Chapter 3
1429 Words
Quinley’s POV
The world returned in fragments—beeping monitors, muted footsteps, the antiseptic sting of hospital-grade air. My eyes fluttered open to the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. A dull ache pulsed low in my abdomen, but the painkillers dulled its edges now, turning everything into a numb, humming discomfort.
I turned my head slowly.
Curtains surrounded my hospital bed. A heart monitor beside me blipped steadily. My wrist had a plastic band secured around it. And taped to my arm was an IV line, threading a clear bag of fluid into my bloodstream.
The door opened.
Dr. Helman walked in—his white coat pressed, expression unreadable. “Quinley,” he said gently, pulling the curtain aside. “You’re awake. That’s good.”
I blinked. “What… happened?”
“You collapsed just outside the hospital,” he said. “Stress and blood loss caused you to faint. We’ve stabilized you. But…” He hesitated.
I already knew what he was going to say. My chest ached with the weight of it.
“There’s internal inflammation,” he continued. “We’ve run some tests, and your uterus… there’s significant scarring. Quinley, I’m so sorry, but carrying a child naturally may no longer be an option.”
The world tilted again. Not violently this time—just enough to feel like gravity itself was tired of holding me together.
“I figured,” I whispered.
“You’ll need to rest. A few more nights here, just to monitor your vitals. I’ve prescribed something for the pain.”
I nodded faintly. My throat felt like it was full of cotton. “Thanks, Doctor.”
He gave me a soft, pitying look I hated. “Nikolai’s outside. He’s been waiting.”
“Tell him to leave.”
“He’s been insistent.”
I turned my face toward the wall. “Then tell security.”
A pause. Then his footsteps retreated.
The silence returned.
It didn’t last long.
A few minutes later, the door clicked open again, quietly this time.
I didn’t turn.
“Quinley,” Nikolai’s voice came, quieter than before. “Please. Just let me say something.”
“You’ve said enough,” I replied, not moving.
He walked closer, but I refused to face him. “I didn’t know it was this serious,” he said. “If I had—”
“You still would’ve picked Cassidy.”
He stopped mid-breath. “It wasn’t about her.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Nikolai. I’ve seen the way you look at her. I’ve seen how you vanish whenever she calls. You think I didn’t know?”
His silence confirmed everything.
I finally turned, eyes locking with his. He looked… tired. As if regret had only just begun to crawl across his perfect skin.
“She’s pregnant,” I said, deadpan.
He flinched. “Yes.”
My heart cracked again—but this time, there was no shatter, no burst of pain. Just the quiet, cold realization that everything was truly over.
“How long?” I asked.
“Five weeks.”
I scoffed. “So even before you forgot our anniversary, you’d already chosen her.”
“It was never supposed to happen this way,” he said, voice fraying.
I stared at him. “You mean you never planned on getting caught.”
He stepped closer again, placing something on the table beside my bed. A small velvet box.
I didn’t open it.
“What is that?”
“An anniversary gift,” he said.
I turned away, disgusted. “You don’t get to give me jewelry and expect it to erase betrayal.”
“I didn’t expect that,” he said softly. “I just… I thought maybe you’d want to remember what we were. Before all this.”
I blinked slowly. “You mean before I became a broken body to you? Before my infertility made me disposable?”
“That’s not what I meant—”
“Doesn’t matter,” I cut in. “Because it’s how it felt.”
His hands curled at his sides. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“But you did,” I said. “Over and over.”
The silence swelled between us. A chasm of everything unspoken and unforgiven.
“You should go, Nikolai.”
He hesitated. “Can I come back later?”
“No.”
His mouth opened, then closed. He nodded once, defeated, and walked to the door. Just before leaving, he turned back. “Quinley…”
I looked at him one last time.
“Don’t make this harder,” I said.
He left.
I lay there in silence, the box still unopened beside me. My hands trembled, but I didn’t reach for it.
Instead, I whispered into the empty room, “Happy anniversary to me.”
And then I closed my eyes.
—-
The hallway was quieter now, the sterile hum of machines the only sound besides my own breath, shallow and rapid. I should’ve left. I meant to leave.
But something about Nikolai’s face—his too-perfect performance of shame and guilt—itched at me. It didn’t sit right.
I waited a moment, hidden just around the corner, and watched him hesitate at the double doors. He glanced left, then right, before slipping back into Room 107.
He went back to her.
My blood ran cold.
I moved quickly, the soles of my shoes silent on the polished floor, careful not to let the nurse down the hall see me. I stopped just outside the door, heart thudding so loud I thought it would give me away.
Inside, I heard Cassidy’s voice first.
“Took you long enough,” she said, laughing softly. “Was it the slap? Or the guilt-trip sob story?”
Nikolai’s voice followed, lower, amused. “She almost bought it. God, Quinley’s so desperate for meaning, she thinks everything I do is about her.”
My breath caught.
“She actually thinks you remembered your wedding anniversary,” Cassidy said, voice thick with mockery.
Nikolai chuckled. Chuckled.
“She doesn’t even know I had someone drop off that stupid necklace five minutes before she woke up. Gift-wrapped and everything. Just enough to keep the fantasy going.”
My knees buckled slightly.
“I told you,” Cassidy murmured. “She’s too easy. Too soft. That’s why she’s useless to you now.”
“Useless,” he echoed. “A womb that won’t carry, a heart that keeps hoping. Honestly, I stayed longer than I should’ve. She was a good placeholder while I figured out what I wanted.”
“And now you want this,” Cassidy said, sliding her hands over him, judging by the sound of shifting fabric and his low groan.
I couldn’t breathe.
The air thickened like fog in my lungs. I gripped the wall beside the door, nails digging into the painted surface, trying to stay upright.
Everything he said outside that room—all the pleading, the excuses, the talk of family and love—was an act. A performance.
And I had applauded it with my silence.
Cassidy’s voice purred again. “Once I have the baby, she’s gone, right? No more hiding. No more pretending.”
Nikolai didn’t hesitate. “She’ll be out of the picture by then. I’ll make sure of it.”
My eyes burned. Not from tears—those had dried up somewhere between the hospital corridor and hell—but from a rage so pure, so consuming, it left no room for sadness.
I stepped back slowly, carefully, my breath shallow.
My heel squeaked lightly against the tile.
Silence.
The door didn’t open.
Maybe they hadn’t heard me. Maybe they didn’t care.
I didn’t wait to find out.
I turned and walked down the hallway, fists clenched, the white light overhead buzzing like a thousand whispered lies.
This time, I didn’t stop at the wall. I didn’t pause at the exit.
I walked out into the cold.
The wind slapped my cheeks, stung my skin like betrayal made tangible. I kept walking, past the taxi stand, past the crowd of patients and visitors. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew one thing:
They thought I was weak.
They thought I’d break quietly. Fade into the background. Disappear with grace.
But they were wrong.
Nikolai had played me like a pawn, and Cassidy had danced in my ruin. But they forgot one thing about pawns.
Sometimes, they reach the other side of the board.
And when they do?
They change everything.
- Writer
