If I Can't Make You Stay

"Cammy, you know perfectly well that Rita has depression. Why would you provoke her? If anything happens to her, I will never forgive you! Take this as a lesson. From now on, stay away from her."

With that, Quentin carried Rita into the Jeep and drove off.

In the end, it was a kind stranger—unable to stand the sight—who brought me to the hospital.

The doctor told me I had miscarried.

Lying on the hospital bed, I kept replaying the moment Quentin walked away. My vision blurred with tears.

I made myself a promise then, that from that day onward, I would never go near either of them again.

I was setting him free.

…

The memory ended abruptly.

Quentin acted as if he didn't see how pale I was, reminding me coolly, "If there's nothing else, go back. As a military officer's wife, you should know better than to waste medical resources."

I nodded. "Alright."

He continued, "I'll be with Rita for the next few days. Don't come looking for me unless it's something important."

I nodded again. "Alright."

Maybe my indifference caught him off guard, because he seemed momentarily stunned. He let go of Rita's arm and stepped toward me.

"Your… body is okay, right? When Rita stabilizes a bit, I'll go with you for a proper prenatal exam."

I murmured an acknowledgment, pretending not to notice the jealousy burning in Rita's eyes.

As I passed them, a faint scent drifted from him—sweet osmanthus. It was the hair oil Rita always used.

He must've held her often these days; otherwise, how could her scent seep so deep into his clothes?

When I got home, Clarice Olson from next door happened to be heading out. She froze when she saw my pale face.

"Oh heavens, Cammy, why do you look so pale? Did something happen?"

I forced a smile, but my eyes reddened on their own.

So my face was that terrible. So other people could see something was wrong with me.

Then why couldn't Quentin?

Seven days, and not even one single word of concern…

That would've been enough.

Seeing I didn't want to talk, Clarice didn't press. She simply helped me inside and eased me onto a chair.

That night, she brought over a large bowl of chicken soup.

"Cammy, your health has always been weak, and now you're pregnant. You need to nourish yourself."

Her husband was a soldier too, but they had many children and lived on a tight allowance. Most months, she traded eggs just to get daily necessities and help ease the burden at home.

After thanking her, I sat at the table for a long time, lost in thought.

I couldn't understand. Why could even a neighbor show me this much care, while my own husband abandoned me again and again?

This marriage of mine was laughable.

With a sigh, I lifted the bowl carefully to my lips.

Just as I was about to take the first sip, the courtyard gate swung open.

"Cammy, I'm back."

Quentin walked in carrying a few sets of clean clothes.

I looked at him, puzzled.

"Why are you back? Aren't you supposed to be with Rita?"

He set the clothes down and replied casually, "The doctor said her condition isn't serious, but I'm still worried. I told her to stay a few more days in the hospital. So I came back to get some things."

I responded with a quiet hum, though my mind drifted to what he had said earlier that day, "If there's nothing wrong, go back. Don't waste medical resources."

So long as it was about Rita, everything—everything—became different.

Maybe my heart really had died a little. I didn't even have the strength to argue anymore.

Lowering my gaze, I lifted the bowl again.

Just as I was about to drink, Quentin suddenly spoke.