Chapter 5 Conflicting emotions

I wake up early, the morning light casting a gentle glow across the room. I step into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The events of last night play on a loop in my mind, leaving me tangled in a web of confusion.

Why hasn't George signed the divorce agreement I sent him? Wasn't he the one who said he wanted to end this marriage?

I can't make sense of his contradictory actions and words. On one hand, he insists on demanding my intimacy and treating me as his wife; on the other, he claims he wants to sever our ties.

The weight of his expectations burdens me. How can he ask me to fulfill the duties of a wife while simultaneously declaring his intention to leave? It's a paradox I can't decipher.

Does he truly want to end this marriage, or is a part of him still yearning for something more?

Confusion swirls within me like a storm, and I struggle to find solid ground amidst the tempest of my emotions. I thought I knew where we stood, but now I question everything.

Ding-Dong…

The sound of the doorbell disrupts the peaceful morning air, stirring a mix of curiosity and apprehension within me.

"Who could be visiting at such an early hour?"

With cautious steps, I make my way to the door.

As I swing the door open, my breath catches in my throat. Standing before me is Megan, wearing a sly smirk that sends a shiver down my spine. Her presence alone is enough to ignite a storm of emotions within me.

"Good morning, Vivian." She walks into the house confidently as if she is the mistress of the house.

She wastes no time taunting me, mentioning George's grandmother's upcoming birthday party.

"George used to invite me every year," she adds. "Last year, I wasn’t here and couldn’t attend the party. Since I am back, I won’t miss this time. I am going to buy a birthday gift for her with George."

The realization that he always invited Megan to these family gatherings hits me like a sudden gust of wind, and I struggle to maintain composure. It's a painful reminder of their shared history, a connection that I can't seem to sever.

Before I can gather my thoughts, George emerges from the room, dressed immaculately, betraying that he was already aware of Megan's arrival.

"George…" Megan rushes over to him and hooks her arms around his neck. "Good morning."

She plants a kiss on his cheek.

The sight of them together stings, as if a thousand needles pierce my heart. I remain standing there, my face a mask of indifference, determined not to reveal the depth of my emotions.

"Good morning." He returns her smile.

The pang of pain intensifies, but I refuse to let it show. Instead, I turn my back and retreat into the kitchen, seeking solace within the confines of familiar surroundings.

I busily set the table for breakfast, my movements mechanical. I try to drown out their presence, the laughter, and the shared memories that once belonged solely to George and me.

"Pancakes!" Megan walks up to the dining area, her face full of surprise. "George, you still like to eat pancakes at breakfast!" She exclaimed with delight. "Awe… you haven’t forgotten even after a year that I love pancakes."

The corners of my lips hook slightly into a sneer as her words reach my ears.

I had never known about Megan's fondness for pancakes, and yet it seems to have become a shared preference between her and George.

How could I, in the span of a year, fail to create even a ripple within his heart?

The realization hits me like a heavy blow. I had naively believed that our time together, our shared experiences, and our intimate moments had fostered a genuine connection. His actions, his tender gestures, had led me to believe that he had fallen in love with me.

How foolish I was to have been swayed by his impeccable acting, and his portrayal of a devoted husband.

George, ever the gentleman, adeptly played the role of a loving husband, masking his true feelings with grace. But now, it becomes clear to me that he had never truly let go of Megan.

His heart still yearns for her, despite the passing of time and the charade we have been living. He had merely fulfilled his responsibilities, adhering to the duties he deemed necessary.

The truth is a bitter pill to swallow, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. At this moment, I understand the depth of my own naivety.

I had hoped that perhaps, against all odds, I could ignite a spark within George's heart and become the one he truly loved. But it seems that destiny has other plans, firmly aligning George's affections with another.

I gaze at them, sharing a moment of nostalgic joy over a plate of pancakes. Their connection, unbroken by time and separation, is a painful reminder of the love that remains beyond my grasp.

I gather my strength, ready to face the reality that lies before me. I must find the courage to let go, to release myself from the grip of a love that was never truly mine. Swallowing my disappointment, I bury my own desires deep within my heart.

A sudden wave of morning sickness overwhelms me. With an urgent need to escape, I rush toward the bathroom.

"Vivian…" George's worried voice fills the air.

His concern rings hollow in my ears, tinged with a hint of hypocrisy.

"Are you okay?"

I take my time to answer him. Through my peripheral view, I can see him standing by the door.

"Why didn't you say you weren't feeling well?"

I manage to compose myself, rinsing my mouth with water.

"I am fine. It’s a minor issue. Perhaps, I ate something that wasn’t fresh enough." My response is calm, almost detached.

"I am taking you to the hospital," he says authoritatively.

"I am a doctor and capable of taking care of myself." I try to protest.

George, ever persistent, refuses to listen to my reassurances.

"You are coming with me and that’s final. Don’t make me repeat myself."

He pays no heed to my words, already heading towards the door with a resolute determination. It is as if his decision is final, leaving me with little say in the matter.

In the midst of our exchange, Megan stands there as a mere spectator to this unfolding scene.

George stops right beside her and says, "I am taking you to the mall first."

With that, he walks out the door.

His priorities are clear, and his agenda is already set. And within this whirlwind of events, I am left feeling like a passenger, my voice silenced, my wishes dismissed.

As George's footsteps fade in the distance, I am left standing there, grappling with a mix of emotions. Frustration intertwines with resignation; my thoughts are a jumble of conflicting feelings.

I sigh and stroll to the bedroom to bring my purse. When I come out, I spot Megan in the hall. A flicker of surprise dances within me as I wonder why she is still here instead of going out with George.

Her stern expression sends a chill down my spine, foreshadowing an impending confrontation.

Megan approaches me.

"Don't mistake George's polite gestures out of guilt for his love for you. You should know better." Her voice is dripping with coldness as she delivers her words with calculated precision.

I meet Megan's gaze unwaveringly, my indifference veiling the underlying emotions that swirl beneath the surface. I refuse to allow her assumptions and judgments to seep into my psyche.

"I am not misunderstanding anything. Rest assured, Megan."

I stand tall, my defenses fortified.

Megan's presence, her possessiveness—it all serves as a painful reminder that George's heart still lingers elsewhere, in a place that I cannot reach. But I refuse to let her belittlement diminish my resolve.

"You shouldn’t feel insecure when you believe in yourself."

I square my shoulders and walk out.