Chapter four.
1390 Words
“What’s that?” Declan asked.
Elysia didn’t answer immediately. She slowly stepped back down the stairs and bent to pick up the paper, her movements calm and controlled.
Panic would only draw suspicion, and right now that was the one thing she couldn’t afford.
She slipped the folded paper back into her bag.
“Nothing important,” she said quietly.
Declan frowned slightly.
That response alone felt strange coming from her. Usually, Elysia would have rushed to explain herself. To reassure him. To ease whatever tension existed before it even had the chance to grow.
But now she just looked… tired.
Victoria suddenly rose from the sofa and walked toward her with concern written across her face.
“Elysia, are you okay?” she asked softly, reaching for her hand.
The moment their skin touched, Victoria’s nails dug painfully into Elysia’s palm.
Elysia winced and instantly yanked her hand away.
Victoria gasped and stumbled backward slightly.
“Victoria.” Declan was already on his feet.
Elysia stared at her hand for a second, the sharp sting still lingering against her skin.
Something in her finally snapped. Maybe it was the hospital.
Maybe it was seeing Declan smile at another woman while her own heart slowly broke apart beside him.
Or maybe it was the child growing inside her. Whatever it was, she suddenly felt exhausted. Exhausted from pretending.
“Stop doing that,” Elysia said quietly.
Victoria blinked innocently. “Doing what?”
“That.” Elysia looked at her calmly. “Pretending.”
The room fell silent. Declan’s expression darkened almost immediately.
“Elysia,” he warned.
But this time, she didn’t shrink under his voice.
Victoria’s eyes widened slightly, looking almost hurt as she moved closer to Declan.
“I was only worried about her—”
“You don’t have to be,” Elysia cut in softly.
Declan stared at her.
For a moment, something unreadable crossed his face. Like he wanted to step toward her. Like he wanted to say something.
But Victoria held onto his arm, pouting like a little kid who'd been wronged. Declan looked down at her face and frowned.
“What's your problem? Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?” he asked, staring at Elysia. “She's just trying to show concern.”
Elysia scoffed. Unbelievable, she thought.
Who would have thought Declan Windsor could be so stupid and completely blinded by a woman. Victoria had Declan completely wrapped around her finger. “Show concern” — he sounded ridiculous.
“Well, I don't need her concern. She can swallow it,” Elysia shot back defiantly.
Declan's expression twisted even more. Was this really Elysia?
“You know, you sound like a bitter, conceited housewife,” he said, taking a step closer to her.
He wanted to provoke her into her old self that would shrink and say nothing. This new Elysia scared him, even if he refused to admit it.
“That—dear husband, is exactly what I am, and I have every right to be,” Elysia snapped right back in his face.
“Elysia— I understand how you feel.” Victoria moved forward, drawing Declan back behind her. “But you can't speak to Declan like that.”
For a split second, her hands fell on Elysia's shoulders, and when Elysia tried to shrug them off, Victoria shoved her, then stumbled back like she'd been inhumanely pushed by Elysia for the second time.
Elysia stumbled and almost slipped, catching herself just in time before her head hit the railings.
Declan’s eyes widened, and he moved before he could think.
“Declan... my tummy hurts,” Victoria suddenly called out, stopping him midway.
Elysia’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her baby. She almost lost her baby.
“What is wrong with you?!” she shrieked at Victoria.
Victoria flinched as Declan stepped back to wrap an arm around her.
“You were the one who pushed her!” Declan said, his voice rising. “She could have lost our baby.”
Elysia almost laughed. The irony of it.
She didn’t say another word as she watched Declan bend down and carry Victoria into his arms.
He carried her past Elysia, and Victoria smiled triumphantly, like she had won a battle against her.
Elysia leaned against the wall for a moment after they were gone. She placed a palm against her stomach and tried to steady her breathing and the loud beating of her heart.
She turned without another word and walked up the stairs. She didn’t stop until she reached her room.
The moment she stepped inside, she shut the door behind her and threw her bag onto the bed. It landed with a soft thud, but the sound felt louder in the quiet room.
She stood there for a second, unmoving, just breathing.
Then she moved quickly.
Her hands went into the bag and pulled out the folded consent form. She didn’t hesitate this time. She didn’t allow herself to think too long.
She hurried into the bathroom—squeezing the form in her hand—and threw it into the trash can that sat against the wall.
Leaning over the sink, she splashed cold water on her face to calm her racing thoughts. She grabbed a towel and gently wiped the water from her face, and that was it.
She decided that was it. She was done. She had absolutely had enough.
She walked out of the bathroom and grabbed her bag from the bed, rummaging through it for her phone. Without letting herself second-guess the decision, she sent her father’s lawyer a text.
She stated clearly that she needed him to draft a divorce agreement. After hitting send, she sat on her bed for a few seconds, letting the reality of the message settle, before reaching over to grab her laptop from the nightstand.
She quickly searched for the email she had received two weeks ago from the Institute of Healthcare Research. Opening it, she typed out and sent an acceptance reply.
With her future finally set in motion, she put the laptop away and sat in the quiet room. Slowly, she brought her hand down, running it gently over her stomach.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, hot tears glistening in her eyes.
The apology came from the deepest part of her soul. She was apologizing to the baby for even thinking of having an abortion, sickened by her own thoughts.
“You’re my reward for five years of suffering, and Mommy would do absolutely anything to protect you,” she said, sniffling with a small smile.
She hadn’t realized it until that terrifying push at the stairs—she hadn’t understood just how scared she was to lose this pregnancy. Up until that moment, she had been completely blinded by anger and regret over her life, failing to see the incredible gift right in front of her.
Feeling emotional exhaustion settle over her, she quietly lay back in bed.
She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but she woke up abruptly to a living nightmare.
The bedroom was already filled with thick, suffocating smoke, and a terrifying orange glow from a fire danced outside her door.
Panic seized her instantly. Unable to breathe properly, she rushed to the door and tried to pry it open, but it wouldn’t budge.
The metal handle grew hotter and hotter against her skin, burning her, and she was forced to pull away as the fire began to visibly eat at the wood.
“Mrs. Whitmore!” she screamed, calling out for her, for anyone. But there was nothing. No answer. “Anybody!”
She could hear distant, rushed movement somewhere else in the house, but the smoke was dropping lower, and breathing was becoming harder by the second.
Choking, she grabbed her phone and dialed. Her vision was blurring so badly she couldn’t see whose number she was even dialing… she just desperately assumed it was Jade, her emergency contact.
But her body gave out. Before the call could connect, she collapsed heavily onto the floor.
Through the haze, a clicking sound came from the phone’s speaker, followed by a male voice.
“Hello? Elysia?”
“Save me,” she whispered, her voice barely a thread, before she passed out completely.
- Writer
