Chapter 3
When they saw me, their expressions were a mix of shock and disbelief. Beckett’s face showed a momentary surprise before he asked, bewildered, “Are you ill? Why are you at the hospital by yourself?”
Before I could reply, Mara interjected. “Clara, you shouldn’t ignore your health just because you’re young. No matter how hectic work gets, you need to take care of yourself. Don’t let Beckett worry.”
Though her words were laced with concern, an underlying distance was unmistakable.
I pressed my lips together, acknowledging her with a nod. “I’ve already had my check–up. Just need to pick up my medication and I’m free to go. You two
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should focus on your prenatal appointment.”
Beckett’s eyes reflected his worry as he started toward me, but Mara gently pulled him back.
“Beckett, it’s almost our turn. Let’s go in,” she urged, feigning discomfort and rubbing her belly lightly. “Maybe I’ve been overthinking things, but my stomach’s been uneasy. I’m anxious about the baby.”
She put emphasis on the word “baby” and the concern in his eyes vanished, replaced by guilt. “Clara, you should head home. I’ll find you once we’re done here” he said.
I remembered how, when his brother was alive, he always addressed Mara as “sister–in–law” with the utmost respect. Now, he called her by name, a symbol of their changed relationship.
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Watching the three of them as a cohesive family, it hit me just how much of an outsider I’d become. The man who once promised me eternal love no longer held space for me in his heart.
thought back to when he constantly prioritized me, and a pang of bitterness surged in my chest as I choked out, “Alright, you two go ahead.”
I’d known Beckett since high school. Back then, we were desk mates–he, a quiet and studious bookworm, me, a lively and mischievous kid.
Since my parents were always busy with work and worried about my well–being, they insisted I stay on campus.
I loathed the cafeteria breakfasts, so I
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frequently pestered him to bring me food from outside. He would sigh, exasperated, but always bent to my wishes. This routine lasted three years.
After high school, we naturally chose the same university.
Having been classmates so long, I instinctively gravitated toward him in the unfamiliar environment for comfort and support. I depended on him for everything, and he never seemed to tire of helping me.
My mom often admonished me, insisting it wasn’t fair to trouble others. I’d shrug off her advice and relay it to Beckett.
He’d set down his pen and remark casually, “Do you really think I’m a pushover? Clara, if I didn’t like you, I wouldn’t bother.”
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His feelings were never a secret; I’d known from the start. So I unabashedly basked in his kindness.
When we finally became a couple, his affection was even more boundless. With him, I felt carefree, as if nothing could ever burden me.
Aware of all he did for me, my mother used to joke that the toughest challenge I’d face would be going to work.
Yet now, I realized she was wrong. The hardest thing wasn’t work. It was the truth that the man I cherished had married someone else–and I was the last to know.
Tears blurred my vision as I reminisced, streaming freely down my cheeks before I even noticed.
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The taxi driver offered a tissue. “Young lady, you’ll overcome this. Keep moving forward; good fortune awaits you just ahead.”
I accepted the tissue and thanked him through my sobs.
After paying the fare, I considered calling a friend to vent when a glance at my social media feed stopped me cold. Mara’s latest post, made mere minutes ago, filled my
screen.
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