“Do you love her?” Danica asked. The question hung in the air, heavy and suffocating.
“No,” Nathan answered instantly. No hesitation. No remorse. “I only love you.”
Then, the sound of wet, sloppy kissing filled the silence.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t storm in there and tear the IVs from my arm to strangle them. I felt a strange, icy calm settle over me. It was the death of hope. The death of the woman who had forgiven him ninety-nine times.
The Karylle who loved Nathan died in that hospital bed along with her unborn child.
I waited until the sounds of their affection faded, until the door handle turned.
Nathan walked in. He adjusted his expression instantly, shifting from the callous lover I had just heard to the grieving, concerned husband.
“Karylle,” he breathed out, rushing to my side. He reached for my hand, his palms sweating. “Oh, God. You’re awake. I was so worried.”
He squeezed my fingers, his eyes glistening with unshed, fake tears. “I’m so sorry, honey. The doctor… he told me about the baby. I can’t believe he’s gone.”
I looked at him. Really looked at him. For the first time, I didn’t see the man I loved. I saw a monster in a designer suit.