The second I refused, a strange calm washed over Coleton. His shoulders visibly relaxed, as if a great burden had been lifted. The performance was over. His forced smile vanished, replaced by a tight-lipped frown.
"Fine," he muttered, his voice sharp. "If you won't do it, I will. You're being irrational. It's probably the hormones crashing."
He huffed, tapping furiously on his phone. He posted something, then turned the screen slightly towards me. It was the picture he'd just taken, but my face was now a deliberate blur, an unrecognizable smudge next to his perfectly composed profile. The caption read, "Life throws curveballs, but we move forward. Grateful for true friends who keep us grounded. Thinking of you, Annis D."
A humorless laugh escaped my lips. He was so transparent, so utterly predictable.
Before I could process it, he snatched my phone from the bedside table. His fingers flew across the screen, pulling up my messaging app.
"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice barely a croak, but he ignored me.
He found Annis's contact. My blood ran cold, but I was too weak, too stunned to move. He typed quickly, then hit send.
"There," he said, handing the phone back to me with a smug expression. "I smoothed things over. And I told her I'd make her favorite pasta for dinner tonight. She's had a rough day dealing with the rumors."
My eyes scanned the message he'd sent from me to Annis. 'So sorry for the drama, Annis. I know it wasn't your fault. Coleton's making your favorite tonight, you should come over! We need cheering up.'
A notification popped up immediately. Annis's reply: 'Oh, Clarissa! You're too sweet. And Coleton, you're the best! Can't wait! xoxo'
Coleton grinned, clearly pleased with himself. He and Annis exchanged a flurry of messages, witty banter, and inside jokes, all through my phone. I watched them, two strangers conversing, as if I wasn't even in the room, as if my phone wasn't a part of my body. It highlighted how utterly insignificant I had become in my own life.
No one considered my feelings. No one asked if I was okay. No one cared that I was still weak, still bleeding, still reeling from the loss of our children. My body ached, a constant dull throb in my abdomen. It was a physical reminder of the emptiness he had helped create.
A nurse entered the room, her expression grim. "Mr. Stephenson, the discharge papers are ready. But Ms. Joyce is still quite frail. We recommend another night of observation, especially given the emotional trauma."
Coleton waved her off. "Nonsense. She's fine. She just needs rest at home. Hospitals depress her." He walked over to the counter, already signing the papers. "Honestly, the cost of this stay is astronomical. What exactly are you charging for?"
He scoffed, flipping through the bill. "This is ridiculous. All this for a miscarriage? It happens to women all the time. It's not surgery."
The words hit me like a physical blow. It happens all the time. My breath caught in my throat. I stared at him, my heart pounding with a mixture of shock and utter disbelief.
I reached for my purse, my hand trembling slightly. I pulled out my credit card. "I'll pay it," I said, my voice hoarse.
The nurse, a kind woman with gentle eyes, looked at me with sympathy. She then turned to Coleton, her voice laced with thinly veiled anger. "Mr. Stephenson, your fiancée just lost her children. She needs care, not judgment."
Coleton's face contorted in a mask of fury. "And who are you to tell me about my fiancée's care? Stay out of our business!" he snapped. "I'm the one dealing with her mood swings!"
"I'm sorry, ma'am," I said to the nurse, forcing a weak smile. "He's just... stressed."
Coleton grabbed my arm, his grip tight and bruising. "Let's go," he snarled, practically dragging me out of the room.
"Ms. Joyce, please be careful!" the nurse called after me, her voice filled with genuine concern.
As we walked down the sterile hallway, Coleton's grip never loosened. "What was that?" he hissed, pulling me into a secluded alcove near the elevators. "Complaining to strangers now? Making me look like the bad guy?"
I looked up at him, my eyes wide. "I wasn't complaining. She was just concerned."
His grip tightened. "Concerned? Or did you tell her I wasn't there when it happened? Making me look negligent?" His eyes narrowed, suspicion clouding their depths.
"I didn't say anything to her, Coleton. It's not like that."
"Then what is it like, Clarissa? Are you punishing me? Because I couldn't magically stop nature from taking its course?" His voice was laced with an unnerving calm, a warning. "I'm the one trying to keep everything normal."
I sighed, my body heavy with exhaustion. "No, Coleton. I'm not punishing you." I'm leaving you. The thought was a quiet epiphany.
His face remained dark, unsatisfied. "Fine." He turned on his heel and strode away.
I tried to keep up, but my legs felt like jelly. My abdomen throbbed with every step. Coleton didn't look back. He just kept walking, leaving me to trail behind.
He reached the hospital exit, his car idling at the curb. He got in, the engine revving. I was almost there, stumbling, reaching for the passenger door handle.
Then, without warning, the car lurched forward. My hand slipped. I lost my balance, my feet tangling beneath me.
I fell. Hard. My head slammed against the pavement. A searing pain exploded behind my eyes, and everything went black.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard his voice, distant and muffled. "Clarissa? Oh, for God's sake. Are you always going to be so clumsy?"
