The Neglected Wife's Bitter Awakening

Bianca stumbled into her bedroom. The moment the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her, the invisible string holding her together snapped.

Her knees hit the thick carpet with a dull thud. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, curling her body into a tight, trembling ball. The pain was no longer just a cramp; it was a tearing, burning agony that stole the oxygen from her lungs. She opened her mouth to gasp for air, but only a dry, broken sob came out.

Mrs. Gable burst through the door a second later. She dropped to her knees beside Bianca, her hands hovering in a panic. "Madam! Madam, what's wrong? I'm calling 911!"

Bianca squeezed her eyes shut. She shook her head frantically. "No... no hospital... Kahlil will..." She couldn't finish the sentence. The thought of Kahlil looking down at her, seeing her this weak, this broken, made her stomach twist even harder.

Mrs. Gable ignored her. She scrambled for the phone on the nightstand.

The bedroom door was shoved open violently. Kahlil stood in the doorway. He had come upstairs to demand answers, to yell, to regain control.

But the words died in his throat.

He saw Bianca curled on the floor, her face buried in the carpet, her body shaking with violent tremors. Her skin was a terrifying, translucent white.

A cold spike of pure panic drove straight through Kahlil's chest. His heart slammed against his ribs. He crossed the room in two massive strides and dropped to his knees beside her.

"Bianca?" His voice cracked. It wasn't a demand; it was a plea. "What happened?"

Bianca slowly opened her eyes. She saw his face hovering over hers. The anger was gone, replaced by a raw, frantic fear. For a split second, a pathetic, desperate hope flared in her chest. He cares. But the memory of him shielding Cassandra crushed it instantly.

She turned her face away, pressing her cheek into the carpet. "Go away," she wheezed. "I don't need your fake concern."

Kahlil's jaw clenched. He reached out, his large hand hovering over her shoulder, terrified to touch her and cause more pain. He dragged his hand through his hair, gripping the strands tightly.

"You're clearly in pain! Stop being stubborn!" he yelled, his voice rough with anxiety.

Mrs. Gable held the phone to her ear. "Sir, Madam's stomach... she's been like this since she came home..."

Kahlil's eyes darted to Bianca's abdomen. He remembered the way she had clutched her stomach after he shoved her against the table. Guilt, sharp and toxic, flooded his veins.

He didn't hesitate. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back. He lifted her off the floor. She felt too light. Her head rolled against his chest, her shallow breaths ghosting over his collarbone.

Bianca tried to push against his chest, but her arms were like lead. She squeezed her eyes shut, a single tear escaping and soaking into Kahlil's expensive shirt.

He laid her gently on the center of the massive bed. He turned to Mrs. Gable. "Call the family doctor. Now. Tell him it's an emergency."

Twenty agonizing minutes later, Dr. Evans packed his stethoscope into his bag. "Acute stomach spasms, likely triggered by severe stress and alcohol on an empty stomach. She needs rest, hydration, and these muscle relaxants."

Kahlil stood by the window, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He nodded once.

When the doctor left, Kahlil walked to the nightstand. He poured a glass of water from the crystal pitcher. He popped a white pill from the blister pack. He held them out to Bianca.

Bianca stared at his hand. She didn't move. Her eyes were flat and cold. "I can do it myself."

Kahlil's hand froze in mid-air. The muscle in his jaw ticked. He slowly placed the glass and the pill on the nightstand. He stood up straight, his face hardening back into its usual unreadable mask.

"Fine. Have it your way."

He turned and walked toward the door. He walked toward the door, Bianca's accusations echoing in his mind. The sheer top. The perfectly timed tears. A cold, ugly suspicion coiled in his gut. He stopped with his hand on the brass knob. He didn't look back.

"Cassandra will move to the guest house tomorrow."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Bianca lay perfectly still. She stared at the closed door. The pain in her stomach was still a dull roar, but her chest felt strangely tight. He was kicking Cassandra out of the main house. Why? Was it guilt? Or did he finally see the truth?