Chapter 4

The divorce papers still sat pinned under the corner of the table. He acted like they weren't there.

Before he left work, Jeffrey texted to say he wanted to make up for the anniversary.

He came home carrying groceries and a bunch of my favorite white lisianthus.

"Sit down, no helping. Tonight you do what I say."

He butchered two tomatoes and burned one steak black.

Just as he set it on the table, Pamela called.

"Mr. Matthews, a pipe burst at my place."

"Building maintenance won't be here for half an hour, and I can't find the main shutoff. I'm so scared."

A cramp twisted through my stomach, sharp enough that I clawed at the edge of the table.

I have a serious history of stomach ulcers. My doctor has warned me again and again not to push through it when my emotions are running high.

"Jeffrey, I'm not feeling well."

He came over quickly, dug out my stomach pills, and pressed them into my hand.

"Take one first. I'll be back in half an hour."

"Maintenance is already on the way."

"She's home alone."

"I'm home alone too."

Jeffrey's hand paused, then he set the pills in my palm anyway.

"The water's already up near the outlets. What if it shorts out?"

"You said you weren't going anywhere tonight."

"You've got your pills, and you know how to reach your doctor."

He yanked off the apron and grabbed his car keys.

"She's really helpless over there."

I gripped the table's edge, knuckles white.

"And if I just won't let you go tonight?"

Jeffrey turned his head, a flicker of impatience in his eyes.

"You never used to be this unreasonable."

"You can't be this selfish."

The front door slammed shut.

He was rushing off to mop the floor in another woman's life, with no idea my stomach was bleeding.

The steak slowly went cold.

An hour later, I asked when he was coming back.

He replied that he was helping Pamela explain things to the neighbors downstairs.

Two hours later, he sent a photo of the flooded floor.

Pamela sat wrapped in a blanket on the couch, his jacket at her feet.

The stomach pills weren't working. Cold sweat crawled down my back in waves.

I stared at that photo and called Jeffrey.

The first call, no one answered.

The second was rejected.

The third cut off on its own.

A few minutes later, a message came through on the app:

【Mr. Matthews can't take calls right now. He'll come back once things are handled.】

That wasn't how Jeffrey talked.

I knew whose hand was on his phone.

I didn't pin my hopes on a fourth call.

The next second my stomach heaved, and I doubled over the sink and threw up a mouthful of blood.

I called for an ambulance first, then sent my location to Zane Hughes.

By the time the ambulance arrived, the pain had me unable to stand.

The doctor said it was bleeding from the ulcer, and that a little later would have been more dangerous.

Past midnight, Jeffrey sent one message after another demanding to know where I was.

Not until early the next morning did Zane use my phone to reply with three words: "City General Hospital."

Jeffrey rushed in, eyes shot through with red, his shirt a mess of creases.

"Why didn't you tell me you'd gone to the hospital?"

I looked at him.

"I called three times."

"My phone was in the living room. I didn't hear it."

"Pamela was upset. She might have touched it."

"She didn't know you'd have a stomach bleed either."

At the bedside, Zane let out a laugh of pure disbelief.

"Cordelia's lying here, and the first thing you do is still explain things for Pamela?"

Jeffrey didn't answer.

"I'm sorry."

"Let me go pay. Once you're better, I'll make up for the anniversary."

I stayed in the hospital three days.

Those three days, Jeffrey came every day, explaining over and over that he'd thought I'd be fine once I took the pills.

I didn't argue with him anymore. I just had Zane help me contact a moving company.

The day I was discharged, Jeffrey went back to the office to handle work.

I packed up everything I owned and moved into Zane's place.