Love in the Eye of the Storm

It seemed he had completely forgotten. He was the one who first mentioned divorce.

And it had been me all along, playing the fool, holding onto the weak end of this marriage.

In the past, I would've swallowed my pride, begged, apologized, and patched things up, no matter how much it tore at me inside. I'd just bottle it up, endure, convince myself I could live with it.

But now? There was no need anymore.

On the day I was discharged, I went to the front desk to handle the paperwork and found myself face-to-face with an unexpected scene: Tristan was there, gently supporting Faye as she leaned on him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant sooner?" he asked her softly, his gaze fixed on her with a tenderness I hadn't seen in years. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have let you take on that project."

Faye let out a playful little laugh, then turned and noticed me standing there. Her eyes widened in feigned surprise. "Oh… Emily... I didn't see you." She gently tugged on his sleeve, an unmistakably intimate gesture.

His eyes flicked over to me, and he took a subtle step forward, as though shielding her from me. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a voice tinged with annoyance, as if my presence was some unnecessary intrusion.

His concern for her was as blatant as it was painful to witness.

"Please don't misunderstand," Faye said softly, peeking out from behind him like a timid, innocent creature. "I wasn't feeling well, and Tristan insisted on accompanying me to the hospital. That's all."

In my first trimester, I'd suffered relentless nausea. I had practically begged him to come to the hospital with me for checkups, but he'd always been too busy. Yet here he was, going out of his way to be with her.

But my child is gone now. The need to explain, to argue—it drained away. All I wanted was to leave. "Excuse me," I said icily, "I have things to take care of."

Perhaps the coldness in my voice was too obvious. Tristan, typically so reserved, frowned and stepped in front of me, his jaw clenched. "Emily, throwing a tantrum like this is ridiculous! First, you refused to deliver that file. And now, this stony look—who exactly is it for?"

He was used to my compliance, my willingness to smooth things over. He probably expected me to back down, to soothe his ego. Instead, I simply brushed his hand away.

My face, weary and pallid, showed only detachment. An ache deep in my abdomen reminded me of the child that was no longer there.

In the days I'd been in the hospital, he'd called me only a few times. When I didn't pick up, he hadn't followed up, hadn't even left a message. He was a man too used to having his way, so secure in my devotion that he couldn't fathom the idea of me ever leaving.

My talk of divorce was just another whim, a way to get his attention—at least, that's what he believed. He thought two missed calls were more than enough effort on his part.

He'd never expect this resolve from me now.

Gripping my wrist tightly, he leaned in, his voice dangerously low. "Emily, my patience is not limitless. I admit I've been neglectful, but do you know the trouble you caused the company by not delivering that file?"

He took a breath, as if trying to sound reasonable. "Faye and I have been working day and night these past few days... because of you."

A part of me—an old, almost forgotten part—might have believed him before. But lying there in that hospital room, I'd seen Faye's social media updates.

One particular post had caught my eye: Who'd have thought these hands, which earned millions, would one day be washing vegetables and cooking soup just for me?

Along with the caption was a photo—a man's hand wearing a very familiar watch.

The very same watch I'd given to Tristan as a birthday gift.

And while I lay in that sterile room, grieving the loss of our child, he'd been in her home, cooking for her. The sheer absurdity of it all stung, sharper than I'd ever thought possible.

I pulled my hand free, feeling the emptiness of my womb twist with pain, and laughed bitterly. "So, did your hard work lead you to her bed as well?"