Fifth Time, Final Goodbye

"Nothing." Claire shoved the paper into her pocket and kept walking, refusing to glance back.

Behind her, Finley called out, "You've got a checkup in a few days, right? Once I deal with Renee, I'll come with you to the hospital."

Her steps faltered, tears slipping down despite her best effort to hold it together.

"We'll see," she said, turning to face him. "But, Finley? Your five chances are up."

"What?" He frowned. "Claire, come on. That was a joke. I never took it seriously—neither should you. Once Renee's hand heals, I'll come back to you. To the baby."

A flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes, but it wasn't enough to stop him from turning back to Renee, guiding her carefully as they left.

Claire watched him go, her heart hollow but her mind resolute. 'That's it, Finley. Your five chances are gone. You'll never get another one.'

Downstairs, she went to pay the hospital bill. While waiting in line, dizziness hit her like a wave, and she stumbled.

A nurse rushed over. "Miss, you look pale. Why are you handling this alone? Where's your husband? Here, let me help you."

"Thanks."

The nurse's kindness was a tiny spark in the icy weight pressing on her chest. A stranger noticed her struggle, yet Finley? His eyes were glued to Renee, blind to everything else.

Claire spent three days in the hospital. Not a single call from Finley.

She doubted he'd even gone home.

"Claire, I'm here to check if you're ready for discharge," the doctor said, walking in with a small group. They examined her while chatting amongst themselves.

"Did you hear? Renee Slutsky, the big celebrity, was here. Burned her hand, I think."

"Just a minor burn. She didn't even need to stay. She left earlier today."

"Who was that guy with her? He's gorgeous! Is he her boyfriend?"

"Not sure, but he treated her like she was the only person on the planet. Lucky girl."

...

Every word hit Claire like a gut punch. Unreal. She was Finley's wife, and he'd spent three days in the same hospital glued to someone else.

"Ms. Carlson, you're all set to go. Is anyone picking you up?"

The doctor's voice was careful, curious. No one had visited her. She'd been completely alone.

"No one." Claire got out of bed, packing her things without a glance at the group.

"Some people really have it tough," one of them muttered as they left.

When Claire got home, the smell of pumpkin soup greeted her. In the kitchen, Finley stood wearing an apron, stirring the pot.

In three years of marriage, she'd never seen him cook. For a second, she wondered if he was trying.

But the moment he saw her, he didn't even let her settle in.

"Why are you just now getting back? You're four or five months pregnant—why are you running around? Can't you just stay home and rest?"

Claire froze, biting back the urge to snap. She wasn't even three months along. Did he even know that?

She let it go. She was too tired for another fight. She turned toward the stairs, all she wanted was to sleep.

Before she reached them, a bright, chirpy voice called out.

"Finley, is the soup ready? I'm starving!"

Claire's eyes narrowed. 'He brought her home.'

"Almost done, little foodie. Come eat," Finley said, setting a bowl of pumpkin soup on the table.

He slid another bowl toward Claire.

"You should eat too," he added.

Claire didn't move. "Why is she here?"

Renee turned to her, all fake sweetness. "Claire, my house is being renovated, and I had nowhere else to go. Finley was kind enough to let me stay. You don't mind, do you?"

Finley waved it off. "Don't worry about it. This is my house, not hers. I don't need her permission."