Chapter 0005

“It’s you…” I murmured a second time, my eyes still fixed on Zade, trying to absorb his presence. He leaned against the door frame, his golden-rimmed glasses perched on his nose once again. But then he frowned, his dark eyes unreadable. Without a word, he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing rhythmically down the hallway.

I sank back onto the bed, lowering my head as a flurry of thoughts swirled. He’d gone abroad so many years ago, vowing never to return. So why now? And how had he found me? How did he even recognize me?

My hands trembled as I raised them to my face. What did I look like now? Zade had always called me beautiful, but was I still beautiful to him, or had the years of abuse aged me into something else entirely?

The walls of the hospital room seemed to close in around me, my throat tightening as my vision blurred. Why hadn’t I died? He must have saved me. But why?

And why was I the one who always had to suffer? I’d done everything I could to help myself and those around me. How had things come to this?

“Elaine! Elaine!”

I jolted awake, my lashes fluttering. Zade leaned over me, his cold eyes laced with confusion.

“What?” I asked, and then trailed off, horrified as I realized how far my thoughts had spiraled. Zade’s gaze remained fixed on me with an intensity that sent a wave of discomfort through my chest. My breath came in shallow pants, my heart pounding against my ribs.

“Miss Elaine.” The doctor’s voice cut through the tension.

Zade stepped back, allowing him to approach. With a clipboard in hand, the doctor’s concerned eyes studied me, and for a moment, his face overlapped with memories of the other doctor who’d treated me before.

“Miss Elaine.”

“Yes?” His voice brought me back to the present.

“It’s… well…” The doctor rubbed the back of his head, his hesitance clear in the way he shifted. “There’s something we need to discuss with you.”

“You can tell me. I’m used to surprises now—good or bad.”

“Okay. I’ll just come out with it then.” He cleared his throat, then straightened his stance. “Because of the trauma you’ve endured, the pregnancy loss, and the extensive emotional and physical toll, there’s a possibility that it may be difficult for you to conceive again.”

I froze. His words seemed to echo in a void, and for a moment, all I could hear was the ringing in my ears.

I might never have children?

I blinked, trying to process what he’d said. He was speaking again, his voice careful and gentle, but his words washed over me like distant sounds, as if I were hearing them underwater.

“Elaine.” Zade’s voice broke through the fog, grounding me.

“Miss Elaine,” the doctor continued softly, “I know this is difficult news. But with the right support and care, you can still live a fulfilling life. We’ll do everything we can to help you heal—physically and emotionally. And with time, there may still be a chance.”

I nodded numbly, feeling hollow. What kind of life was he talking about? A life without the possibility of being a mother, without the chance to hold my own child, the child I had once dreamed of? I wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. I wanted to cry, but tears wouldn’t come. It was as if I’d lost the ability to feel anything at all. With this emptiness inside me, was I even human?

The doctor drew my attention once again. “If you need to talk, or if you feel any pain, just ask a nurse to get me.” He gestured to Zade. “This man brought you here. He said you two know each other?”

“We do,” I mumbled slowly, not wanting to say anything more.

“All right, then.” The doctor nodded and glanced briefly at Zade. Zade shifted beside me, his presence overwhelming. He’d always been a silent force in my life—both a comfort and a curse. And now, standing there, he looked at me with an expression that made me want to scream, to lash out, to push him away for daring to see me like this.

“I’ll leave you two to talk,” the doctor said, offering a small nod before leaving.

Once the door closed behind him, the silence grew heavy, almost unbearable. I couldn’t look at Zade. I didn’t want to see pity in his eyes—or worse, indifference.

“Why did you come back?” I asked, finally breaking the silence. I needed to know. “You told me you’d never come back, so why are you here now?”