Look My Way

Rick Smith, Zayne’s assistant, showed up at the lab the next afternoon.

“Mrs. Ford, Mr. Ford would like to have dinner with you tonight. Season Restaurant at seven.”

Season Restaurant.

The name hit me like a stone.

That was the place I’d waited for him on our first anniversary—five hours alone, the candles melting down to nothing.

He never showed.

I hesitated, then nodded. “Tell him I’ll be there.”

That evening, the restaurant glowed with golden light.

Zayne was already seated by the window, in a charcoal suit and gold-rimmed glasses. He looked up as I walked in, smiling faintly—like everything between us had just been a misunderstanding we could smooth over with dinner.

“Wendy.”

The way he said my name still made my heart stutter.

Even now, after everything, I still reacted like a fool in love.

He stood and pulled out my chair, his manners perfect, distant.

I sat, forcing my shaking hands into my lap.

He studied me for a moment, his voice low. “Wendy, I wanted to talk to you.”

I looked up, searching his eyes. “About what?”

He hesitated. His fingers brushed his glass. “I know I’ve neglected you lately… but about Jane and me—”

The phone on the table buzzed.

Rick’s name flashed across the screen.

Zayne answered. “Rick, what is it?”

“Sir,” Rick’s voice came through, tense, “Ms. Dunn just tried to slit her wrists.”

The world stopped.

Zayne’s chair scraped back violently. “What?! Where is she?”

He didn’t look at me again.

Not once.

As he rushed toward the door, I whispered, “Zayne, just go.”

He paused, guilt flickering across his face. “I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

But promises didn’t mean anything anymore.

He left.

And the moment the door closed, my body went cold. The air felt too thin to breathe.

Then—darkness.

When I opened my eyes, the ceiling was white, the air sharp with antiseptic.

A hospital room.

Rick stood near the bed, talking to a doctor.

When the doctor saw me stir, he turned. “Mrs. Ford, you’re awake.”

My hand went instinctively to my stomach.

Would he tell them?

The doctor cleared his throat. “You’re weak, you need rest. And also, you’re preg—”

Cold sweat broke out on my back.

“Please,” I whispered quickly, “don’t tell anyone. Not even him.”

The doctor looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “Of course. It’s your choice.”

Just then, Rick’s phone rang again.

“Yes, sir,” he said and stepped out.

When he came back, his tone was brisk. “Mr. Ford has an emergency. He won’t be coming. He asked me to leave this for you.”

He placed a credit card on the side table.

“If you need anything, use that.”

Then he was gone.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The nurses whispered outside my room, their voices slicing through the quiet.

“That Ms. Dunn is so lucky—Mr. Ford comes every day.”

“He even cooks for her himself! I heard she’s carrying his heir.”

“Three months pregnant, can you imagine? He dotes on her.”

Each word was a blade.

The wife they were talking about wasn’t Jane.

It was me.

But no one knew.

Because Zayne never let them know.

Three days later, I was discharged.

The first place I went wasn’t home.

It was the courthouse.

When the clerk handed me the stamped divorce decree, my hands trembled, but I didn’t cry.

Not anymore.

Five years of silence had already dried up all my tears.

Outside the building, snow had started to fall—light, cold, endless.

I looked up, feeling one flake melt against my skin.

I opened my phone and booked a courier. The official documents would be sent to Zayne’s office.

But I set the delivery date for three days later.

By the time he received them, I’d already be gone—

thousands of miles away, where the air didn’t taste like betrayal.

I pressed a hand over my stomach and whispered softly,

“We’ll start over, little one. Somewhere he can never find us.”