chapter 3

I turned and walked into the rain, never looking back. Footsteps followed me for a few paces before they stopped.

I didn't need to turn around to know why—his phone must have rung again.

The rain blurred everything, even the path we'd started together in that library—the one I once thought would last forever.

Later, I heard that Edward went straight back to the hospital that day. And that Daisy never had any real heart condition. She had pulled out her own IV line and lied about it, just to get him there.

When I went for my dressing change, the anesthesia didn't kick in. The doctor said it sometimes happened, and they had to continue the procedure anyway. The metal instrument pressed inside, inch by inch, the pain so sharp it stole my breath. I bit down on the bedsheet, tasting salt and fabric and blood, tears streaming silently into the sterile white pillow.

The nurse later told me I hadn't made a sound—just gripped the sheets so tightly that my nails had broken the skin of my palms.

But they didn't know that compared to the pain in my body, the wound in my heart had long since gone numb—worn out from breaking every time he ran to someone else.

It was eight that evening when Edward finally showed up, seven hours later. There were dark circles under his eyes and guilt etched into every line of his face. "Maria, I'm sorry," he said hoarsely, standing just inside the doorway. "Daisy… I couldn't just leave her. Saving lives is my job."

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. "There are dozens of doctors at that hospital," I said quietly. "Would the world really fall apart without you?" His expression faltered, but I didn't stop. "Edward, I'm not stupid."

He was silent for a long moment, then took my cold hand, his voice rough and pleading. "Maria, in six years, I've never asked you for anything. Just this once—please don't make a scene. Don't let this upset Daisy. I'm afraid her condition can't handle another shock."

My heart clenched so tightly I thought I might collapse. He shouldn't be begging me. He should be apologizing. But instead of worrying about me—his fiancée, the woman who collapsed at our own wedding—he was still protecting her. Still prioritizing her. Every word that left his mouth was about Daisy.

Tears welled up and fell, one by one, darkening the crisp white sheet beneath my hands. It took everything in me to whisper a single word. "Okay."

He let out a long, shaky breath, then continued quickly, almost relieved. "Daisy knows I'm getting married. She's been unstable. Let's postpone the wedding for now. I'll stay with her while she completes her treatment. Once she's better—maybe two months, just two months—we'll pick up where we left off, alright?"

Two months. He said it like it was nothing. I'd already waited six years—two more months should've been easy. But the way he said it, the way he looked so afraid for someone else, made something inside me quietly shatter. I realized I couldn't wait anymore.

The life growing inside me must have sensed it too, because it stirred gently, a faint flutter low in my belly.

I touched the spot instinctively, feeling that five-week fragile heartbeat that was half his, half mine—and yet, suddenly, it felt like it had nothing to do with him at all.

I slowly pulled my hand away and said, my voice flat and cold, "Edward."

He looked up. "My memory's not perfect, but I remember when I was nineteen, you handed me your notebook in the library, your hands shaking so hard you could barely hold it. I remember the first time you asked me out, you were so nervous you nearly dropped your fork. I remember graduation day, when you hugged me and promised to give me a good life—to make me the happiest bride."

My eyes stung. "All these years, you remembered that I hate cilantro, that I can't drink cold water, that my stomach needs hot soup every night. You remembered every little habit. I thought that meant you cherished me more than anything." My voice cracked, trembling. "But today… I can't feel your love anymore."

Six years of memories flooded back all at once, and in the dim hospital light, I saw Edward's eyes turn red. His throat bobbed as a tear slid down his cheek. "But Maria," he whispered, "Daisy can't live without me right now."

That one sentence—can't live without me—broke the last fragile piece of my heart. I let out a small, breathless laugh, tears spilling freely. "Then go."

He froze, as if he couldn't believe what he'd heard.

But in the end, he said nothing. He just turned around, picked up his coat, and walked out of the hospital room.