When I saw Mark Harrison stepping out of Chloe Reeves' room the next morning, we both froze.
"She had terrible cramps last night," he tried to explain. "She needed someone with her."
"I understand," I said quietly, brushing past him.
He frowned and followed me into the kitchen. "Clara, listen. When Chloe wakes up, don't be so cold to her, okay? She's naturally kind and sensitive—don't weigh her down emotionally."
Ever since she'd returned from overseas, our relationship had been filled with arguments. Every time I tried to express my own feelings, he would dismiss them to protect Chloe's "fragile" heart.
But now, I was done.
I pulled out my phone and placed it in front of him. "Don't worry. With you by her side, she won't feel burdened at all."
On the screen was Chloe's latest midnight social media post: [My sweet Mark stayed up all night with his warm hands on my stomach to ease the pain. He's exhausted.]
The photo showed Mark fast asleep beside her in her bed, one large hand resting on her lower belly.
He opened his mouth, but no words came. I didn't need any.
Just that morning, I had suffered a threatened miscarriage. My blood had soaked the passenger seat of his car.
He'd glanced at the stain with visible disgust and immediately pushed me out onto the roadside. "Can't you prepare for your period in advance? How unlucky," he'd snapped, leaving me shivering in the pouring rain.
By the time I managed to get a cab to the hospital, the doctor shook his head. "If you had come sooner, we might have been able to save the baby."
When I'd returned home hours later, he casually tossed a pair of lace panties at me. "Chloe stained these during her period. Go wash them."
A moment later, I saw her other social media post. It was a photo of Mark in our kitchen, attentively making her warm ginger and honey tea. [When my period starts, my silly brother gets even more anxious than I do!]
That was when I'd made the call.
"The Paris assignment," I told my boss. "I'm ready to take it."
"…Are you sure, Clara?" he'd asked. "If you go, you'll be gone for at least three years."
"I'm sure," I'd replied.
Right after I hung up, Mark had walked out of the kitchen. He's a great cook, but his skills are reserved exclusively for her. "Who was on the phone?"
I didn't answer. I went straight to our bedroom, only to find Chloe lying on our marital bed.
She'd given me a smug smile. "Clara Evans, your bed is so soft. It really helps with my cramps. You don't mind, right?"
Mark followed right behind, not even glancing at me. "Let Chloe rest here tonight. You can sleep in the guest room."
I didn't argue. I just picked up my work laptop and quietly walked out. Behind me, her voice rang out: "Mark, that ginger tea you made tastes amazing."
He'd replied in a warm, doting tone, "If you like it, have some more."
Back in the study, I found the approval documents for the Paris project in my inbox. I signed them without hesitation.
Later that evening, when Mark went into the bathroom and didn't find his usual warm bath drawn, he finally remembered me. He saw me in the study, pale and working, and started to walk in. But before he could speak, Chloe called for him. He paused, smiled, and turned back to her room, not emerging for the rest of the night.
Chapter 2
My indifference to the social media post made Mark frown.
"Chloe is still young, Clara. Don't argue with her. Once she's feeling better, I'll send her back."
I simply nodded. "Alright."
I turned and started preparing breakfast. Watching my solitary figure, his tone softened slightly.
"Didn't you always say you missed that seafood congee I used to make? Let me cook it today."
He busied himself in the kitchen, but I felt hollow. We had been together for eight years; he had never cooked a single meal for me.
Just as I was about to speak, Chloe came running out of the bedroom, barefoot. She clung to Mark's arm, whining.
"Mark! I want those lobster rolls from that old place on the coast!"
That restaurant was famous—an hour's drive, not to mention the long lines. I'd once told him I wanted to try it. He'd snapped, "No! Too far and too much hassle!"
But now, he just chuckled, affectionately tapping her nose. "Okay, okay, I'll spoil my little foodie."
He took her out without another word, forgetting me again.
I finished cooking alone. Calmly, I picked up my phone and canceled our wedding photoshoot.
Just after I hung up, a sharp pain tore through my lower abdomen. I collapsed to the floor, curled in agony, and instinctively called Mark.
The phone rang endlessly. He finally answered, his voice laced with irritation.
"Clara, enough already! Can't you see Chloe's still hungry? I don't have time for this. If it's important, text me!"
"Mark, I—"
Before I could finish, he hung up. Everything went black.
I opened my eyes in the hospital. An ambulance had brought me in. The doctor confirmed the miscarriage was complete and I needed to rest.
That night, Mark called. "Why haven't you come home?"
"I'm working overtime," I said.
He didn't question it. "Chloe's staying at our place these days. If you come home late, don't disturb her rest."
He never called when I worked late. He was only worried I might disrupt her.
He never called again that night. I could guess he spent it with her.
The next morning, I was discharged and went to the pharmacy. At the entrance, I saw Mark supporting Chloe, who looked frail and pitiful, leaning weakly against him.
He noticed me and frowned. "Clara? Are you here to see a doctor too?" There was displeasure in his tone, as if he suspected I had followed them.
I looked at him calmly. "Yes. My period's been painful, so I came to see the doctor."
His expression stiffened, probably recalling how he had thrown me out of the car.
Seizing the moment, Chloe collapsed further into his arms. "Clara came to the hospital by herself? Then I guess it's not that serious."
She turned to him with tearful eyes. "Mark, I'm so useless, aren't I? When I'm in pain, I can't even walk… You always have to carry me."
His face softened instantly. "If you're in pain, just tell me. I'll stay with you the whole time, alright?"
He gently helped her walk ahead. Then, as an afterthought, he looked back at me.
"Come with us. I'll give you a ride home," he said, as though offering charity.