Chapter 2

That night marked my first time with him. I couldn't even tell if I wanted to cry or laugh about it. He wrapped his arms around me the whole night through, holding on so tight it was like he thought someone might snatch me away too. But every single word out of his mouth was her name. Again and again. Never mine. Not once.

I lay there staring up at the ceiling until my eyes stung, asking myself — was this what it meant to be somebody's wife? Or was I only a tool he reached for to survive her being gone?

He woke first the next morning. There was blood on the sheets. He clocked it — I caught his eyes hesitate there, just for a beat.

Then he glanced away.

He said nothing. Not a single syllable. Not even a hint of an apology.

I put on a smile like nothing had happened, laid his clothes out in their usual neat arrangement.

"You've got a big meeting today," I said gently. "Better not be late."

As if I hadn't spent the whole night bleeding. As if my heart wasn't already split open.

**

From that point forward, I pushed myself harder. Pitiful, isn't it? I knew full well he felt nothing for me, knew I was simply occupying empty space. And still I kept trying.

His stomach had always given him trouble, so I started rising early to make him chicken soup — the gentle kind that wouldn't upset him. He carried so much weight on his shoulders, dealing with things I didn't even want to picture, so I taught myself how to work the tension out of his back and shoulders, quietly and carefully.

I'd always preferred quiet anyway. Or maybe I'd simply grown into it. I stopped making noise. Stopped asking him for anything at all. Even my own footsteps grew lighter. If I could just make myself small enough, maybe I'd stop being a burden.

And little by little, something in him shifted.

Coming home from his trips, he'd occasionally bring back some small trinket. Nothing extravagant. Just — something.

When illness caught up with me, he'd mix the medicine himself and pass it over without meeting my eyes.

"Drink this," he'd say. "Quit being difficult."

And at night, every so often, he'd pull me close. His arm draped across my waist, his warmth pressed against me. Those moments felt so convincing they frightened me — like maybe he was starting to actually notice I existed. Like perhaps I wasn't quite nothing to him anymore.

He stopped bringing up the divorce entirely. Never once mentioned it. As though the contract we'd signed had never existed at all.

And I — I let myself believe it. I convinced myself that if I just hung on a little longer, love would eventually catch up to him too.

Foolish, right?

Three months back, Charlotte resurfaced. She'd ended things with her boyfriend and flown back from the States as though nothing had ever happened.

And Adrian? He fell right back into her orbit without a second thought. No explanation offered. No trace of guilt. Nothing at all.

He whisked her out for meals, went along on her shopping trips, stayed glued to her side like she was the single most important thing on the planet. He even canceled meetings — serious ones, the kind he used to insist were completely nonnegotiable — simply because she mentioned feeling down.

I stood at the window one evening and watched his car pull away again. Same route. Same destination. Her building.

I didn't cry that time. I just watched.

And it finally clicked for me.

Love was love. Genuine love didn't shift or fade. No matter how much of myself I poured out, how hard I tried, how much I shrank myself down into something quieter and smaller and easier to overlook — none of it would ever measure up to a single glance from her. Not even close.

Five years. It was nearly at its end.

"Why aren't you talking?"

His voice pulled me back. I blinked and met his eyes, my throat closing up like something was lodged there.

Had he forgotten?

For five whole years I'd been counting down every day, terrified that when the moment finally came, he'd walk out without so much as a backward glance. And yet here he stood, acting as if none of it had ever existed. As if that agreement carried no weight at all.

Had it ever meant anything to him in the first place?

I opened my mouth, ready to bring it up, to finally say it before my nerve failed me again — but his phone started ringing.

He snatched it up immediately.

I couldn't make out the words clearly, but I recognized that voice instantly. Charlotte. She was in tears, stumbling over her words, clearly panicking about something.

Adrian's face changed in an instant. His whole body went rigid, like nothing else on earth registered anymore.

"Hey, hey — don't panic," he said, voice dropping low and urgent. "I'm on my way right now. Stay put. Don't you move, understand?"

He didn't even wait to hear her answer. The call cut off and he was already snatching up his keys.

"Adrian, I—"

I never got to finish.

He shoved past me, his shoulder slamming into mine hard enough to knock me off balance. My back hit the door frame and pain shot through me sharp and sudden. A small sound escaped me — half gasp, half groan.

He didn't slow down.

Didn't glance back.

Didn't even register it.

The door shut and he was gone.

Just like that.

I stayed frozen there a few seconds, propped against the wall, trying to breathe through the ache. Then I slowly straightened up and made my way back to the bedroom.

I peeled off my coat and found the bruise already blooming on my shoulder. Dark. Ugly.

I dug out the first aid kit and tended to it in silence, pressing cotton against the skin. It stung, but that was nothing next to what was happening inside my chest.

It felt like something blunt was carving through it, slow and repeating, over and over.

I sat down on the edge of the bed and stared out at the window. The sky was dimming, city lights flickering on one after another.

I lost track of how long I sat like that. Until my phone rang.

Adrian.

I paused a moment before answering.

"Get to Favilla hospital," he said, no preamble at all.

My heart lurched. "What's going on?"

"We'll talk once you're here."

The line cut off.

**

The moment I arrived, I spotted him right away. He was standing just outside the operating room. And Charlotte was pressed against his chest, sobbing like her entire world was collapsing.

My steps slowed on their own.

That same tightness gripped my chest again, like a fist clenching down.

I made myself keep walking anyway.

"What happened?" I asked quietly.

Adrian turned to me, his face grim. "Charlotte's mother collapsed a while ago. Some kind of severe blood disorder. Her body's shutting down fast. She needs a bone marrow transplant immediately."

I went still. "And?"

"We've searched everywhere," he continued, tone as level as if he were discussing a business matter. "No match anywhere. So I had you tested without telling you."

Something inside me plummeted.

"And?" I could barely get the word out.

"You're a match."