I immediately knelt to pick up the broken pieces, the sharp edges piercing my cold, swollen fingers. Blood dripped from my hands, yet I felt no physical pain—only the sharp ache in my heart.
Clyde’s eyes widened when he saw my bloodied hands. He reached out to pull me up, but I turned my face away, refusing to meet his gaze.
He hesitated, his lips parting as though to speak, but Betty’s voice interrupted.
"Clyde, my stomach hurts so much... I don’t know if the baby can be saved," she whimpered, her face pale with pain.
"That’s your child... the child I tried so hard to conceive for you. Please help me!"
Her words struck like a blade to my chest. Betty was pregnant with Clyde’s child. Judging by her flat stomach, she couldn’t have been pregnant for more than three months—months that coincided with the happiest time of my life, when Clyde had agreed to marry me and we traveled the world together.
Was it possible that during our travels, he had brought Betty along?
Clyde scooped Betty into his arms as if she were a fragile doll. His voice softened as he murmured, "Betty, how did you fall? Don’t be afraid—I’ll take you to the hospital right now."