Chapter 8
I don't know since when, but I've become more accustomed to lying. Once, I despised such people.
At night, I rested alone in the ward. Drowsily, I seemed to hear Josiah arguing with the doctor.
“My wife dropped the child in your hospital; you must take responsibility!” he exclaimed. “What do your nurses eat? Why couldn't they detect it sooner? My child could have been saved, but now my wife almost lost her life! You must take responsibility!”
The doctor, annoyed, replied coldly, “Sir, please calm down. The abortion procedure was scheduled two days in advance. Even if she hadn't fallen, the baby couldn't have been saved. Our colleague witnessed her fall. She was dragged to the edge of the stairs. If you don't believe it, check the surveillance footage.”
The door opened. In the dim light, Josiah's face was stern. I looked at him, my gaze full of complex emotions. Lying on the sickbed, I furrowed my brows uneasily. He tucked himself into the corner and carefully closed the curtains.
“Wife, I’m sorry…” A light apology, barely audible, was swept away by the night breeze.
The next day, he was gone. Only the steaming porridge in the bedside thermos proved he'd been there. I asked the nurse to dispose of it and requested another hospital breakfast. The nurse hesitated, her gaze revealing her uncertainty. Finally, she spoke.
“Don’t you know? Mr. Gilbert called the police this morning and had someone from the hospital arrested!” she said. “We went to cooperate with the investigation; they specifically instructed us to take good care of you.”
“Who did they catch?” I asked, my voice light.
“The person who tried to push you down the stairs that day!”
I checked the news. Aurora’s angry face filled the photo. The conspiracy was exposed; she was no longer pretending. The comments section was rife with speculation that she’d intentionally pushed me, amounting to attempted murder. She would likely face years in prison.
But I felt nothing. Even if I killed her, I couldn't bring back my child. While I'd chosen an induced abortion, being forced into one is entirely different. I wasn't ready that day. Josiah's indifferent attitude enraged me.
Seeing my lack of response, the nurse left, setting down the breakfast. I turned off my phone and ate alone. Josiah returned, hurrying to the hospital. Without a word, he began doing chores for me. A silent understanding settled between us. He didn't speak; I didn't ask.
A week passed. After the stitches were removed, I could walk. The doctor cleared me for discharge. Josiah produced a black card.
Chapter 9
I had to remain in the hospital. I couldn't take it anymore and argued with him.
“I was going to be discharged. What’s wrong with you?”
“Someone can take care of you here. I have to work when you go home; I’m worried.”
His serious, stubborn demeanor felt like a return to six years ago. But we couldn’t go back.
“Josiah, I just had an abortion. Why are you taking it so seriously?”
His face fell. I didn’t understand.
“Hazel, that was our child! How can you be so casual?” he exclaimed. “You impulsively scheduled the surgery without telling me. I know it was my fault, but the misunderstandings are resolving. We can reconcile. Can’t you give me a chance?”
I lifted my gown, revealing my scarred abdomen and swollen legs.
“What? You don’t find it disgusting anymore?” I asked. “Josiah, I’m not the same Hazel, and you’re not the same person either. It’s over.”
I discharged myself. He grew angry, initiating a cold war. After dropping me off, he went straight to work. I enjoyed the leisure, packing for my trip abroad. That night, he sorted through the gifts he’d given me over six years. Surprisingly, it barely filled a box. I threw it away without hesitation.
He returned home. I washed my hands and went to the kitchen.
Chapter 8
Two hours later, I saw a table full of food—he'd cooked for me. I’d spent six years in that kitchen, yet never tasted his cooking. I laughed bitterly at myself. I ate without savoring the taste, suppressing my emotions as I thought of leaving tomorrow.
After cleaning up, he produced a gift box. “Sixth-anniversary gift,” he said.
“No need. Keep it for your next… successor,” I replied.
“Hazel, do you have to be so hurtful?”
“Compared to Aurora, I’m praising myself,” I retorted.
Aurora would never reappear, yet she remained an insurmountable barrier. We both knew it.
I slept in the guest room, using my own bedding. My phone vibrated all night—Josiah’s apologies, interspersed with large money transfers. The green chat bubbles finally changed color, but I no longer cared.
At dawn, I heard him leave. I freshened up and took a taxi to the airport, deleting all his contact information. Only one sentence remained: “Never again. This is the end.”
That apartment—bought after his success—had nothing to do with me. I left easily. Letting go was easier than I'd imagined.
Chapter [Number missing]
Perhaps past moments were disappointing, but now, having made the effort, I have no regrets. As the plane took off, I bid farewell to my former self. I hope each future day surpasses every past year.