Carlie Bean POV:
The world swam back into focus, a blurry kaleidoscope of white and sterile smells.
I heard hushed voices, the rhythmic beep of machines.
My head throbbed, a dull ache behind my eyes.
"She's waking up," a soft voice murmured.
A kind face, framed by dark hair and gentle eyes, peered down at me.
A nurse.
"Where... where am I?" I croaked, my throat dry and raw.
"You're in the hospital, dear," she said, her voice soothing. "You had a bit of a scare."
A scare. That was an understatement.
Then it all came flooding back: the voicemail, Gage's lies, his hurried exit, the pain.
The babies. My hands flew to my stomach, a frantic search for the familiar swell.
It was flat. Terrifyingly flat.
The nurse's face softened, a look of profound sadness shadowing her features.
"I'm so sorry, dear," she whispered, her hand gently covering mine. "We did everything we could."
My heart shattered, again.
Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent.
The twins. Gone.
The last, fragile thread connecting me to Gage, severed.
But even through the overwhelming grief, a strange sense of clarity emerged.
They were gone because of him, because of his betrayal, his callous disregard.
He had taken everything from me.
My trust, my future, my babies.
There was nothing left to lose.
Nothing left for him to take.
The door creaked open, and Gage strode in, his face etched with concern, but also a hint of impatience.
He rushed to my bedside, his hand reaching for mine.
I flinched away, my gaze cold.
"Carlie, my love," he began, his voice laced with forced tenderness. "I rushed back as soon as I heard. What happened?"
His concern felt like a performance, a cruel mockery of what I had just lost.
"Don't," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but sharp enough to cut.
He paused, his hand hovering in the air.
"Don't what, Carlie?" he asked, his brow furrowed.
"Don't pretend," I replied, my gaze burning into him. "Don't pretend you care."
He recoiled as if I had struck him.
"Of course, I care! You're my wife! And... and the babies..." His voice trailed off, a flicker of genuine sadness in his eyes.
But it was too late.
The words were hollow, meaningless.
"They're gone, Gage," I said, the truth a bitter pill. "Because of you."
His face drained of color.
"What are you talking about?" he stammered, his eyes wide with a confusion that actually seemed real.
"I heard the voicemail," I repeated, my voice stronger now. "Brylee. Your 'passion.' Your 'thrill.' And me? Just 'comfortable.' Just a 'placeholder'."
The words hung in the air, heavy with accusation.
He sank into the chair beside my bed, his head in his hands.
"Carlie, I can explain," he mumbled, his voice muffled.
"There's nothing to explain," I said, my voice cold as ice. "It's over, Gage. For good this time."
He looked up, his eyes red-rimmed, a flicker of panic in them.
"No," he said, his voice pleading. "Please, Carlie. Don't say that. We can fix this. I'll break it off with Brylee, completely. I swear."
"You swore before," I reminded him, a mirthless laugh escaping my lips. "And what happened? You ran to her the moment she called, leaving me here, bleeding, losing our children."
The words hung in the air, a punch to his gut.
He looked away, unable to meet my gaze.
"I'll give you anything," he said, desperate now. "Anything you want. More money, a new house, anything."
"I don't want your money, Gage," I said, my voice filled with a finality that shook even me. "I want my life back. The one you stole, twice."
A nurse entered the room, her voice soft but firm.
"Mr. Schwartz, visiting hours are over. Mrs. Schwartz needs her rest."
Gage glared at her, but she stood her ground.
He turned back to me, his eyes pleading.
"Carlie, please. Think about this. Don't make any rash decisions."
"The decision has been made," I said, my voice steady. "I'm divorcing you, Gage."
His jaw dropped, but no words came out.
"And," I continued, a cold satisfaction spreading through me, "I'm leaving. New York. You. Everything."
He stared at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and disbelief.
He thought he had me, didn't he?
He thought I would always come back, always forgive, always be his "comfortable" Carlie.
He was wrong. So wrong.
He tried to say something, but the nurse gently, but firmly, ushered him out of the room.
He disappeared, leaving me alone in the quiet of the hospital room.
Alone, but free.
The pain in my heart was still immense, a black hole of grief.
But beneath it, a tiny spark of something new ignited.
Freedom.
I closed my eyes, a single tear escaping, not of sorrow, but of a fierce, unyielding resolve.
