Chapter 1- Absent

Angela's POV

The moment Lyle’s phone rang, I knew he’d leave.

Lying on the disheveled bed, still catching my breath, I watched him glance at the screen and tense up. It didn’t take long—he was already sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling his clothes back on, like nothing had just happened between us.

“Who is it?” I ask, though the answer is obvious.

“Fiona,” he says, voice clipped. “She’s threatening to kill herself again. I need to go.”

Fiona. His adopted sister… but I have to wonder if maybe she’s something more.

I sit up, pulling the sheet tighter around me, trying to keep my voice steady. “Lyle, it’s my birthday.” The words feel small, like they hold no weight with him.

He doesn’t even turn around, just keeps dressing, his movements sharp and efficient, as if he’s already left in his mind. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

I swallow hard. I don’t know why I expect him to stay. “Call her, please, and then let’s go back to bed.”

He finally looks at me, but his eyes are cold, distant. Whatever flicker of warmth we’d shared earlier, whatever connection I thought we had, it’s gone. “Angela, don’t be selfish. She needs me.”

There’s that sting again, sharper this time, like he’s slapped me. I’ve heard those words before—too many times. “You always drop everything for her,” I say quietly, more to myself than to him. “Every time.”

Lyle grabs his keys without so much as a glance back at me, and just like that, he’s gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The silence that follows is suffocating, wrapping itself around me like a heavy blanket I can’t shake off. I sit there for a moment, staring at the door, willing myself not to cry. 

The tears come anyway, hot and uninvited, blurring my vision.

It’s pathetic, I know. I should have seen this coming. I’d been so stupid to think tonight would be different. After all, I’d planned everything so carefully. The fancy dinner, the wine, the dress… and then, the ring. My hand moves to the drawer of the nightstand, where I’d hidden the small velvet box.

I’d been so sure tonight was the night—the night I’d propose to him, because after three years of being together, he still hadn’t taken the next step. The night everything would change between us. Maybe he’d finally see how much I loved him, how much I was willing to give. Maybe, just maybe, he’d realize he loved me enough to stay.

Now, the ring feels like a cruel joke. 

My fingers brush against the box, but I can’t bring myself to open it. Instead, I sink back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, trying to block out the ache that’s settling deep in my chest.

Then, the pain in my stomach hits. It’s sudden, sharp, and so intense it steals my breath. I double over, clutching my abdomen, gasping for air. Something isn’t right.

Panic flares up inside me. I grab my phone with trembling hands, dialing Lyle’s number. He picks up after the first ring, but his voice is sharp, impatient. “What, Angela?”

“I—something’s wrong. I need you to come back.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I think he might actually care. When he speaks, his voice is cold, dismissive. “I can’t right now. I told you, my sister’s life is at stake. Stop being ridiculous.”

Before I can respond, the line goes dead.

I sit there, the pain radiating through my body, each wave stronger than the last. My heart races as I stare at the phone, the reality of my situation sinking in. I’m alone. Truly, utterly alone. 

My mind flashes back to three years ago, the day I first met Lyle. It had been raining that evening. I remember walking home from a late shift at the café, the streets deserted except for the soft patter of rain on the pavement. I’d taken a shortcut through an alley, thinking it would save me time. 

Instead, it led to a group of men—drunk, rowdy, their eyes full of bad intentions.

They’d surrounded me so fast, I barely had time to react. Panic surged through me as they taunted and jeered, closing in. I tried to scream, but the sound got stuck in my throat.

Then, out of nowhere, Lyle appeared. He was tall, imposing, and furious. He didn’t say much—he didn’t need to. One look from him, and the men scattered like rats, mumbling apologies as they fled.

I remember standing there, drenched and shaking, too stunned to speak. Lyle had looked at me for a long moment, his eyes scanning me like he was trying to assess the damage. Then he froze, his gaze locking onto my face.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft, but there was something else in his tone. Something I couldn’t quite place.

I nodded, my throat tight with fear and relief. He didn’t move for a second, just kept looking at me, like he was seeing something he hadn’t expected. Then, just as suddenly, his expression shifted, and he stepped back.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he asked, his voice returning to that detached tone I’d come to know so well.

I said yes, of course. How could I not? As we walked, something changed between us. By the time we reached my front door, he wasn’t just a stranger who’d saved me. 

He was the man I’d fallen for in a matter of minutes.

It wasn’t long after that night when he asked me to be with him. “I don’t do marriage,” he’d warned, “but I can give you everything else.” 

At the time, I didn’t care. I was so smitten, so blinded by the way he made me feel—safe, wanted, needed. I thought I could make him change his mind. I thought, one day, he’d love me enough to stay for good.

Now, lying here in pain, with him nowhere in sight, I realize how naive I’d been. He was never mine, not really. 

The pain in my stomach intensifies, pulling me back to the present. It’s unbearable now, sharp and relentless, like something is breaking inside me. 

I try to sit up, but my body won’t cooperate. My breath comes in short, shallow gasps as my vision starts to blur.

I need help. I need him.

He’s not coming.

As the darkness starts to close in, I can’t help but wonder how things got this bad. How I ended up here, alone, on the worst night of my life.

And then everything goes black.

I wake to the sound of soft beeping and the sterile scent of hospital antiseptic. My head feels heavy, my body even more so, and it takes me a moment to realize where I am. I blink against the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to piece together how I got here.

“Angela?” My best friend Jodelle’s voice cuts through the fog, soft but laced with concern. I turn my head to see her sitting by my side, her eyes red and puffy. “You’re in the hospital.”

My heart skips a beat. “What happened?” I ask, though a cold dread is already creeping up my spine.

“The doctor came in earlier,” Jodelle says, swallowing hard. “You miscarried, Ange. I’m so sorry.”

The word hits me like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from my lungs. Miscarried? I didn’t even know I was pregnant. My hand instinctively moves to my stomach, where the pain still lingers, but emptier now, more hollow.

I close my eyes, trying to process the weight of what she’s just told me, but all I can feel is the crushing sense of loss.