Three months to forever

EpisodeTwo

HANGING ON.

His words hit me like a physical blow. Six months. The knowledge that I had been living in a self-imposed delusion for so long was a bitter pill to swallow.

But I still could not see myself giving up. He was mine, and I had not let him go, even though he let me go a very long time ago.

Six months of silent tears, of clinging to a love that was already gone, of refusing to face the painful truth staring me right in the face.

"If you truly didn't care," he continued, his voice rising in anger, "you would have signed the damn papers!"

I flinched at his outburst, the raw emotion in his voice a stark contrast to his usual stoicism. But even his anger couldn't penetrate the thick shield of sadness that surrounded me.

But did he really want me gone that bad? I loved him enough to still remain with him after he went to build another family and neglected me. Why could he not see that?

"I won't sign them," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

“You can go to that b***h you call the mother of your child,” I scoffed slightly, “Do whatever you want, But I won’t sign the papers.” I spat, my voice trembling slightly.

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, I thought he might hit me. But then, with a frustrated sigh, he turned and stormed out of the mansion.

The dam holding back my tears broke. I turned and ran back upstairs, the sound of my choked sobs echoing in the emptiness.

I collapsed onto the bed; my body wracked with sobs. The air felt thick and suffocating, the silence broken only by my ragged breaths. A strange cramping sensation started in my lower abdomen, a dull ache that grew stronger with each passing second.

Ignoring the pain, I buried my face in the pillow, the echo of his words ringing in my ears. Did I not care? Did I truly want this marriage to end?

But the image of him, happy and carefree with Lisa, flashed in my mind, and a fresh wave of despair washed over me.

I would not give him that, at least until I die. How could I share him, this man who had promised me forever?

But I could not bring myself to kill her if it came down to it. As sick as it may sound, I wanted her dead and gone from our lives. I wanted her to crawl bloodily back to the cave or wherever the f**k she came from.

I hated her. Every single fiber of her being made my existence seethe with disgust.

Whore. Husband snatcher.

After what felt like an hour or an hour thirty minutes, I pulled myself away from the bed and got up.

The throbbing in my stomach had intensified, a dull roar that was impossible to ignore. Panic clawed at my throat, but I pushed it down. Dealing with the physical pain could wait.

The emotional storm tearing me apart was a much more immediate threat.

I stumbled towards the bathroom; legs shaky with exhaustion. Washing my face, I stared at the reflection in the mirror.

Bloodshot eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and a haunted expression that belonged to a stranger. Was this who I had become?

I remembered when Noah would be all over me. He would do the most bizarre things to keep me happy without a second thought. But now, he barely glanced at me. But I know he could see the sadness in my eyes. He just chose to ignore them.

Pulling on a flowy skirt and a white top, I opened the first aid cabinet. These days, the stomach ache had been consistent.

The pain killer I had been using was almost finished and the effect was reducing.

It only reduced the pain enough for me to fall asleep.

I made my way to the room that would have been a nursery. The one we had meticulously decorated, with soft blue walls and fluffy stuffed animals lining the shelves.

A painful reminder of the life I'd lost, the future stolen from me.

In the centre of the room stood the empty crib, a stark white against the blue background. I knelt beside it, the scent of baby powder and forgotten dreams clinging to the air.

Picking up a fluffy blue teddy bear, I hugged it to my chest, the soft fabric a poor substitute for the child I would never hold.

My heart lurched as the thought of Noah currently with his mistress and his child. My child would still be alive with me, the same age of that child if he hadn’t pushed me by mistake in an attempt to save her.

A lump formed in my throat. He did not even come to see me in the hospital. I was eight months gone, and I lost my baby.

The grief was so much for me, a strong wave of lightheadedness passed through me.

The crib was far too small for me, but I curled up inside anyway, knees pulled tight against my chest.

Tears streamed down my face, silent and unrelenting. The pain in my stomach throbbed in rhythm with my sobs.

The scent of lavender and baby powder that still lingered in the air only intensified the ache in my heart.

Sobs wracked my body as I rocked myself back and forth, whispering apologies to the child that never was.

Exhaustion eventually claimed me, and I drifted off to a restless sleep. In my dreams, I relived the horrifying day of the accident.

The screech of tires, the sickening jolt, the crushing pain in my abdomen. Then, the sterile white walls of the hospital, the doctor's grim voice confirming my worst fears.

Panic clawed at my throat. “No, my baby!” I yelled as I woke up with a jerk, the dream's terror clinging to me like a shroud.

Disoriented, I looked around, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.

And then I saw him. Noah. He was lying beside me, one arm draped loosely across my waist. His chest rose and fell with each steady breath.

My breath hitched. How long had I been asleep? How did I even end up in his bed? The last thing I remembered was curling up in the crib, the teddy bear clutched tightly in hand.

Did he carry me here? A sliver of a thought, fragile and easily shattered, bloomed in my chest. Maybe he still cared?

But even as the thought took root, I noticed a faint scent clinging to him – a perfume that wasn't mine.

My heart broke again, what was he even doing here? Shouldn’t he be with that home wrecker?

He stirred beside me, his eyes fluttering open. A ghost of concern crossed his face before it was replaced by a cool indifference.

"Evelyn?" he rasped; his voice thick with sleep.

"What am I doing here?" I whispered; my voice hoarse from the lingering emotions of the dream.

He simply shrugged; his eyes devoid of any warmth. "I don't know," he mumbled, rolling away from me.

The dismissive gesture sent a fresh wave of hurt coursing through me. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision.

He didn't care.

Not about the dream, not about my pain, not about anything. Just like he didn't care about our marriage, about our future, about the child we lost.

A sob escaped my lips, a choked sound that resonated through the quiet room. But Noah remained unfazed. He closed his eyes, his breathing returning to its steady rhythm.