TRISTAN
Her hand was trembling. I noticed it the moment we stepped out of the hospital doors and the sunlight struck her face. She had been strong inside — quiet, composed, even curt with the nurse — but now, out here in the open, away from sterile walls and clinical murmurs, the weight returned to her shoulders.
She clutched the prescription in one hand, her other resting lightly on the sling that supported her healing wrist. Her body moved slowly — too slowly — and yet, her eyes darted around like she was being watched.
"Suzzy," I murmured under my breath, guiding her toward the car. "It's okay. You're not alone."
She nodded, lips pressed together. She hadn't said much during the appointment. Just the essentials. No emotion. No visible cracks. But I'd learned to read the silences. Hers were screaming today.
Especially when the nurse asked, "Marital status?"
I expected her to say married or at least separated. But she surprised me.
She looked up, steady and bold.
"Single," she said.And then scribbled out Knight from her record and wrote Suzanne Everlyn instead.
My chest had clenched at that. Not out of joy — but out of fierce protectiveness. Because that one word single meant she was finally breaking the last string Josh had tied to her.
When she got into the passenger seat, I noticed her sigh — not exhausted, but... empty.
I helped her buckle up, the closeness enough to feel her breath catch. Or maybe mine did.
She looked up."Thank you for coming with me today," she said, almost mechanically.
I tried resting my hand on her shoulder but pulled back thinking she would feel uncomfortable, "I'd come with you to hell if I had to, Suzzy."
Her eyes widened, not because of the words, but because I said her name — Suzzy. That name belonged to another version of her. A version that only existed when we were alone. A version she still didn't fully understand.
---
SUZANNE
The ride was silent, but not awkward. Just… thoughtful. I stared out the window, watching traffic blur, but not really seeing anything. My body ached. The check-up had gone fine, but something about hearing the phrase "post-trauma recovery is stable" made it feel worse.
Stable. As if I was just another file.I touched my abdomen absently.
The miscarriage still haunted me like a shadow that wouldn't leave. No heartbeat. No baby. No goodbye.
Tristan hadn't brought it up. He never did unless I did first. And even then, he listened. Not just heard — truly listened. Like he was memorizing my pain to carry half of it for me.
We pulled into his driveway, and I hesitated.
Not his anymore. Ours.
Ever since the accident, I'd been staying here. It started out as recovery. Then safety. And now… I wasn't sure.
When he helped me out of the car, his hand slipped under my elbow, firm but gentle. I didn't even realize how much I leaned on him until I felt the warmth of his palm through the fabric of my shirt.
A strange shiver ran down my spine.
It wasn't fear. Or sadness.
It was something else.
Soft.
Unsettling.
New.
His thumb brushed my skin accidentally as he adjusted my sling. Our eyes met for the briefest second.
I looked away first.
What was that?
I'd felt this once before. Years ago. A fleeting feeling I couldn't place. Back then, I was too young to understand it. Now, I wasn't sure I wanted to.Was I… reacting to him?No. That couldn't be. He was just helping. Just being kind.
But why did my heart skip when he opened the door for me like a gentleman from a forgotten century?Why did the silence between us feel heavier now?
"Do you want to lie down?" he asked softly.
I nodded.
And when his hand settled lightly on the small of my back to guide me in, I didn't stop him.But the warmth lingered long after his hand was gone.
---
JOSH
From the moment I saw her name changed on the hospital's records — Suzanne Everlyn — I knew something had shifted.
I'd bribed the receptionist. Slid a note and a smirk across the counter while she pretended to staple papers. Five hundred bucks for access to my wife's visit? Easy.
Except now, she wasn't my wife.
Single.
My blood boiled as I stared at the screen. Single.Who the hell did she think she was?
You don't just walk out of a marriage like that. You don't get to decide it's over just because you're hurt. Just because you misunderstood. Just because you think I cheated.
She saw nothing. She knows nothing.
Even if she did see something, it doesn't give her the right to take my name off the file. Not when I gave her everything — my house, my money, my last name.
That bastard.
I saw him with her in the parking lot. Touching her like she belonged to him. Looking at her like she was glass and he was sunlight.I clenched my jaw as I watched from my car, parked three spaces away with tinted windows.
She leaned into him when he helped her out.She smiled — barely — but I saw it.And when he brushed her back as they walked into the house? She didn't move away.
I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white.I should've made sure she didn't survive that night.The accident was clean. Timed. Silent.It should've worked.
But Tristan was always in the way. Even as a kid, he stole everything. Every moment. Every shred of attention. And now, he was stealing her too.
I pressed my foot to the pedal.
Not yet.
Not now.
But soon.
She'd remember who she belonged to.
---
TRISTAN
Later that night, after she'd gone to bed, I sat at the edge of my desk, replaying everything.
I couldn't stop thinking about that moment — her leaning into me. Her soft intake of breath when my hand brushed her back. The unspoken confusion in her eyes.
Did she feel it?
That thing between us — that pull neither of us talked about?She wasn't ready. I knew that. I couldn't force it. I wouldn't. But today felt like a step. A breath between grief and healing.
I walked down the hallway and paused at her door.It was closed.
But I heard soft rustling inside. And for a second, I imagined knocking. Asking if she needed anything. A blanket. Water. Company.
Instead, I whispered one word into the silence —
"Suzzy."
And walked away.
---
SUZANNE
Sleep didn't come easy.
I kept thinking about the way Tristan looked at me in the car. Not pitying. Not even concerned. Just… present.
No one had looked at me like that in a long time.Certainly not Josh.I hated myself for noticing it.But even more for feeling safe in it.
And when I closed my eyes, the last thing I remembered was the warmth of Tristan's hand — and the strange ache it left behind.
---
JOSH
I picked up my phone and dialed the number I hadn't called in weeks.It rang twice.Then a voice answered.
"She's still alive," I said coldly. "And now… she's changing her name. Acting like she's single."A pause. Then the voice on the other end chuckled. "You want me to finish what we started?"
"No," I said. "Not yet. She needs to suffer first."
I hung up.
[End of Chapter 8]
To be continued...