Chapter3
1181 Words
“You cannot keep dying inside for people who sleep peacefully after hurting you.”
Tiffany’s irritated voice filled the locker room while Isabella sat quietly on the wooden bench, staring at the floor tiles beneath her shoes.
A shaky breath escaped her lips.
Outside, hospital carts rolled past the hallway while distant monitor sounds echoed faintly through the walls.
Life moved on too easily.
Meanwhile her chest still felt stuck outside that hospital room.
Outside that half opened door.
Watching Vincent smile at someone else with a softness she had spent ten years begging for.
“Actually, no,” Tiffany corrected herself suddenly. “Forget peacefully. Men like Vincent sleep like babies after destroying somebody’s mental health.”
Despite herself, Isabella let out a weak laugh.
“There’s nothing funny about this.”
“There absolutely is.” Tiffany sounded offended now. “Because if I don’t laugh, I’ll genuinely fly back home and commit several crimes.”
Isabella rubbed tiredly beneath her eyes.
The headache behind them had started hours ago.
“You know what hurts me?” Tiffany continued before Isabella could speak. “It’s the audacity. The actual audacity. That man treats you like an inconvenience while out there playing perfect husband for somebody else.”
The words settled heavily inside the quiet room.
Isabella lowered her gaze toward the wedding ring resting against her finger.
Cold silver.
Expensive silver.
Empty silver.
“I keep asking myself what I did wrong,” she admitted softly.
Tiffany immediately groaned.
“Oh my God, Isabella, stand up.”
“What?”
“Stand. Up.” Tiffany repeated dramatically. “Because the way you blame yourself for a grown man behaving like trash irritates me spiritually.”
Another tiny smile almost appeared on Isabella’s face before fading again.
The truth was, she had blamed herself for years.
When Vincent stopped coming home early.
When conversations between them became shorter.
When anniversaries turned into business dinners.
When loneliness slowly became normal.
Somehow, she always found a way to think: Maybe I’m not enough.
Maybe I ask for too much.
Maybe love is harder than people make it seem.
“You know what your problem is?” Tiffany muttered.
“I’m scared to ask.”
“You love people like they’ll disappear if you stop trying.”
The sentence hit too close.
Isabella swallowed quietly.
Because Tiffany wasn’t wrong.
Loving Vincent had never felt equal.
It felt like reaching constantly for someone already walking away.
A soft knock interrupted the silence before the locker room door opened slightly.
“Dr. Isabella? Dr. Harris is asking for you upstairs.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
The nurse nodded before disappearing again.
Tiffany sighed loudly through the phone.
“Go save lives since your husband clearly enjoys shortening yours.”
“Tiffany.”
“I mean it.”
Isabella stood slowly, exhaustion pulling heavily at her shoulders.
“I’ll call you later.”
“You better. And Bella?”
“Hm?”
“Stop begging people to love you correctly.”
The call ended quietly after that.
For a moment, Isabella stood still staring at her dark screen before slipping the phone back into her pocket.
Then she stepped out into the hallway.
The VIP floor upstairs felt unnaturally calm compared to the chaos downstairs.
Soft lighting.
Expensive artwork.
Private security stationed near the elevators.
Money bought silence beautifully.
Isabella slowed her steps slightly after noticing Vincent standing near the far end of the corridor beside Dr. Harris.
The older doctor looked visibly uncomfortable.
Vincent, on the other hand, looked perfectly composed.
Like always.
His suit jacket rested neatly over one arm while the other hand remained tucked inside his pocket casually.
Too calm.
Too controlled.
Isabella stopped near the corner before they noticed her.
“You understand the importance of discretion,” Vincent was saying smoothly.
Dr. Harris adjusted his glasses nervously. “Mr. Moreau, patient confidentiality is already hospital policy.”
“And yet information still leaks.”
His tone remained polite.
That somehow made the conversation colder.
Vincent reached into his jacket before placing a thick envelope onto the doctor’s clipboard.
The movement was effortless.
Practiced.
Dr. Harris stared down at it briefly without touching it.
“A donation?” he asked carefully.
Vincent’s expression barely shifted.
“For the hospital.”
The silence stretched awkwardly.
Farther down the hallway, one of the nurses exited a private suite carrying fresh towels while another woman Isabella didn’t recognize quietly stepped inside with a covered infant carrier tucked carefully beneath a blanket.
Isabella’s brows pulled together slightly.
The nanny disappeared before she could think much about it.
“Tonight was already chaotic enough,” Vincent continued calmly. “I would hate to see unnecessary rumors create problems for the hospital.”
Dr. Harris finally picked up the envelope slowly.
Not agreeing.
Not refusing either.
Just tired.
People usually folded eventually around men like Vincent.
Money had a way of making morals quieter.
“I understand,” the doctor murmured.
Vincent nodded once.
The conversation ended like a business transaction.
Clean.
Simple.
Emotionless.
Dr. Harris walked away first, looking far more exhausted than before.
Vincent loosened his tie slightly afterward, rolling tension from his neck before turning toward the private suite again.
That was when Isabella noticed it.
The exhaustion on his face.
Not sadness.
Not guilt.
Just pressure.
Like managing the entire situation annoyed him more than anything else.
One of the bodyguards approached him quietly.
“Sir, she’s asking for you.”
Vincent nodded immediately before disappearing inside the room.
The door didn’t close completely.
Isabella should have walked away.
Instead, she stood there frozen again.
From inside the room came soft voices.
Then Iris’s weak laughter.
“You look terrible.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
A small silence followed.
T “You stayed.”
Vincent answered almost instantly.
“Of course I did.”
Isabella felt her chest tighten painfully.
Because she knew those words were not meant for her.
Not after three years.
Not after all the nights she sat alone at dining tables waiting for him to come home.
Not after all the times she defended him to herself.
Inside the room, movement shifted softly.
“I don’t want this getting out,” Iris whispered quietly.
“It won’t.”
“You promise?”
“You know I handle things.”
That calm confidence again.
The kind that made people trust him even when they probably shouldn’t.
A soft sound interrupted the conversation briefly from somewhere deeper inside the suite.
Small.
Faint.
The sound disappeared almost immediately.
Isabella frowned slightly before the nanny reappeared briefly near the doorway carrying folded blankets in her arms.
Then the door shut completely this time.
Cutting everything off.
Silence returned to the hallway.
Isabella stood there for another second before finally forcing herself to move again.
Every step toward the elevator felt strangely heavy.
Because deep down, something inside her had already started understanding the truth.
Even if she still wasn’t ready to face it completely yet.
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