When Michael returned to the hospital ward, I had just ended the call.
Noticing the faint smile tugging at the corner of my lips—a smile he hadn’t seen in a long time—something in his chest twisted uncomfortably.
But he had just promised Daniela he’d be home soon to sing lullabies for her and the baby.
So, he didn’t have time to ask who I’d been talking to.
He assumed it was probably my cousin—the only female relative still in contact with me since we got married. After all, I no longer had any friends of my own.
Without turning back, he gathered his files and said coldly, “Ashlyn, something cropped up at the office. I’ll come again tomorrow.”
In the blink of an eye, tomorrow had passed and the day after.
And the day after that—he never showed up.
Instead, thanks to mutual acquaintances, I kept receiving videos of him and Daniela.
He took her to dinner, at galas.
He looked like a giddy young boy in love, showing her off to everyone like she was the greatest prize.
On the day I was discharged from the hospital, Michael posted a nine-grid photo on his social media.