After He Let Me Catch a Fever, I Walked Away

My boyfriend seemed to hold a grudge, wanting to teach me a lesson. Even as I lay there sick, he waited for me to admit I was wrong. That night, my fever shot up to 104 degrees, leaving me utterly miserable. Yet, I overheard him on the phone with a friend. "I did it on purpose. I wanted to teach her a lesson." "She's an adult and still can't look after herself." "There are millions of people in this city caught in the rain; did they all call their boyfriends for help?" I bit my lip as tears streamed down my face, questioning whether he was right. I resolved not to bother him anymore. But there he was, trailing behind me, his demeanor softening. "Could you... just be sweet to me once more?" On my way to work, the skies opened up, and I got caught in a downpour.

Chapters

Chapter 1

On my way to work, the skies opened up, and I got caught in a downpour. Despite having an umbrella, I ended up thoroughly drenched. To top it off, it was also the first day of my period, leaving me at my weakest. When I reached the office, I tried drying myself off while calling my boyfriend. "Otto, could you bring me a change of clothes? I'm soaked and freezing." It would take him about twenty minutes to get to my office. Otto had the day off, so he should have had the time. But his response was calm and detached. "Why didn't you check the weather and bring an umbrella?" "Can't you borrow some clothes from a colleague?" "Ever thought about the fact that I'd get wet too and might catch a cold?" "I had plans for today. Going out would ruin everything." Though there was a trace of concern in his tone, it was mostly criticism.

I turned on my computer, its screen glaring at me and making my eyes water more. I had a mountain of work to handle and no time to argue with Otto. I did have an umbrella, but the fierce winds rendered it useless. I interrupted him, softly pleading, "How about this, can you pack my clothes, and I'll send someone to pick them up?" Despite the terrible weather, there should be someone willing to make the delivery. Otto sighed and said, "I'll bring them myself. I'm just finishing up my morning routine. I'll head over when the rain lets up." With that reassurance, I tried to dry my clothes and hair as much as possible. The spring weather here is damp, making it hard to dry clothes. I hid in the bathroom with a hand dryer for ages but only managed to get them half-dry. Sipping hot coffee, I still shivered with cold, each minute dragging on endlessly.

I estimated that since I called Otto at half-past eight, he'd be here soon. But as the minutes ticked by, there was still no message from him. The torrential rain outside had long stopped. It had been two hours since I'd called Otto. Unable to wait any longer, I phoned him again to ask when he was coming. "I'm on the verge of getting sick. On the first day of my period, catching a chill means terrible cramps." He said he was on his way, just after finishing breakfast. Otto knew how cold I was, knew the intense pain that would leave me writhing. Yet, he spent several hours making breakfast instead? Without thinking, I blurted out, "Breakfast that takes two hours? Didn't I tell you I'm cold? I'm soaked through." My words hung in the silence. Otto always paused before speaking when he was annoyed. Sure enough, after a few seconds, he calmly said, "Yasmin, you can't be so selfish. Just because you're cold doesn't mean I should skip breakfast to deliver clothes to you." His words left me speechless. He was right. My discomfort was my own problem. It had nothing to do with my boyfriend. To him, forty minutes was precious, and eating breakfast was important. At least, more important than me shivering all morning. I stood there, feeling a surge of inexplicable hurt. I wondered if I truly was being unreasonable. But when I was a kid, if it rained, my parents would bring me an umbrella and clothes. They cared about my comfort, why didn't my boyfriend? Holding back tears, I said, "I'll call for delivery then, don't worry about coming." Otto insisted I shouldn’t rush. "I'm almost done, hang in there."

It was noon when I finally saw Otto and received the dry clothes. He was my boyfriend of five years, yet at that moment, he seemed like a stranger. Otto didn't linger, leaving swiftly. Watching his retreating back, so eager to go, my throat tightened. I wasn't sure if it was because of the cold or the heartache. I took the clothes to the bathroom to change, only to bump into a coworker who exclaimed, "Yasmin, your face is really red. Are you feeling sick?" I turned to look in the mirror. Indeed, my cheeks were flushed—a clear sign of sickness. Even my coworker could see it, yet my boyfriend couldn’t. I suddenly felt a wave of disillusionment. I had always believed Otto loved me. Perhaps that was just an illusion.

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The cramping started at three in the morning, sharp and relentless, tearing through my abdomen like broken glass. By the time I stumbled into the emergency room at Mercy General, blood was already soaking through my nightgown, and the world had narrowed to a tunnel of fluorescent lights and sterile white walls. "Mrs. Richardson?" The nurse's voice seemed to come from underwater. "We need to get you into a room immediately." The next few hours blurred together in a haze of medical terms I didn't want to understand. Miscarriage. Complete. Inevitable. Each word landed like a physical blow, stealing what little breath I had left. When Dr.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.4

His Betrayal Created A Ruthless Queen

7.4

My marriage ended the way the world found out about it: on a police report that landed on my desk. I was a prosecutor who had moved back to San Francisco to save my political marriage to tech billionaire Hilton Austin. When I confronted him at the hotel, I found my husband on one knee, not proposing, but tenderly tying his influencer mistress' s shoe. That night, he abandoned me on a dark highway to rush to her side, causing me to miscarry the child I was secretly carrying. At the hospital, he publicly accused me of faking the pregnancy, slapped me, and then cut my arm with a piece of broken glass. "Now you have a reason to be in the hospital," he said coldly. The love I' d held for him since I was sixteen didn't just fade; it was murdered. He thought he had broken me, but he only created a monster. I used my family's power to have him thrown in jail. When he begged for a second chance, I brought in my childhood friend, Adrien, and delivered the final, killing blow. "The baby wasn't yours," I said, my voice like ice. "It was his."

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.9

My Husband Tampered with My Pregnancies to Protect His Mistress

8.9

The fever hit me like a wave crashing over my head. 102°F. My skin felt like it was burning from the inside out, every inch of me radiating heat that seemed to have nowhere to go. I lay in our bed—Frederick's bed, really, since he paid for everything—and tried to remember the last time I'd felt this sick. It had been months ago, after the seventh miscarriage. The doctor had called it a stress reaction, as though my body's failure to carry a child was somehow my fault. I pressed my thumb against the inside of my wrist, that small gesture I'd developed over years of learning to contain myself, and waited for the room to stop spinning. The phone rang at 2:17 AM. I knew the exact time because the digital clock on Frederick's nightstand glowed red in the darkness, numbers sharp enough to cut. My hand shook as I reached for the device, and I could hear the weakness in my own voice when I answered.

Modern Mystery Romance

8.8

Husband Loses All for Student

8.8

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed three times, its somber tones echoing through our silent house. I'd been tossing and turning for hours, the empty space beside me growing colder as the night wore on. Rowan hadn't come to bed again. I wrapped my silk robe around my shoulders and padded down the hallway toward the soft glow emanating from his study. The door was ajar, and I paused before pushing it open, my heart already knowing what I'd find. Rowan hunched over his desk, his tall frame curved like a question mark, fingers flying across his keyboard. The blue light from his computer screen cast harsh shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones and the dark circles under his eyes. Empty coffee cups littered the surface of his desk—three, no, four of them—alongside scattered papers covered in handwriting that wasn't his. "You're still up," I said softly, though it wasn't really a question. He didn't look up.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.8

Husband's Affair on Live TV

7.8

The weather alert blared from my phone for the third time today, each notification more urgent than the last. I stared at the screen, watching the hurricane warning banner scroll across the bottom of my work email. "Hurricane Eleanor strengthening rapidly... expected to make landfall in Seattle area within 24 hours... residents urged to secure property and stay indoors..." My stomach twisted into a knot. I was supposed to be in Portland for three days of meetings, but now I just wanted to be home with Nolan. "Bryan should be handling everything," I whispered to myself, trying to focus on the presentation slides in front of me. But my mind kept drifting to my eight-year-old son, probably staring out the window at the darkening sky, waiting for me to come home. I glanced at my watch. 3:15 PM.

Modern Romance

9.8

My Boyfriend’s Mistress Tried to Pay Me Off

9.8

The cake was small, a simple vanilla sponge from the bakery on the corner of 5th and 9th. I carried it like a fragile secret, the cardboard box cool against my palms. It was my twenty-fourth birthday, and for five years, I’d played the part of the struggling girlfriend in this cramped Brooklyn walkup. I’d clipped coupons, worn thrift-store sweaters, and let Scott believe our biggest luxury was a shared order of takeout Thai. I did it because I wanted to know—truly know—that I was loved for the girl who walked Biscuit in the rain, not for the girl whose last name opened doors at the Plaza. The stairs creaked under my boots. I reached our door, fumbling for my key, a smile already tugging at my lips. I imagined the lights would be off, Scott waiting with a cheap bottle of wine and that crooked grin that used to make my heart skip. The apartment was dark, but not silent. A blue glow bled out from the bedroom, casting long, sickly shadows across the scuffed hardwood of the living room.

Modern Mystery Romance

After He Let Me Catch a Fever, I Walked Away

Chapter 1

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