Chosen Love, Shattered Vows

Her sudden interrogation left me speechless for a moment.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t called her last night, but she didn’t spare even a single word of concern.

Bitterness rose sharply in my throat.

I explained weakly, "I ate something spicy last night, and my stomach condition flared up. I was at the hospital getting an IV."

She went silent for three seconds. "You’ve been hooked up all night. It should be finished by now. Come home."

I looked up at the IV bag, which was still a third full. "Yeah. I’m heading back."

After ending the call, I pulled out the needle and left the hospital.

The moment I stepped inside the house, I saw Lauren leaning against the sofa with a gift box beside her.

My gaze slid past it and landed on her. "Why did you come back?"

If this were before, I would’ve wished she came home every day. I would’ve wanted nothing more than to cling to her endlessly, but now I asked the opposite.

Lauren felt a flash of displeasure, though something else quickly overshadowed it.

"I want your creamy seafood chowder. Make it and pack a serving for me."

A quiet suspicion stirred inside me. This wasn’t something she wanted. This was something Ian wanted.

I had once stumbled across Ian’s Instagram, where he shared what he ate every day. Among those posts was creamy seafood chowder, the same one I always made for Lauren to take to work.

As I walked into the kitchen, I pretended to speak casually. "Creamy seafood chowder, huh? That reminds me of something interesting.

"One of my patients the other day almost miscarried because she accidentally ate too much leftover shellfish her mother-in-law brought home from a restaurant. Pregnant women should be careful about shellfish contamination.

"Despite all that, the mother-in-law still blamed the restaurant’s chef. Isn’t that funny? Fortunately, the baby made it."

I glanced back at Lauren and saw her face instantly drain of color. That confirmed everything I had suspected.

I thought I had gone numb, but pain still surged through my chest in sharp waves, and my eyes turned hot with an ache I couldn’t swallow.

I turned away, steadied myself, and forced my voice back to neutral as I rinsed the ingredients.

Behind me, Lauren’s cold voice cut through the air. "Don’t bother cooking. I don’t want it anymore. That gift on the table is for you. And you’re coming with me to a luncheon meeting at noon."

With that, she turned and walked out.

I set down what I was holding, my eyes drifting toward the gift box as a faint, self-mocking smile pulled at my lips.

She didn’t remember that I couldn’t eat spicy food. How would she possibly remember that I didn’t even like wearing watches?