I stood outside that door, listening, and every word drove through my chest like a shard of ice.
It wasn't just betrayal. It was cruelty—deliberate, calculated, and vicious.
Four years of high-society whispers. Four years of swallowed pride. I'd endured all of it with my jaw locked shut.
My knees still bore the scars from kneeling at temple steps, praying for his recovery. On rainy days, they ached.
I remembered draping a blessed sachet around his neck with trembling, reverent hands.
And what had he been doing?
Rolling between the sheets with his sponsored girl, lost in ecstasy—laughing at how stupid I was. How pitiful.
Then he let his friends size me up with those pitying, mocking stares.
I wiped my tears, turned, and walked out. The first thing I did was cancel the appointment I'd made for Damian with the American specialist.
The receptionist on the other end sounded bewildered.
"Ms. Calloway, you pulled every string imaginable to get Professor Kemistry on board. Why the sudden cancellation?"
I let out a bitter laugh.
"Because my husband made a full recovery. Even fathered a big, healthy baby boy."