Chapter 3
1254words
Now, despite my growing doubts about my marriage, I couldn't help but feel a flutter of excitement. Perhaps this baby was exactly what we needed—a reason to recommit, to rebuild the trust that had been slowly eroding.
I spent the afternoon planning the perfect evening to share the news. I bought Ryan's favorite wine (which I wouldn't drink), prepared his favorite meal, and even placed a tiny pair of baby shoes in a gift box as a surprise.
At 6:30 PM, my phone chimed with a text: "Emergency meeting with investors. Don't wait up. Sorry babe."
My heart sank as I stared at the romantic table setting for two. This was the third time this week he'd canceled our plans last minute. I picked up my phone to call him, then hesitated, remembering Victoria's words about the Hamptons trip.
On impulse, I decided to bring dinner to him at the office. If he was truly working late, he'd appreciate the gesture. And if he wasn't... well, I needed to know the truth.
When I reached the 32nd floor, I was surprised to find the office suite dark. Only the emergency exit signs cast an eerie glow across the empty desks.
"Ryan?" I called out, my voice echoing in the silence. No answer.
I checked his office—empty, with no sign he'd been there recently. His computer was off, his desk tidy. I stood in the darkened room, the truth settling over me like a shroud. There was no emergency meeting.
I glanced at my watch. Perhaps he'd already finished and gone home? I should head back and catch him there—maybe he was telling the truth after all, and I was letting Victoria's poisonous words cloud my judgment.
I hurried back to the elevator, eager to return home. But as I crossed the lobby, I glanced out the large windows facing the street and froze.
Across the road stood the Archer Hotel, its elegant façade lit up against the evening sky. And there, walking through its revolving doors, was Ryan—with Victoria on his arm.
I felt as though I'd been punched in the stomach. I watched, paralyzed, as they disappeared into the hotel, Ryan's hand resting intimately on the small of Victoria's back.
Before I knew what I was doing, I found myself crossing the street, entering the hotel, following them. Some distant part of my brain screamed that this was a mistake, but I couldn't stop myself.
I spotted them entering an elevator, Ryan laughing at something Victoria said, his face more relaxed and genuine than I had seen in months. I waited for the next elevator, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it.
On the 14th floor, I stepped out into a plush corridor. I didn't know which room they'd entered, but as I walked slowly down the hallway, I heard Victoria's distinctive laugh through one of the doors.
I stood outside room 1412, my hand raised to knock, then lowered it again. What would I even say?
Through the door, I could hear their muffled voices, then silence, followed by the unmistakable sounds of passion. Victoria's breathy moans, the rhythmic creaking of the bed, and worst of all, Ryan's voice murmuring words of desire I hadn't heard in months. Each sound was like a knife twisting in my heart.
Tears blurred my vision as I turned away, the gift box with the baby shoes falling from my numb fingers. I stumbled toward the emergency stairs, unable to bear waiting for the elevator, needing to escape this nightmare.
In my haste, I missed the first step. I felt myself falling, tumbling down the stairs before pain exploded through my body. I came to rest on the landing, curled into a protective ball, my arms wrapped around my abdomen.
A sharp cramp seized me, worse than anything I'd ever felt. "No," I whispered, "please, no." But the warm wetness spreading beneath me told its own story.
The stairwell door above me opened, and a man's voice called out, "Is someone there?"
I looked up through tears to see a familiar face—the stranger from the café. His expression changed from annoyance to alarm when he saw me.
"Don't move," he ordered, rushing down the stairs and kneeling beside me. His hands were steady as they checked my pulse.
"I'm pregnant," I managed to say, another cramp making me gasp. "I think I'm losing the baby."
Without hesitation, he scooped me up. "I'm taking you to the hospital. My car is in the garage."
"Why are you helping me?" I asked weakly.
"Because you need help," he replied simply. Then, with a hint of his earlier acerbity, "And because you clearly have terrible judgment in both men and staircases."
Despite everything, I almost laughed, though it came out as more of a sob.
At the hospital, everything happened in a blur. Hours later, a doctor delivered the news I had already sensed: I had lost the baby.
When they allowed visitors, I expected to be alone. Instead, the stranger from the café appeared in my doorway.
"You stayed," I said, surprised.
"I wanted to make sure you were alright." He stepped into the room but remained at a distance. "The doctor said you're stable, but they want to keep you overnight for observation."
I nodded, too emotionally drained to speak. Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks.
He moved closer, offering me a tissue. "I'm sorry about your baby."
"Thank you," I whispered. "And thank you for helping me. I don't even know your name."
"Ethan," he said after a brief hesitation. "Ethan Reed."
"Isabella," I replied, then added bitterly, "Ryan's wife. The one with the mosquito-bite theory."
A ghost of a smile touched Ethan's lips. "I remember."
"You were right," I admitted. "About everything."
"Being right isn't always satisfying," he said quietly. "Have you called him? Your husband?"
I shook my head. "He's busy." The word dripped with irony.
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Is there someone else I can call for you? Family? Friends?"
I thought of Michael, of my father, of the life I'd left behind. They would come immediately if I called, would wrap me in the protective cocoon of family wealth and influence. But that would mean admitting defeat.
"No," I said finally. "There's no one."
Ethan looked skeptical but nodded. "I'll check with the nurses about your discharge instructions." He turned to leave, then paused at the door. "For what it's worth, I think you're stronger than you realize. Most people wouldn't have the courage to face the truth, even when it's staring them in the face."
After he left, I lay in the sterile hospital room, one hand resting on my empty womb, the other clutching my phone. On the screen was a text from Ryan: "Working late. Don't wait up."
I closed my eyes, letting the tears flow freely. I had lost so much today—my baby, my marriage, my illusions. But as the pain washed through me, something else emerged from the depths of my being: determination.
I had walked away from privilege once to prove myself; now I would rise from these ashes to reclaim my strength, my dignity, and perhaps, eventually, my heart.
