomach as if remembering I existed. “You been taking your medicine? Your belly’s still small.”
He reached for me again. I took another step back.
“Don’t touch me,” I said quietly. “I don’t feel well.”
He frowned, calling for the maid, his concern mechanical, dutiful, practiced. When he found out I hadn’t been taking the prenatal medicine, he went straight to the kitchen, performing his role again.
“Come on, baby,” he said when he returned, holding a steaming bowl. “You need this. It’s good for you. You don’t want to suffer later, right?”
I stared at it. The smell turned my stomach. But I didn’t speak. I didn’t have the strength to argue.
The doorbell rang before he could press further. A few of his friends came in, faces drawn and tense. He handed me the bowl, told me to rest, and disappeared into the study with them.
….
As soon as the door closed, I poured the medicine down the sink. The black liquid swirled away, like everything else between us.
Then I heard voices.
“Dominic, Loriana’s in trouble,” one of them said. “Her family’s forcing her to marry someone else. The wedding’s in two days.”
There was a crash probably a cup hitting the wall. Then silence.
And then his voice, “I won’t let that happen!”
Someone laughed, nervous. “What are you saying, man? You’re going to stop the wedding?”
“She’s your ex. You have a wife. A baby coming.”
“You’re gonna ruin yourself for her?”
“What about Rosie?”
“What about your kid?”
Their voices tangled together, all confusion and disbelief.
Then his voice cut through, colder this time. “I’ll handle it. She won’t find out.”
A pause.
“And if she does?” someone asked.
“So what if she does?” he said, almost amused. “She loves me too much to ever leave.”
Outside the door, I couldn’t move.
I thought it would break me. But it didn’t.
It just… emptied me.
My chest felt heavy, but the pain was gone.
Like a fire that finally burned itself out.
….
The next few days, Dominic got even busier.
He left before sunrise, came home when the sky was already turning pale, and spent most nights locked up in his study. The light under that door never went off.
He thought I didn’t notice. But I knew.
He was planning his grand rescue to Loriana’s wedding. His little fairytale.
That morning, I woke up early and went to the lawyer’s office. The air smelled like rain, but I felt nothing.
By the time I got home, the divorce certificate was already inside my bag. I didn’t take a single cent, just my things. I didn’t want his money, his pity, or his name.
When I stepped into the house, he was standing in front of the mirror, fixing his tie.
A new navy suit. Silver cufflinks. He looked perfect. Like he was going to war for love.
“Hey,” he said with that fake warm smile. “You’re up early. You should rest. I’ve got something important to handle today.”
He turned, brushed his hand over my stomach like it was routine. “Be good, okay? Don’t make Mommy upset, or Daddy will get angry.”
The way he said it? It used to melt me. Now it made my stomach twist.
He still didn’t notice.
He still didn’t know there was no baby anymore.
I held the divorce certificate tight in my hand. “Dominic,” I said quietly, “I have something to tell you.”
He frowned, already half checking his watch. “Can we talk later? I’m really in a rush.”
“So busy you can’t give me five minutes?”
His jaw clenched. “It’s important, Rosie. Please. Tonight, okay?”
“More important than me?” I asked.
His answer came fast. “Yes. MORE IMPORTANT THAN MY LIFE.”
I smiled at that. It wasn’t anger I felt. Just a kind of hollow calm. Like when you’ve been crying for too long and your body forgets how to feel.
“Then go,” I said softly. “Don’t be late.”
He looked at me like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He just kissed my forehead and walked out the door.
When the sound of his car disappeared, I went into the kitchen. The fridge light flickered as I opened it.
Inside was a small white box. The same one that had been there for weeks.
I took it out, placed it on the coffee table, and opened it.
Inside, floating quietly in the liquid, was what used to be our baby. Five months old. So tiny. So still. Like it was just sleeping.
I stared at it for a long time before placing the divorce certificate beside the box.
That was our ending. Clean. Cold. Silent.
I dragged my suitcase to the door and left without looking back.
….
The airport was full of people, noise, movement but everything felt far away. Just before the plane took off, my phone buzzed. A message from him.
Baby, your medicine’s still warm in the kitchen. I’ll be home soon. Wait for me, okay?
I stared at it for a long while. Then I laughed a little. Quiet. Empty.
Dominic…
“You’ll never understand how much I begged for you to see me. And now, I don’t need you to.”
I deleted the message. Then our photos. Then every chat, every call. Everything.
As the plane rose higher, I felt it… a small, faint click inside my chest.
Something breaking.
Something is finally ending. And with it, whatever love I had left for him disappeared too.
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