“Laureen, I need to go,” he said, already stepping away. He held my face for a second, kissed my forehead like it meant something. “You go ahead with the checkup. I’ll come find you after. I’ll stay with you… with both of you.”
Both of you.
He didn’t even finish his sentence before turning away. And then he was gone.
Just like that.
I stood there, staring at the signature on the paper. His name, bold and careless.
Right under the words…
Induced labor consent.
My vision blurred. I didn’t even notice the tears falling until they hit the paper and smudged the ink.
…
The operating room was cold. Too bright.
Metal instruments clinked softly somewhere beside me, sharp and distant.
I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my fingers curled tightly against the sheets. My body felt heavy, numb in places, but my chest… it felt like it was being crushed slowly.
This is the choice I made.
I bit down hard on my lip, tasting blood almost immediately. Memories kept coming, one after another, like they refused to let me go.
The first time he stayed with me through the storm.
The lights had gone out, thunder shaking the windows, and I couldn’t stop trembling. He sat beside me in the dark, his hand warm around mine, his voice steady. “It’s okay. I’m here. I won’t leave.”
The day I got sick and could barely stand.
He carried me to bed without a word, tucked the blanket around me, his hand brushing my hair back so carefully. “Rest. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
When I couldn’t keep food down during pregnancy.
He sat beside me, feeding me slowly, patient, soft. “Just one more bite, okay? You need to eat. I’m right here.”
I squeezed my eyes shut.
All of it…
Fake.
Every single word. Every touch. Every promise. Was there even one moment that was real?
Suddenly, the pain hit harder. My body tensed without warning, and a broken sound escaped my throat before I could stop it.
It hurts.
So much.
My fingers dug into my palms, nails pressing deep into my skin like I needed something to hold onto.
I thought I heard something.
A faint cry.
Or maybe it was just in my head.
“Joaquin…” I whispered, barely even hearing my own voice. Why am I still calling him? Why…
Tears slipped down the sides of my face, mixing with the cold sweat on my skin.
Everything felt distant. Blurry.
Like I was drifting somewhere far away from all of it.
The child…
Gone.
And just like that…
Whatever we had… it was over.
…
I stayed in the hospital for a day and no one came.
Not my parents and not even Joaquin.
I waited at him first. I kept checking the door every time footsteps passed. Maybe he'd show up or maybe he’d at least ask how I was but nothing.
In the end, I handled my own discharge. Signed the papers myself, packed my things, and walked out alone.
When I passed the VIP ward, the door was slightly open. I didn’t mean to look, but I did.
And there they were...
My parents sat on both sides of Elizabeth’s bed, peeling fruit, feeding her water, their faces full of worry. The kind of worry I’d begged for my whole life.
Joaquin stood near the doctor, holding a report, his brows slightly furrowed. His voice was low, careful, asking questions, making sure everything was fine.
Elizabeth reached out and tugged his sleeve, smiling softly.
He didn’t even hesitate. He bent down right away, adjusted her blanket, his movements gentle, patient.
I stood outside the door, frozen. My fingers slowly curled into my palm without me noticing.
Why does it still hurt? Haven’t I seen this my whole life?
A memory slipped in before I could stop it.
When we were kids, we both fell off our bikes on the same afternoon. Gravel tore into our knees, palms scraped raw, both of us crying on the side of the road.
My parents rushed straight to her. Lifting her up, brushing the dirt from her skin, voices soft and panicked as they checked every little scratch.
I stayed where I was.
Still on the ground.
My hands stung, blood slowly dripping down my fingers, but I didn’t move. I just watched them fuss over her like I wasn’t even there.
No one came.
I told myself I got used to it.
And then I met Joaquin.
He gave me so much that I stopped looking at anyone else. I stopped wanting anything from anyone else.
But now…
This was the first time I saw him treat someone better than he treated me.
So that’s it, huh? No one ever really loved me.
…
When I got back to the villa, the place felt too big.
I went straight to my room and closed the door.
Then I took out the fake belly I bought and strapped it under my clothes. Adjusted it carefully in the mirror until it looked real enough.
Still pregnant. Still carrying his child.
I touched it lightly. My hand trembled for a second before I pulled away.
My real baby…
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get rid of my own child. No matter what kind of lie this world had become, that baby was still mine.
So I paid the doctor a fortune to perform a C-section. I give him nough money to buy his silence. He agreed to hide the baby for me, said he’d take care of everything—no records, no trace. And that when the time was right, I could come back and get my child.
After that… I asked him for one more thing.
A dead baby. Unclaimed.
He hesitated at first, but money makes people quiet so he brought one.
I placed the tiny body into a beautifully wrapped box, soaked everything in formalin, sealed it carefully, and locked it inside the drawer.
This would be my gift to Joaquin.
After everything was done, I sat on the bed for a long time before picking up my phone.
I dialed a number I hadn’t touched in years.
“Hello?” a woman answered.
“It’s me,” I said softly. “Laureen Covington.”
There was a pause, then recognition. “Laureen?! It’s been a long time. Where are you now?”
“I’m still in, Beverly Hills, California. But I don’t want to stay here anymore.” My voice came out steadier than I expected. “I want to leave and go abroad. If the position at the Sunvale Academy is still open… I’d like to take it. I can teach piano. I can start anytime.”
“That’s sudden! You built a life there. Are you sure you’re ready to walk away from everything?”
Everything.
What did I even have to walk away from?
“I’ve thought about it,” I said quietly. “There’s nothing here for me anymore.”
“Alright,” she said. “Come in two weeks. I’ll arrange everything on my side. We’ll take care of the rest once you’re here.”
“Thank you,” I whispered.
I hung up.
Two weeks.
Just two more weeks.
Not long after, I heard footsteps outside and the door opened. Joaquin walked in, his expression tightening slightly when he saw me.
