This house was full of my traces, but nothing of Charlotte’s. She had barely come home all year and I’d always believed she was abroad working hard for the company. Turns out, she’d been abroad giving birth to Eric’s child—after first getting rid of mine.
I sank into the couch, trembling all over.
Three years ago, when she started her business, she didn’t even have a proper office. I quit my stable job to help her run operations and negotiate deals, staying up countless nights drafting proposals.
When she said cash flow was tight, I mortgaged the house my parents left me. When she had to attend business dinners, I went in her place and drank until my stomach bled.
Then I heard the sound of the door unlocking.
Charlotte stepped in, changed her shoes and walked over. Her brows furrowed when she saw me slumped on the couch.
“Are you just lying around all day?” she asked flatly.
“Too hurt, to move," I muttered.
She glanced at me briefly, not even noticing the faint bloodstain on the couch.
“That’s normal,” she said in a detached tone. “You’ll feel sore for a few days after dialysis. Take a short break — a day or two should be enough. There’s a lot of work piling up at the company and you’ll need to get back soon.”
I looked up at her. There was no concern in her eyes, only impatience.
“I know,” I said quietly.
She nodded, turned and went to the bedroom.
A few minutes later, she came out with a suitcase.
“I’m going on a business trip. Take care of the company while I’m gone.”
I nodded, not asking where or for how long.
She must’ve taken my silence as understanding; her lips curved slightly. “When I’m back, we’ll deal with the company matters together.”
She left, closing the door softly behind her—but it felt like a heavy thud against my chest.
I looked down at the couch. The dark fabric was now darker, soaked with blood. The stain grew bigger. When I tried to stand, my legs gave out and I nearly fell. I had no choice but to head back to the hospital.
After registering and waiting in line, the doctor told me my kidneys were deteriorating fast. I needed a transplant soon.
He told me to wait upstairs for further tests.
In the crowded elevator, I leaned against the corner.
When the doors opened, I froze—Charlotte was there, holding a bouquet of pink roses, followed by a nurse. Without thinking, I followed her up to the top floor.
The corridor was quiet, carpeted, leading to the VIP ward.