Hana Silva POV:
My mother's old house was quiet, a welcome respite from the chaos that had consumed my life. I started to learn how to live alone, how to navigate the silence that now filled my days. It was strange, severing a bond that had been seven years in the making. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I would whisper Anderson' s name, a ghost of an old habit.
But then the memories would come, unbidden, like a cruel movie reel. I saw him at the university track meet, a blur of muscle and determination, crossing the finish line first. He' d scooped me into his arms, spinning me around, his laughter echoing in my ears. He was my hero.
I remembered the alley behind the campus, late at night. Two men, their faces leering, closing in on me. Then, a flash of movement, a powerful kick, and Anderson was there, shielding me, holding me tight, whispering reassurances into my hair. He had secretly followed me, worried about my safety. He was my protector, my knight in shining armor.
How could that boy, so full of light, so genuinely kind, be the man who now filled me with such utter disgust? The Anderson of my past, radiant and true, was buried beneath layers of deceit and manipulation. The Anderson of today was a hollow imitation, a master of lies. He kept repeating those empty promises, the ones he must have whispered to Katlyn too. Each word was a fresh wave of nausea.
I clenched my fists, the memory of his recent embrace, his performative concern, making my stomach churn. I hated him. I hated this new him.
My doctor's appointment was a few days later, and when I returned home, Anderson was there, stretched out on the sofa, looking entirely too comfortable. A cold dread seeped into my bones. He knew I was usually careless, leaving my medications scattered around. My stomach tightened.
"Hana, you're back!" he exclaimed, jumping up. He pulled me into a hug, his lips brushing my forehead. "I missed you so much. How's our little peanut doing?"
I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. His lies were so effortless, like breathing. How could he embody such concern while simultaneously orchestrating my downfall? How could he pretend to be jealous if another man looked at me, while secretly building a life with another woman?
"I'm fine," I said, pulling away gently. "I prefer to be alone right now. You being here just disrupts my rest." My words were a deliberate shield. I knew he was constantly out with Katlyn, painting a rosy picture of their 'farewell tour.'
I spotted a stray pill bottle on the coffee table. With feigned nonchalance, I walked over and picked it up.
He paused, watching me. Then he reached for me again, pulling me into a hug, his chin resting on my head. "I'm sorry, love. I know I've been absent. I'll make it up to you, I promise." He inhaled deeply, burying his face in my hair. "I' ll make everything up to you."
I squeezed the pill bottle so tightly my knuckles turned white. This wasn't remorse. This was convenience. The 100 days were over, and he was back to playing the doting husband. That was all it was.
His eyes, sharp despite their feigned tenderness, suddenly fixed on the white bottle in my hand. My heart hammered against my ribs. "What's that?" he asked, his voice casual.
"Just some extra vitamins," I lied, my voice wavering slightly. "For the pregnancy."
He didn't press. He just pulled me closer, rubbing my arms. "You're so cold. Let's get you warmed up." He led me to the fireplace, building a small fire. "Make sure you take those vitamins, alright? And call a driver if you're ever not feeling well. Don' t go wandering around alone."
I nodded, feeling like a puppet, my head bobbing in agreement. My lie was flimsy, pathetic. The label on the bottle, a potent anti-emetic, screamed the truth. But he didn' t see it. He didn' t notice the weight I'd lost, the dark circles under my eyes, the tremor in my hands. The old Anderson, the one who could read my every nuance, was gone. His heart, his mind, his focus-they were elsewhere.
I let out a silent, weary sigh. I didn't need to be nervous around him anymore. He saw nothing. He felt nothing.
