Without hesitation, Caleb scooped her into his arms. “I’ll get you over there. Valencia, wait here.”
Watching them, I felt a strange emptiness, as though the energy had been drained from my body. Maybe it was the fever, or maybe it was the ache in my chest at seeing him care for her more than me. My knees shook, and I had to lean against the wall, saying nothing.
Caleb didn’t even glance at me again as he carried Marina away. It didn’t seem to matter that I was sick. It didn’t seem to matter at all.
No matter how perfect Caleb appeared, around Marina, his true emotions always slipped through—betraying the illusion he maintained. And he didn’t even realize it.
I forced a bitter smile, turning toward the doctor’s office to attend to my fever alone.
Sure enough, the thermometer confirmed it: 41.3°C. The burn on my wrist had become infected, worsened by emotional stress, and now a viral infection had taken hold. The doctor instructed me to drink boiled herbs and a medicinal infusion.
Out of habit, I reached for my phone to call Caleb—but stopped before even dialing.
Habit was dangerous.