Broken Heart

BROKEN HEART

CHAPTER 1

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I entered the sterile, white corridors of the hospital. It wasn't my first time here, but tonight, the air felt different. There was an undercurrent of tension I couldn't shake.

I spotted Mark from a distance, his tall figure hard to miss even in the chaos of the hospital lobby. His broad shoulders seemed to block the light, as though his very presence was a barrier between me and the truth.

"You don’t need to be here. Go home," his voice was cold, sharper than I’d ever heard it before.

The words hit me like a slap, and my grip on the bag I was carrying loosened. It fell from my hand, its sound echoing off the sterile tiles.

I stood there for a moment, my breath hitching. I wanted to argue, to confront him right then and there, but I couldn't. Something about his eyes, that familiar glint of detachment, stopped me. My mind was racing-why was I here? What did I even expect from him anymore?

I had married Mark four years ago, a union that was supposed to be built on love, respect, and the merger of two strong families. But over the years, I’d learned to accept the silence between us. His indifference had grown like an ivy around my heart, slowly suffocating the warmth that once existed. It was easier to pretend it wasn’t there than to acknowledge it.

But now Claudia was in the hospital-my stepsister, who had been a constant presence in our home since we married. I had never thought much of their relationship, at least not until tonight.

I wanted to go straight to the doctor, but I already knew. I could already feel it in my gut. Claudia had been admitted for an injury… one which the doctor had no problem in explaining, though his eyes shone with sympathy as he told me: "It's an anal fissure… caused by intercourse."

Words blurred in my mind as my mind was racing, trying to put the pieces together. Claudia didn't have a boyfriend; she barely dated, yet here it was-Mark who had brought her to the hospital. A sharp pang of betrayal hit my chest.

The doctor, adjusting his glasses, gave me a look I couldn't decipher. "Young people nowadays…," he began but never finished. I wasn't sure if he was making an excuse for her or for Mark.

I came out of the office, dumbfounded, and my legs were trembling under me. The hospital was exceptionally busy for 1 AM. I bumped into people, barely registering their faces, still stuck in my mind upon that one thought: what was going on between Claudia and Mark?

Frances, Claudia's mother, had married into the Hawk family many years ago, and when Mark and I moved into our marital home, Claudia insisted on staying with us. I hadn't thought anything of it at the time. But now… now I was starting to question everything.

Claudia had always been affectionate with Mark, planting kisses on his cheek, hugging him tighter than necessary. At first, I assumed it was sibling affection, but now… the doubt festered in my mind. What if it wasn't just affection? What if they had crossed a line?

My mind was racing, but I couldn't shake off the feeling that I wasn't just an outsider; I was a bystander in my own marriage, and Mark was drifting further away.

I stood outside her hospital room, my hand on the door handle, and paused. Claudia's voice drifted to me from inside, quiet, shaky, but not enough for me to understand her words. I couldn't bring myself to open the door. I wasn't sure I was ready for the truth, for what I might find inside.

My marriage had always been a union of convenience, two powerful families tied together by wealth and influence. We'd married because it made sense on paper. I had never expected fireworks or grand gestures. But I also never expected to feel so invisible, so small in the life we built together.

The decline of my family's fortune following my father's death had only made things worse. Without the business acumen to pick up the pieces, I had watched my mother struggle while Mark's family helped keep us afloat. But what was this really for? Was it all just a power play for him? A game?

I couldn't help myself. I went into Claudia's room, searching it for some clue, some answer. There were no books or notebooks in sight. Just a picture of Claudia and Mark on her dresser years ago when they were younger. The only photo of them together-the day she'd begged Mark for a picture with her stepbrother. She said it was her favorite photo.

My heart twisted as I stared at the picture. Mark, ever so poised, even in his youth. But where was the warmth that once existed between us? Where was the love?

I needed something, anything to hold onto. But there was nothing in her room that offered an explanation.

I proceeded to Mark's study; his desk was littered with contracts and paperwork, nothing out of the ordinary, anything that could give me the answers I so desperately wanted.

My only option left now was to go online, and my mind was racing as I typed "How to find evidence of my husband's infidelity." It came up with nothing but rubbish. Hopeless.

Tired, I collapsed into the bed with my phone next to me. After much deliberation, I sent Mark a simple text: Honey, are you coming home tonight?

A part of me wanted to know; a part of me simply wanted to hear it from him, hear him reassure that all was well, whereas I knew it was not so.

Duly after five minutes, I got one word: "Yes."

It was cold, empty, and distant. But strangely, it gave me a sense of relief. At least he had responded.

I waited. And waited. Hours passed, and still, no sign of him. By five in the morning, I finally dozed off, my phone clutched in my hand.

When I woke up, he stood before me, his expression unreadable. My heart skipped a beat as I sat up, the blanket slipping from my body. I had dressed for him, hoping it would spark something between us-something more than the disinterest that had settled into our marriage.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, my voice soft, laced with a longing I hadn't felt in so long. "Would you like something to eat?"

But he didn't answer. He was distant, preoccupied. And yet, when he reached out to carry me upstairs, I felt a flicker of hope. Maybe we could fix things. Maybe we could be the couple we once were.

But when I went to kiss him, when I tried to rekindle something between us, his response was anything but what I had hoped for. He said simply, "Put on something. Don't catch a cold."

He just left me there, alone, feeling emptier than I'd ever felt.

I tried to distract myself, but all this only made the questions swirl faster in my mind. What was happening? Was Mark really the man that I had married or was he someone else altogether?

At the door of the bathroom, my heart pounding and my voice breaking, I asked, "How's Claudia? Do you need me to go take care of her?"

His cold, firm voice filtered through the bathroom door: "Ariana, she can't do without me right now!"

I couldn't help but laugh, though it was more of a sob than anything else. Was that really why he was staying with her, or was there something else between them?

CHAPTER 2

My eyes settled on Mark's pants over the bed-the loosened waist twisted in some kind of a queer knot, which almost seemed to be a crying face. A black phone seemed to peep from its corner, nearly jeering. These are two treasured things in our married life: love and privacy. Respecting each other in terms of personal space, we never touch each other's phones.

But I had already searched his study earlier. Would that count?

I hesitated, pulled out his phone, and dove under the covers. I hid my head, in a weak attempt to escape this overwhelming feeling of guilt that was going to hit me.

I was very nervous.

Nothing good ever comes from going through your partner's phone. I was terrified to find the proof of his and Claudia's affair, yet at the same time, I was afraid of finding nothing and spiraling into paranoia.

My teeth chattered at the thought of the rosary beads he liked to wear.

Mark, what exactly are you hiding from me?

Either my trembling hands or sheer anxiety, I had typed in the wrong password a few times.

Finally, a message appeared on the screen: "Incorrect password. Please retry in 30 seconds."

Was I naive?

I could unlock his safe but not his phone.

My heart pounding, I mentally ran through every possible password. My mouth felt dry, and I was swallowing nothing but air as I counted down the seconds.

Five. four. three. two.

Suddenly, the blanket over my head was tugged away.

"What are you doing?"

Mark stood in the doorway, water dripping from his bare chest. His sculpted abs were on full display, a gray towel wrapped around his waist that gave a tantalizing glimpse of his V-line.

For the first time, I couldn't appreciate his chiseled body. My heart was racing wholly for a different reason now. His eyes locked onto mine, and my grip on his phone instinctively tightened.

He hadn't expected it. His face contorted with surprise, then segued into a scowl.

Honey," I whispered, guilt crawling up my throat. I felt like a thief caught in the act-my hands shaking as I held onto the phone, unsure of what to say.

Mark's jaw clenched, and his eyes clouded over. "Mary," he growled, his voice low with frustration and anger.

Instinctively, I jerked the phone toward my chest, as if he was going to strike, but instead he reached for it. I dodged, and we froze. One of us inadvertently pushed the shutter button: that camera sound reverberated through the room inescapably, really making me realize what it was that I was capturing.

On the screen, I saw myself-disheveled hair, a pale face, and tears threatening to fall from my eyes. It was a ghost of who I had been only hours ago-a woman full of desire, seduction, and love.

Mark's gaze flicked to the phone. His anger softened a little, and I caught a hint of something… amusement?

He smiled, his eyes teasing, yet still shadowed with something I couldn't place. "What's this? Keeping a record of the first time you ever put on lingerie for me?"

It wasn't until then that I remembered my body was bare. My cheeks flushed bright red as I hastily threw myself into his embrace, burying my face in his chest. "I'm so sorry," I mumbled under my breath.

On the bed, I knelt still clasped around him, my fingers caressing over the muscles in his chest; I looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Honey, I want to make it right."

I had loved Mark for twenty years of my life. From the instant that I saw him standing in Paris, I had never looked away. When I was a teenager, these fantasies about him were fragile and longing. All I wanted was to be his-to have him love me like that.

Mark's hand stroked my head, his gaze softening just a bit. "I have to go with Claudia for a while. After that, we can think about a trip, all right?"

The mention of Claudia had been like a boulder dropped in my chest. I couldn't stop the question from spilling out of my mouth. "How did Claudia get hurt? Why was she in the hospital last night?

Mark's eyes shifted, a moment of evasion flashing across them before he masked it. "It's nothing, just an old issue."

I could see it in his eyes-he wasn't being entirely truthful. It stung.

"Are you and I the only ones that will go?" I pressed on. The last time we had gone anywhere alone was the honeymoon, yet even that had been shadowed by Claudia's presence. In and out of our lives so often, it always felt like there had always been someone else standing in the way of what we could be.

Mark's hesitation was his fingers running through my hair as he weighed the question. "How about a getaway? Just the two of us. Frances has been getting anxious about you not having a baby."

My pulse quickened at the mention of our future. "I want to try for a baby," I said softly, my voice low with urgency.

Perhaps Mark recalled the promises we had made, or perhaps he merely felt the weight of my plea. His frown deepened and then relaxed. Finally, he nodded.

"Where do you want to go?" His hand moved to smooth the hair around my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.

I smiled, my fingers curling into his arms. "Let's go somewhere close. A cozy villa in Radiant City, right here in our bed."

I jumped up, wrapping my arms around his neck, kissing him deep as my legs entwined around his waist.

Mark kissed me back, his hands sliding to my hips, and we tumbled onto the bed. My heart was racing-this was it. Finally, I was going to get through to him.

His hands became urgent as my clothes came off quickly. He was just about to make the next move when his phone buzzed. "Nick!" A message appeared on the screen.

The pressure on my ankles heightened, and a wave of discomfort ran over my body. He did, too.

Claudia had sent multiple pictures.

"Nick, do I look good? Praise me!"

"Haven't you finished yet? When are you coming back?"

Her messages were always so eager, relentless.

Mark groaned and pulled away, but I didn't let go. I wrapped my legs around his waist, holding him in place.

"Don't go. Can't we go on?" I whispered, my tone impossibly soft, trying to coax him.

His voice hoarse, he pinched my thigh. "I'm not in the mood anymore."

Pain made me loosen my grip, and I watched Mark take a towel and wrap it around him before disappearing downstairs to his walk-in closet.

And I just lay there-the space beside me cold, empty.

Claudia and I were different in this household: she was the darling, pampered oaf of a family everyone in it adored, while I was the wife, supposedly perfect, always to act and speak softly and supportively.

But something had shifted now. There was doubt growing way too fast to close out. I had to know the truth.

I chased after him barefoot, my heart pounding in my chest.

What I saw in the walk-in closet was utterly shocking.

CHAPTER 3

I stood there, watching him through the reflection of the glass cabinet his phone propped up upon the display. His movements became quick and determined, much like those of someone wanting to keep a guilty pleasure hidden from the world.

Mark was always so careful, so precise in his actions. Still, tonight, the quiet of our apartment gave place to sounds I never would have thought to hear coming from him-soft, rhythmic groans filling the silent room.

I froze. A cold wave washed over me, freezing every part of my body while my heart hammered in my chest. My feet wouldn't move, my lungs were devoid of air, and my brain refused to accept the truth that was unfolding in front of me.

I knew what he was doing. I could see in the mirror that his body tensed, reaching for a handful of tissues. I thought I was ready, but the realization hit me like a tidal wave that crashed over me.

Mark was having an affair. The betrayal was unmistakable.

My stomach twisted in knots, my vision blurred with unshed tears. What he did cut deeper than words could have. There he was, using another woman's images, another woman's presence, to pleasure himself while I stood a few feet away.

I didn't know whether I was angry, hurt, or numb. And I couldn't confront him-not yet. I fled into the bedroom, locking the door at my back as I let go with a silent breakdown. I shook to wipe my tears and then to redo my makeup, hoping somehow to conceal the pain that must have been etched into my face.

I had to go to the hospital. I had to see Mary.

I couldn't just walk away without answers.

Mary-the woman who had wormed her way into my life so easily. I had trusted her. I had treated her like a sister. How foolish I had been.

The air was stifling in the hospital room: the smell of antiseptic in the air accompanied by the hum of beeping medical machinery in the background. Mary was scrolling through her phone, casting an odd blue light on her face. When she noticed me, her face faltered for a second, only to be covered up quickly with a rehearsed smile that felt like it was too much.

"Arianna, you're here," she greeted me, the pitch of her voice a little too high, the cheer in it a shade too bright.

I forced a smile, trying to disregard the tightness in my chest as I walked over to her bed. Her eyes flicked to the door behind me, almost as if she were waiting for someone else to walk in. That someone else-Mark-had been a constant presence at her side these past few days.

Mary," I said, trying not to let my voice shake as I sat down beside her. "I heard about the accident. Are you okay?"

Mary pouted, an act she had perfected over the years. "Oh, Nick is so annoying," she whined, playing the part of the injured party. "I told him not to tell anyone, but here you are. I didn't want you to worry, Ari.

I bit my lip, swallowing the anger rising to the surface. She reached up and touched my cheek; her hand was warm and soft.

"I'm fine, really," she went on, but her words sounded so very hollow. "But my heart. it hurts. Could you get me an apple?"

I did as she asked, the memory of the woman that I once trusted flashing before my eyes. The thoughts were racing in my mind while I reached for the apple in the fruit basket; the knife felt to me like it weighed a thousand pounds in my hand. I was disgusted at the feeling of helplessness that settled in my chest.

Mary's voice cut through my thoughts. "You're the best, Ari," she said, her smile sweet but insincere. She held up her phone to show me another photo-this time a picture of her in the hospital gown, trying to appear vibrant and healthy.

"Do you think I look good?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, distracted. "Of course, Mary. You always look great.

She flicked her finger through the pictures, showing me more selfies-each one more provocative than the last. Something in her eyes glinted.

"I sent Nick all of these," she said, her voice taking on a different tone. "But you know what he said? Just 'Yes.' That's all."

I felt the anger rise, my grip on the apple tightening. Mark was always so indifferent to me, but with her, he was patient, always responding, always engaging. The thought that he had never given me the time of day like that made my mind reel.

The ache in my chest deepened.

She continued her selfish chattering, and with every word I felt more and more how blind I had been: I had loved her like my sister, opened all my life and heart toward her, and received it back in shattered pieces due to her and Mark's betrayal.

Suddenly, the door opened, and he stood facing me—Mark.

Like a blow on my face.

Ari, what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice heavy with an edge of guilt.

I froze, my pulse racing as I stood up, feeling the walls close in around me.

"I came to check on Mary. I couldn't stop worrying," I said, my voice strained.

He didn't let me continue. In one swift move, he had taken hold of my wrist and started dragging me out of the room. "Let's go home, Ari. We will talk about this later."

I pulled back, my heart beating erratically in my chest. "What are you hiding from me, Mark? Why don't you want me here?" I demanded.

He didn't respond but instead turned toward Mary, who had faked an injury again. I heard her fake cry down the hallway, and the sound was like ripples of incredulity running through my mind.

The rest of the evening was a haze of hospital corridors and calls which never got answered. Mark was never there when I needed him. He was always with Mary.

And I was alone, behind the curtain of my own life.

Later, the doctor explained my injured nail may need surgical removal. He invited me to request a family member to accompany me. But Mark never called back.

"If my husband were here," I grumbled bitterly, "I'd cry too."

The doctor nodded sympathetically, his words more cutting than he could have realized. "I'm sure he'll be here soon."

But I knew better. Mark wasn't coming.

I went into the operating room alone, the cold steel of the surgical tools gleaming in the dim light. As the needle of local anesthesia pressed into my finger, I didn't flinch, despite the burning sensation.

The words of the doctor kept ringing in my ears as the procedure started: "The boyfriend who truly cares will always be there. It's a shame your husband isn't.".

CHSPTER 4

I Used to Believe in Love

I used to love K-drama, so I actually knew of the self-sacrificing power of first love in a man's life. The more unattainable she was, the more he wanted her.

To Mark and Mary, society was the reason they could never be together. The Hawke family was just too prestigious. Without even having any blood relations, they couldn't afford such a scandal. If Mark truly loved Mary, even her faults would seem endearing to him.

How could I compete with that?

The surgery went by quietly, without complications. Later, I sat on the second floor of the hospital, waiting for my medication to arrive, trying to distract myself.

The smell of disinfectant in the sterile air cleared my thoughts. I needed to reach out, so I grabbed my phone and typed out a message to Mark.

"If you had to choose between Claudia and me, who would you pick?"

It was an impulsive decision, I knew that. But how would I ever be able to convince myself to give up on Mark, the man I had loved for so many years, if I did not act on this impulse?

I hit send, clutched my phone tight, and waited. There was no response.

I couldn't just sit and wait for him to make his decisions, though. Something in me had to act, and I couldn't allow it to go to such an end.

What felt like hours passed, and I couldn't resist going to Claudia's room.

Inside, Mark was feeding Claudia apple slices with the same gentle tenderness I had once craved. He had never looked at me that way, and his eyes shone with care and concern, as if Claudia is the only person who mattered.

I must have come at the worst possible time. If only I had waited a while, perhaps I would have finally managed to catch something more-evidently something that can eradicate all these doubts after all.

When I called him out of the room, Mark turned to face me. He was expressionless, of course.

"What is this that's so urgent, it can't wait until we get home?" he inquired, his voice curt.

"I'm waiting for your response," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though my heart raced.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, scanning my message with a frown. When he read it, he clicked his tongue in annoyance. "What's this supposed to mean?"

I could feel the frustration rising in my chest. His indifference stung more than I cared to admit.

"You've got to be kidding me," Mark muttered under his breath, pulling a cigarette from his jacket. He stopped himself halfway through, as if remembering where he was.

His eyes caught mine, piercing right through me. "Why the hell should I choose?" he asked with a heavy irritated undertone.

It was as if I wasn't standing in front of him, begging for an answer, and was instead just some kind of annoyance he had to brush off. I stood there in my vulnerability while he lay lazily toying with the rosary beads on his wrist, waiting for me to speak.

I was a fool.

Under the harsh hospital lights, I felt exposed in a way that made me question everything I had once believed about Mark. He had always been so confident, so sure, but now all I saw was a man to whom nothing seemed to matter.

He squinted at me, then grabbed my wrist, holding it firmly between us. “Your body’s a gift from your parents. Don’t hurt it just because you’re upset,” he said softly, though there was no real comfort in his voice. “Claudia’s sick, and I’m here for her. What’s wrong with that?”

I blinked, taken aback. The pain from my injury surged, and it was even harder to breathe now, but before I could utter a word, he went on, his voice razor-sharp. "Stop pretending. You think I can't see through you? You're throwing a tantrum, just like always. She's my sister. Get over it."

His words were far deeper than the physical pain.

Was he seriously thinking I did this on purpose to hurt myself? Could he really think that?

"Stop," I said, keeping my voice as neutral as possible. "I don't need your pity."

Mark's eyes gentled, for a moment. He released my wrist and turned to claudia, dismissing me as if I didn't exist. "Go home. Don't come back to the hospital unless it's really necessary."

His words reverberated in my mind while I turned to leave his bed. The indifference, cold as a slap-the more steps I took away from him, the more this wound hurt.

"Okay," I mumbled under my breath. "I'm leaving, then. You can stay with her all you like."

I didn't turn around. I couldn't.

But as I stepped outside the ward, I heard the sound of Mary's voice holler, "Did you guys have a fight?

I kept walking, trying to ignore the pang in my chest.

Finally, when I reached my house, I tried to act normal, but Wendy, the housekeeper, instantly noticed my disheveled state.

"Madam, did you hurt yourself?" she asked with concern etched on her face.

It was her concern that finally made the dammed tears fall. For some reason, maybe her genuine concern, it felt like I had lost everything.

Four years of marriage with Mark, and yet standing at the door, it struck me how I had come to lean on Wendy. She was the one who showed more care than my husband ever had.

"Wendy," I said, wiping my eyes, "don't worry about cooking today. Just go home.

Her eyes had widened in wonder. "Are you sure, Madam? Please, at least let me tidy up a bit before I leave."

I nodded, everything weighing heavily upon me, it seemed. Wendy had seen me through so much and was continuing to do so, it seemed.

While watching her clean, my gaze fell upon the things in the house: little things, but they weren't mine. Small toys, hair clips, and figurines I had not known. Slowly, it hit me how much Claudia has taken over my home.

This was no longer my place anymore.

Wendy must have seen how I was looking at things that lay strewn about in the house because she suddenly paused and asked, "You okay?"

I smiled softly, but it didn't reach the eyes. "I am leaving, Wendy," I whispered. "Help me pack."

She hesitated. "Madam, are you sure? You and Mr. Hawke."

"DON'T call him that," I snapped. "He's not my husband anymore."

The words felt like releasing a weight off my chest.

I turned to Wendy and said, "Sit down. I got this. But afterwards you can leave with me cos I would need you then."

Wendy's eyes relaxed as she sat, but she knew better than to further argue.

Together, we packed my things, filling the suitcase with all the belongings I had left behind in my marriage. Every item felt like a piece of me, a piece of my past, being sealed away.

When I reached for the suitcase, Wendy stopped me.

"Madam," she said quietly, "you don't have to leave this way. Let me help you. I'll call Mr. Hawke. Maybe he—"

"No," I said firmly, cutting her off. "He doesn't care. He doesn't even care enough to answer my messages. Let's go."

Wendy looked at me one last time, her face filled with concern. "Take care of yourself, Madam."

I nodded, my heart heavy but resolute. It was time to move on.

The moment I stepped out of the house, everything was a mix of sadness, relief, and an overwhelming sense of clarity.