He quickly assessed my condition, seeing that I was lucid despite the pain. He grabbed my hospital bag with one hand and supported me firmly with the other, guiding me toward the elevator.
As we moved toward the underground garage, he remotely started his car to warm it up. Every few steps, he checked on me, instructing me to tell him immediately if the pain worsened.
He treated me with the care and attentiveness of a devoted husband.
But until five minutes ago, he was a complete stranger.
Meanwhile, my actual husband was busy playing hero for another woman, ignoring the wife who had carried his child for ten months and was currently in labor.
The injustice hit me like a physical blow. I couldn't hold back any longer. A loud, racking sob tore from my chest.
The man beside me immediately handed me a tissue.
"Let it out," he said softly. "Holding it in will only hurt you."
I thanked him, wiping my eyes, but my heart turned to ice.
As his car drove out of the underground garage, fate twisted the knife one last time. We rolled right past them.