Chapter 2

His friends immediately clamored to comfort him. Through the crack in the door, I watched as Charlotte boldly settled herself onto Walter's lap.

Someone raised a glass to her, but Walter's hand shot out, intercepting it.

"What is a girl like her doing drinking this stuff?"

He downed the glass in one gulp.

The room erupted in cheers. I turned away, nausea roiling in my gut.

Walter was severely allergic to alcohol.

In the past, whenever we attended social events, I would drink for him until my stomach burned and my head spun, shielding him from every drop. He never once offered to take a sip for himself.

But for her...

He drank it without hesitation.

It turned out his allergy was selective. It only existed when I was the one protecting him.

I stumbled home. My legs gave out as I crossed the threshold, and I slid down the doorframe to the floor, too exhausted to even weep.

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

*You heard it all, right?*

I didn't know who sent it, nor did I care. I stood up and began to pack.

As I sorted through my belongings, I found a trove of memories. Every gift Walter had ever given me—expensive jewelry, handmade trinkets—I had treasured them all. But looking at them now, I couldn't reconcile the man who gave me these with the cold-hearted stranger in that private room.

Tears dripped onto my hands as I tossed them into the trash, one by one.

*Clink.*

A small, exquisite ring rolled across the floor.

My body went rigid.

The engagement ring.

He had bought it while on a business trip abroad. He'd been caught in a robbery and took three knife slashes to the chest to protect it. I remembered him being wheeled into the emergency room, pale and bloodied, clutching this ring.

His last words before the anesthesia took him were, "No matter what happens... I will never leave you."

Now, that memory sliced through my heart like a blade.

Had it all been a lie? Or was his "deep affection" just a mask he wore until Charlotte returned?

In the early hours of the morning, the front door clicked open.

I was feigning sleep when Walter climbed into bed. Reeking of alcohol, he pulled me into his arms, nuzzling my neck.

"Wife... I feel terrible..."

My eyes opened. Angry red rashes bloomed across his arms.

In the past, I would have sprung up to fetch medicine and cool towels, no matter how tired I was.

Today, I just stared at him.

"You drank?" I asked flatly.

"Social engagement. Couldn't be helped." He mumbled, pressing closer. "Wife, give me a kiss. It'll make me feel better."

Bile rose in my throat. I shoved him away.

His expression darkened instantly. "Jessica, what is wrong with you? Your own body is useless, you can't give me a child, and now you're throwing a tantrum? You expect me to coax you?"

He sat up, his eyes cold. "Go ask around. Whose wife is barren and still gets treated like a queen? I've done enough. What more do you want?"

I met his gaze with dead eyes.

He waited for the submission that always came.

It didn't.

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The next day, I went to the clinic.

"This procedure will likely leave you permanently infertile," the doctor warned.

I nodded. "Do it."

Before the surgery, I called Walter. Even then, in my moment of greatest fear, a pathetic part of me wanted to hear his voice.

Twenty-two calls.

He didn't answer a single one.

Disappointment settled over me like a shroud. I put the phone away and walked into the operating room.

When I woke from the anesthesia, my phone was still silent. No messages. No missed calls.

I opened social media. Charlotte had posted a new update.

A photo of her and Walter, surrounded by friends. Their faces were pressed together intimately. Around her neck hung a massive, glittering ruby pendant.