Page 3 of October
I hated this. Hated feeling this way—uncertain, unloved, unseen.
My phone rang. His name on the screen. My heart, stupidly, lifted. I answered.
"Happy birthday again, darling," he said.
I smiled. "Hey..."
"Sorry—your gift hasn't arrived yet. But I left something in the bedroom. I hope it helps, until I can get you something proper."
"Oh... okay."
He hung up before I could say anything more.
I carried the baby to the bedroom, heart thudding with fragile hope. Maybe it was a letter. A surprise. A moment of effort.
On the pillow: an envelope. My name in his handwriting.
I opened it.
Cash.
Just... cash.
No note. No card. No "I love you." Just money.
Something inside me sank—through my ribs, through the floor.
And something else, something I'd buried for months, maybe years, stirred. Rose. Tightened in my throat. The room seemed to tilt. My heart began to race, but no tears came. Instead, I felt something darker. A wave ofemptiness, like he had emptied me with that one gesture. He had nothing left to give me, nothingreal. Just money.
How had we ended up here?
Was this what he thought I wanted? What he thought I was worth? A hundred thoughts spun through my mind, sharp and fast and fleeting. But I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just... moved.
I got dressed. Changed the baby. Combed my hair. Then I strapped her into the car seat and drove. I was going to his office. Because this—this envelope of cash, this slow erasure of our marriage—wasnotgoing to be how the story ended.
Chapter Two: A Mirror of Truth
Thomas has always had a controlled and workaholic nature. I used to love that about him. The way he carried himself—always composed, always prepared, always thinking three steps ahead. Thomas was the kind of man who made lists for vacations, who color-coded his calendar, who ran the family company like it was an extension of his bloodstream. He was disciplined. Stoic. Unshakable.
And once, I thought that made me safe. That same discipline, that commitment, that ambition—I used to admire it. I thought it meant he was building a future for us. But now... now it feelslike all of him belongs to that company. To his plans. His image. His father's expectations.
And to Laura.
Not to me.
I walked into the building with my baby in my arms, a fire simmering under my skin. I must've looked like a storm in soft clothes, because people glanced at me, then quickly looked away.
His assistant smiled when she saw me—tight-lipped, like I was interrupting something sacred.
"He's in a meeting," she said.
"I'll wait."
Then came the voice. Her voice.
Laura.
"Oh—October," she said, blinking like she couldn't quite believe I had the audacity to show up. "Or is it November? I always get it mixed up."
