The sound of footsteps faded away, and he never noticed the unusual chill in the basement, where a thin layer of frost had begun to creep up the walls. My body shook with cold as I screamed desperately, clawing at the door, desperately trying to break the only window. But it was all pointless.
We had turned this basement into a wine cellar when we were newlyweds, back when I was still a sommelier. Alan would bring me a bottle of wine after each conference as a token of our love. In order to preserve these memories, he enthusiastically transformed this space into a wine cellar. But it had been ages since he last came here and didn't realize the equipment had malfunctioned.
My fingernails were torn, and bloody smears marked the door and walls. But there was no sign of anyone coming to my aid. I couldn't protect my baby, only rubbing my cold hands together helplessly before shielding my belly. Slowly, my consciousness started to fade, my movements growing sluggish until I could no longer move a finger.
I died.
As my soul slipped away, even my tears were invisible. I cast one final look at my twisted body in the corner before leaving the basement behind. All I wanted to know was, where was Alan?
Then I saw him in a hospital room. He was asleep, his hand tightly intertwined with Sierra’s as he leaned over the bed. Over the next few days, he cared for Sierra tirelessly, who had long since recovered from her fever.
When the nurse suggested Sierra's discharge, Bennett Lynch, a mutual friend, stopped by the room. Alan was busy feeding Sierra oatmeal, unaware of Bennett's concerned expression.
"Alan, did Elowyn tell you?" Bennett asked.
"What?" Alan said.
After that day’s check-up, I had asked Bennett to keep my pregnancy a secret, wanting to surprise Alan later. Seeing Alan’s puzzled look, Bennett probably guessed I hadn’t told him yet, so he brushed it aside. "Nothing. Let Elowyn tell you herself."
Bennett turned away but couldn't resist advising him, "You're on leave, right? You should spend some time with Elowyn."
Alan didn’t even look up. "I took leave to take care of her. Elowyn’s fine. She's eating and sleeping well."
Bennett shook his head and left.
I lingered beside Alan, watching his careful attention as he fed Sierra. The hands I once adored now bore burns, likely from preparing the oatmeal. Bitterness surged within me; Alan, who never set foot in the kitchen, could cook for someone else.
Sierra glanced at him. "Alan, have you ever cooked for Elowyn?"
Alan froze. "No."
Sierra’s face lit up with delight before she took another spoonful. "I'm worried I'd make something she wouldn’t like. She’s very particular; the wrong food makes her stomach recoil, and it’s quite uncomfortable."
Sierra started coughing, her expression suddenly icy.
After tidying up, Alan checked his phone for the time, looking tense and lost in thought.
The doctor who examined me walked by, greeting Alan with a smile. "Congrats, Dr. Jenkins!"
"For what?" Alan asked.
"Well, for becoming a father soon. Elowyn hasn’t mentioned it?"
The lunch container slipped from Alan's hand, crashing to the floor.
