Chapter 2

The next day, a young nurse came to change my dressing.

She was quick and efficient with her hands, but her mouth never stopped.

“Ms. Davies, you really need to take good care of yourself. Your husband is so good to you.”

I closed my eyes, not wanting to respond.

“He comes to stay with you every day, running around for your medical bills. Everyone else is so jealous.”

Jealous?

Yes, how enviable.

“Let me tell you, that lady on the top floor, in the VIP suite, she’s rich, but she’s truly pathetic.”

The nurse lowered her voice, gossiping.

“I heard her boyfriend is also a big shot – the scion of Reed Industries!”

My fingers curled.

“But honestly, I don’t think he cares that much about Ms. Miller. He’s busy with company affairs all day, only visits occasionally. Not like your husband, who practically wants to be glued to your side twenty-four-seven.”

The nurse’s words dragged me back into my memories.

I remembered when we first got together, Caleb was a broke student with nothing to his name.

He would work odd jobs for a week just to buy me a lipstick I liked.

He said, “Claire, when I’m rich, I promise I’ll give you the best life.”

But later, after we graduated, he turned down all the high-paying offers, choosing the most ordinary job.

He said, “Claire, I don’t want to work too hard. I just want to come home early every day to cook for you.”

I believed him.

I thought he didn’t care for wealth or status, that he loved me more than anything.

Now, looking back, it was all just an act.

He didn’t love me; he only cared about saving his Sarah’s life.

“Ms. Davies? Ms. Davies? What’s wrong?”

The nurse’s voice pulled me back to reality.

I opened my eyes; she was looking at me with concern.

“Did I say something wrong?”

I shook my head.

“No, just thinking about a few things.”

The nurse sighed in relief, packed her things, and prepared to leave.

“Your husband just called. He said he’ll be late tonight and not to wait up for him.”

“Okay.”

I replied.

I knew he probably wouldn’t come tonight.

Sarah Miller’s condition must be critical now, more important than me, his backup organ bank.

In the evening, Caleb indeed didn’t show up.

I propped myself up, slowly sitting.

The agreement was still on the bedside table.

Next to it lay my favorite poetry collection, the first gift Caleb ever gave me.

He’d said, “Claire, in my eyes, you’re like a clear poem, I adore you so much.”

I reached for the book.

Its pages had yellowed, but it still held our unique scent.

I opened the front cover, where his bold, sweeping handwriting read: *To my lifelong love, Claire Davies.*

How ironic.

Just then, the hospital room door opened.

Caleb stood in the doorway. He saw the book in my hand and the still-blank agreement beside it.

When he walked in, he carried a faint scent of perfume and a hint of red wine, strikingly clear in my sterile room.

He didn't ask if I’d eaten, walking straight to the bed and picking up the poetry collection.

After absentmindedly flipping through a few pages, he finally couldn’t help but ask,

“Claire, have you heard any gossip?”

His question was calm.

I didn’t answer, just watched him.

Watched this stranger I shared my bed with.

“Gossip spreads fast in a place like this. Just hear it and forget it, don’t take it to heart.”

He was still playing the role of a considerate husband, comforting his emotional wife.

“Who is Sarah Miller?”

I finally spoke, mustering immense courage.

His movements stopped.

A few seconds later, he closed the book and set it aside.

“To be honest, she’s just a friend of mine.”

He answered airily.

“A friend you need *my* heart to save?”

I pressed.

The air instantly solidified.

The gentle expression on Caleb Reed’s face finally shifted.

He stared at me, no longer bothering to pretend.

“Yes.”

He admitted it.

“She’s really pitiful, she’s lived with illness since she was a child. Don’t you have any sympathy?”

He countered.

“Why should I sympathize with her? Sympathize with her using *my* life?”

My emotions flared, and a sharp pain shot through my chest.

“Claire Davies!”

He raised his voice.

“What kind of attitude is that? I’m discussing this with you, not begging you!”

The impatience in his eyes was no longer hidden.

“Are you sick, and your mind’s gone foggy too? When did you become so selfish?”

Selfish?

For him, I’d given up so many opportunities that could have given me a better life.

For him, I wore cheap clothes, riding the bus, living on a shoestring budget for five years.

Now, he wanted my life to save another woman, and then had the audacity to accuse me of being selfish.

“Caleb Reed, you truly disgust me.”

*“CRACK!”*

A sharp sound.

The poetry collection in his hand was violently thrown to the floor, its pages scattering everywhere.