Brooklyn Winfield's voice drifted from behind him, trembling and pitiable.
"Joshua... please don't leave me. I'm so scared..."
Joshua Delgado froze. He stood between us, his weight shifting, paralyzed by indecision.
I didn't wait for him to choose. I shoved him toward her.
"Go," I said, my voice devoid of warmth. "Go take care of Brooklyn. I don't need you anymore, Joshua."
Without waiting for a response, I signaled the doctor. The gurney began to move.
As the operating room doors swung shut, I caught one last glimpse of the hallway: Joshua had his arm around Brooklyn, guiding her into a hospital room. He didn't look back.
The doctor informed me the fetus was five weeks old. A life that never had the chance to see the world.
I lay there, staring at the sterile ceiling, feeling him being scraped away. It wasn't just the loss of the child—it was filth being purged from my soul.
When I finally returned to the ward, having shed a pool of blood and the last of my hope, I felt hollowed out. My heart wasn't broken. It was ash.
I swallowed the bitter post-op pills and dragged myself to the bathroom. Under scalding water, I scrubbed my skin raw, trying to wash away the traces of that night.
Later, Joshua returned. He brought a bowl of porridge, his eyes wide with performed regret.
"Was it those thugs? The ones who hurt you?" His voice rose in feigned anger. "I'll find them. I'll settle the score right now!"
I looked at him numbly. A dry, self-mocking laugh escaped my throat.
"Now?" I asked. "Isn't it a little late for heroics? Do you even know who arranged for me to be harmed? Do you have any idea what you lost today?"
He didn't know. He didn't even know I had been pregnant.
"What do you mean?" Joshua frowned, reaching for my hand. "What did I—"
A nurse burst into the room, breathless.
"Mr. Delgado! Miss Winfield slit her wrists! She's screaming for you—you need to come now!"
The truth I wanted to speak died in my throat. Joshua didn't hesitate. He was already turning toward the door, panic written across his face.
Only at the threshold did he remember me. He paused, offering a frantic explanation.
"Paige, she's young. She's the student you sponsored. I have to be responsible for her. Once I get her calmed down, I'll come back and take care of you, okay?"
I curled my lips into a cold sneer. A man I couldn't keep was a man I no longer wanted.
"Make your choice, Joshua."
He chose to leave.
For three days, he didn't show up.
On the day of my discharge, I scrolled through my phone. Brooklyn had posted a photo: a pregnancy test with two distinct red lines.
She was pregnant.
Moments later, Joshua's feed updated. A melancholic photo with a caption that reeked of nostalgia: "If only we had met when you were eighteen..."
I stared at the screen, expression flat. I 'liked' his post.
Then I sent him a private message: a photo of my pregnancy termination report, followed by the audio and video evidence from the alleyway that night.
I locked my phone, went home, and packed my life into a suitcase.
As I moved to the door, Coco arched its back. It let out a low, warning growl and lunged at me, claws tearing at my pant leg.
In the past, I would have soothed it. This time, I kicked it away hard.
The cat yowled and skittered across the floor. I dropped the signed divorce agreement on the dining table, walked out, and slammed the door shut.
