CHAPTER TWO

ISABELLA’S POV

A sharp pain ran through my head as I drifted my eyes apart. The harsh, sterile light hitting my sensitive eyes caused me to blink. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, mixed with the beeping sounds of the machines. I tried to take in everything about my surroundings. Before everything went blank, the image found its way in.

“Oh! You awake?” A gentle female voice said, and I turned my head slowly due to the pain of seeing a pretty lady who seemed to be in her twenties smiling at me. She was dressed in a nurse uniform. She had black hair and looked like she was pleased with her job. “How do you feel now?” She questioned; however, I felt my mouth was too dry to respond. It felt like I hadn't drunk a drop of water in ages. My throat was so parched, with my head throbbing.

My whole body was on fire. It felt as though it was stung by needles, and I groaned.

“What day is it?” I managed to croak out, my voice a shadow of itself. I could feel my energy draining with strings attached to my body.

“Thursday. You have been in bed for days.” She informed me, and I felt myself jot a little as I tried to sit up. The last I knew was Saturday.

The anniversary. The cake. The meals I prepared. Alaric must have been worried. If worse, annoyed. But everything would change soon. I forced on a smile as I ran my palm over my stomach.

“My baby….is it fine?” I forced myself to ask the most dreadful question.

The nurse stared at me for a while. I caught the pity in her eyes as she leaned in to take my palm gently.

“I am going to hold you while I say this.” She paused, taking her words one after another as though she feared what might become of me. “We did our best, but the baby, we lost it.”

The second the words rolled past her lips, I felt my world crumble and shatter into something smoother than the car glass. My eyes welled with tears. My lovely baby. My innocent thing. How? It didn't even do anything wrong.

The door opened in a second, and a male in his thirties walked in, dressed in a doctor’s uniform. He was tall and muscular, with a well-defined face more like he should have been a model and not a doctor.

“Mrs. Wolfe. How do you feel now?” He asked, moving closer; however, words had failed me.

“I lost my baby?” I let out, my voice consumed by grief, yet it sounded more like I needed his confirmation. I wanted to believe that the nurse was lying or, worse still, pulling a prank on me.

“You told her?” He raised his eyebrow as he looked at the nurse. “It was never in your position to.” His face formed into a frown until his eyes landed back on me. “We did all we could, but we couldn't save the pregnancy. Something hit your stomach hard during the accident. Luckily, only the baby was lost; there was no internal bleeding. Just a few cuts that have been stitched up and…”

His words faded into oblivion. All I could feel was my pain. My agony. And I couldn't tell if it was from the stitches or my heart. Did Alaric know yet? Was he outside, shedding tears, too?

“Your husband wasn't picking up his calls. Fortunately, we reached your friend and had the bills sorted out.” He said as though he could read my mind, and the last shred of hope I had hung onto collapsed as a weak smile parted my lips. Why did I ever think things would turn out differently this time? Why did I believe he would bother after the accident?

The thought that he didn't even care enough to show up was heartbreaking. I never mattered. We never did. Tears rolled down my ears as I clutched onto my stomach. I couldn't tell when they left, but the next I knew was Mireille squeezing my palm.

“Oh, my baby. I knew he never deserved you. I told you…” Her voice trailed off the second my walls came breaking down. She pulled me gently against her shoulder, patting my back as I let it all out.

Mireille and I had met during my last year of college. We had instantly clicked even though we had nothing in common. I was the calm and easy-going friend, whilst she was the type that would pull your hair out if you got on her nerves. I always felt like I didn't deserve her. I couldn't give her what she gave me. When the news of our wedding popped up, she tried so hard to talk me out of it. To remind me to love myself and find someone who would because she could see through him.

But I never listened. I didn't want to believe that.

Not even when Alaric had walked up to me to reject the wedding proposal his parents offered to save their shaky reputation. Not even when he begged me to tell them that I had seduced him on purpose to ruin his reputation, not even when he offered money to help me start a new life somewhere far away, not even when he told me that his heart belonged with another did I change my mind because I believed that he would learn to love me just like he loved Elena?

Was it their endless meetups? The countless messages? The late-night calls. The obsession he had with her was glaring, but yet I still had a glimmer of hope that he would see me for me someday. Hence, when he had walked in drunk, kissing me and calling me another’s name, I let him. And in the end, I ended up more miserable than before because he avoided me more like a plague.

The following days passed, and she cared for me while mixing it with having to go to work. Every time she came, she tried getting me something, no matter how small it was, to cheer me up. But every time, I wished that Alaric walked in instead, holding flowers and apologising for taking too long to realise how much I meant to him. He would embrace me and tell me for the first time that he loved me.

But that never happened.

Soon, I was discharged, and Mireille supported my waist as she helped me into her car. My mind was blank. It felt like I had lost an essential part of myself with my baby. I felt like a shadow of myself. Like all I wanted to do was curl up somewhere and cry some more. Because now I would never carry his child.

“You don't have to go if you don’t want to. You can always stay at my place.” She said as she kicked start the engine while I stared out the window to look at the passerby. Smiles were evident on their faces. Couples holding one another. A father threw his daughter in the air while she giggled. A homeless woman singing and clapping. At that moment, I realised I couldn't even remember the last time I smiled or laughed genuinely. The last time I was happy. I remembered my dream of a fairy tale marriage and was far from it. Bad things do happen to good people.

“Take me home, Mireille, please,” I muttered, tears stinging my eyes and my voice cracking.

Home? Was it still home? Or just another suffocating space I am stuck in.

I could tell that Mireille wanted to protest, but luckily, she didn't. Soon, the rain released its droplets, leaving soft sounds against the glasses, and I squeezed my eyes shut, pretending to hold her, my baby, and throw her in the air. Letting her sweet giggles fill my ears. I hoped that it would make me smile, but instead, all I felt was a stabbing pain. One that reminded me that I might never be a mother. Because Alaric didn't love me enough to touch me.

Soon, the car drove into the compound. My heart rate increased, and I wondered what awaited me next. Was it an empty home? Or one with an angry husband standing in it?

She packed the car and then helped me out, guiding me towards the door—each step caused me to question my choices.

“We can still turn and leave now, Bella.” My best friend reminded me, concern enveloping her voice. But I just couldn't. I was married. A wife. His wife, and here was where I belonged.

Mustering all courage, I pushed the door open. A sweet aroma lingered, and the house felt lit with life. I could hear a soft humming, and it made my heart thump.

“Who is there?” The overly familiar voice let out, followed by the clanking of the heels.

There she stood, my husband’s childhood sweetheart, in my marital home, dressed in my heels. My blue gown and my white apron.