THE SCORNED WIFE'S SECRET BABY

Chapter three

Sydney gently placed the towel into Camille's trembling hands, her heart aching as she watched her friend struggle to hold herself together. Camille dabbed her face, but her tears didn’t seem to stop.

Sydney sat beside her, rubbing her back gently, offering silent support, waiting for Camille to speak when she was ready.

“Sydney,” Camille sobbed, her voice cracking with emotion, “I don’t know what happened. I... I didn’t even see it coming. Everything just... blacked out, and I couldn’t get out in time before the pictures were taken of me.” She took a shaky breath. "I thought I was going to die."

Sydney’s heart broke as she listened to Camille’s raw pain. It was clear that the trauma was not just physical but emotional.

“Hey,” she said softly, “you’re here, you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.”

But Camille’s grief continued to pour out, her sobs so deep it felt like she was unravelling. Sydney held her, letting her cry as long as she needed.

She didn’t try to stop her, knowing Camille had to let it out, and she would be there to catch every tear.

Eventually, the sobs slowed, and Camille sat up a bit straighter, wiping her face with the towel.

That’s when she noticed the three bouquets of flowers sitting on the small stand next to her bed, their colourful petals a stark contrast to the sterile surroundings.

Camille blinked, confused. “Who... who brought these?” she asked, her voice still thick with emotion.

Sydney glanced over, then looked back at Camille, her expression softening. "The director," she said quietly, unsure how to explain it further. “He sent them... for you.”

At the mention of the director, something in Camille snapped. The floodgates opened again, and Camille’s sobs came in violent, uncontrollable waves.

This time, her chest heaved as she cried harder than before, tears streaking down her face.

Sydney's brow furrowed, concern etched deeply across her features. “Camille, what’s wrong? Why is this bothering you so much?”

Through her sobs, Camille struggled to explain, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I’m not strong anymore. I can’t do it. I thought he hated me after everything that happened on set, after the fight we had. But these... these flowers... it’s like he’s trying to make up for it.”

Sydney’s heart ached for her friend. She knew how much Camille hated being seen as vulnerable, and the director’s gesture was both a kindness and a reminder of the weight she’d been carrying.

“Camille, you don’t have to be strong all the time,” Sydney said softly, brushing Camille’s hair back from her forehead.

“It’s okay to break. It’s okay to feel what you’re feeling. And as for the flowers... maybe he just wanted you to know that he’s still here for you. He sees you.”

Camille’s eyes closed tightly as if the words were too much to bear, but her body trembled less now.

She leaned into Sydney’s comforting embrace, her sobs subsiding into quiet, shuddering breaths.

“Thank you,” Camille whispered, finally finding her voice again. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Sydney kissed the top of her head softly. “You’ll never have to find out.”

As Camille lay on the hospital bed, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor in the background became a faint blur.

Her mind wandered back to the painful memories of her last days with Nicholas, a time that felt like a lifetime ago but still cut through her like a knife.

The flashback hit her like a wave.

“You never listen to me, Camille!” Nicholas's voice echoed in her ears, harsh and venomous. “You’ve failed as a wife.

Always busy with your own thing, always putting your career first! How am I supposed to respect someone like that? You’ve let me down again and again, and I’m done.”

Camille could still see his face twisted in anger, the words cutting deeper than any physical blow.

She had tried to defend herself, to explain that her ambitions didn’t mean she didn’t love him. But every word she spoke seemed to make him more enraged.

“I don’t need a wife who’s too focused on her own success to even notice what I need!” He had spat, his eyes full of disdain.

“You’re just a trophy at this point, Camille. That’s all you are to me now. A pretty face, nothing more.”

The words stung, but nothing compared to the night he came home drunk, reeking of alcohol and the unmistakable scent of a woman’s perfume.

Camille had been waiting up, her heart heavy, knowing something was off.

He had stumbled into their apartment, his shirt wrinkled and dishevelled. As he walked past her, Camille noticed the glaring lipstick stains on his collar; bright red, like a slap to her heart.

Her mind raced with questions, but before she could speak, he slurred, “It’s nothing, okay? I was with someone, so what? You wouldn’t understand.”

Her world tilted as his indifference shattered everything she had believed. She had tried to hold it together, but the anger bubbled up, threatening to spill over. “You’re disgusting.”

The words had left her mouth before she could stop them, a mix of betrayal and disbelief.

But it didn’t end there.

The final blow came later that night, when Nicholas, in a moment of clarity, laid it all out in front of her. “I’m leaving you, Camille.”

He had said it flatly as if it were just another decision he had made that day. “There’s someone else now. I’ve met someone on set.

A woman who actually understands me. Someone who doesn’t make me feel like I’m always walking on eggshells.”

Camille felt the room spin, her body freezing in place as his words sank in. The woman he was leaving her for wasn’t just some passing fling, she was the real deal, someone he had chosen over her, someone who had taken her place in his life.

“You don’t get to do this, Nicholas!” she had shouted, her voice breaking. “You don’t get to tell me you’re leaving like it’s nothing! After everything we’ve been through, this is how you repay me?”

He had simply shrugged, the coldness in his eyes chilling her to the bone. “You weren’t enough anymore, Camille. I’m done.”

The finality of it, the ruthless way he had dismissed their years together, had been too much. She had stood there, numb, as he packed his things, the door slamming behind him like the final nail in their coffin.

Her tears came again, quieter now, as she lay in the hospital bed, the memory of that heartbreak mixing with the pain she now carried. The sobs wracked her body, and she quietly let herself mourn for the love she had lost, for the person she had tried so hard to be, and for the future she would never have with him.