Sorry I ever longed for your love, sorry I carried your children again and again, only to lose them each time.
Sorry I stood in the way of you and your so-called lucky goddess.
Sorry we were ever together.
Ethan froze, the rage boiling inside him extinguished the moment he saw the pallor of my face.
Were the aftereffects of the miscarriage really this severe? It had been days—why hadn’t I recovered?
“Liora, when do you have time? I’ll find a specialist to help you recover.”
Just then, a message from Vivian came through.
Her syrupy voice filled the quiet room:
“Ethan, I don’t feel well…”
He hastily muttered, “We’ll talk later. I need to check on Vivian,” and rushed out.
I watched his decisive back as he left, then silently picked up my suitcase from the corner.
I had already drafted a message in my phone, scheduled it to send later.
I tossed the phone on the table and headed for the airport.
Ethan, from this moment on, we’ll never meet again.
What I didn’t know was that while I boarded the plane, my phone back home buzzed relentlessly.
When the doctor told him the drug Vivian had consumed was minimal and harmless, Ethan finally breathed a sigh of relief. He excused himself to get some air.