The wine glass shattered on the floor—Lena had thrown it, not by accident but with every ounce of fury trapped in her chest.
Theo stood still, stunned. The red stain bled into the cream carpet like a wound that wouldn't close. "I'm not pretending," he said tightly. "I'm trying. But you've been lying to me, Lena."
"You don't know what I've been carrying!" she shot back. "This pain… this guilt—it's not something I can just explain away."
"Then tell me the truth!" he thundered, stepping toward her. "What's wrong ?,what have you been up to ?, is there another man ?"
Lena froze.
That silence was all the answer he needed.
Theo's breath caught in his throat as if the air had turned to stone.
"I never planned for it to happen," she whispered. "But you—you—pushed me away first."
He laughed bitterly, eyes blazing. "So this is my fault now?"
"No," she said, trembling. "But it's not all mine either."
Suddenly, her face went white.
"Lena?" Theo stepped forward.
She grabbed the table to steady herself. "I—I can't—"
Then blood spilled down her legs.
She collapsed.
"LENA!"
Theo caught her before she hit the ground, screaming for help, his voice cracked by terror.
The Hospital – Hours Later
"She's lost the baby," the doctor said grimly.
Theo felt the ground shift beneath him. "No… no, that can't be."
"She's stable but unconscious. She fell into a coma due to emotional trauma and stress-induced hemorrhaging. We're doing everything we can."
He stared at the hospital bed through the glass.
His wife. Lena. Motionless. Still wearing the pendant he'd given her on their anniversary.
His child… gone.
Theo sat down, burying his face in his hands.
Was this his fault?
Meanwhile, Mr. Jenkins rushed in from out of town, gripping Theo's shoulder when he saw him.
"You stay strong, son," he said quietly. "She's been through worse. And she's still fighting."
Theo nodded but inside, he was unraveling.
What if she never woke up?
What if the last thing she remembered was their fight? .
After a while , he left to tidy up their home
The house was too quiet—eerily still in the absence of her laughter, her humming in the kitchen, the scent of her vanilla lotion that lingered on the staircase. Theo moved like a shadow through the living room, picking up scattered laundry and wiping down the countertops. He wasn't sure why. Maybe because it kept his hands busy. Maybe because cleaning the mess around him felt easier than fixing the one inside his heart.
He shouldn't have yelled.
He regretted confronting her like that. Not when she was fragile, when she needed him whole and unshaken. The weight of his words hung like fog. He leaned against the kitchen counter, burying his face in his hands.
Then he heard the buzz.
Lena's phone lit up on the dining table.
Theo glanced at it with hesitation. He never checked her phone. Never wanted to be that man.
But something in his gut twisted—and he reached for it.
The message glowed like a dagger on the screen.
> Daniel: I miss you. Stop by this evening. I'll be waiting.
For a moment, Theo couldn't move. The silence in the room shattered with the breaking of his breath. A searing, blinding pain roared in his chest like a wildfire.
It was Daniel.
It had always been Daniel.
Theo's knees buckled as the truth dawned—heavy, grotesque, undeniable. The pieces began to fit like jagged puzzle fragments in a cruel picture: the distance, the lies, the guilt in her eyes, her tears that never had clear reasons.
She cheated.
And now… his wife was in a coma.
And the baby—the one he had been dreaming about, had already named in his heart—was gone.
A howl of rage tore from his throat as he slammed his fist onto the table. The vase shattered, shards flying across the tiles like angry glass butterflies. He dropped to his knees, sobbing into the hardwood floor, clutching her phone to his chest.
"I trusted you, Lena," he whispered. "I gave you everything."
Something snapped.
A new fire surged through him—hurt, betrayal, fury.
He grabbed his coat and stormed out the door.
---
The bell above the bookstore jingled violently as Theo pushed the door open. The lights were off, but he didn't care. His hands trembled as he locked the door behind him and pulled the curtains closed.
He flipped the light switch.
The store bloomed with soft yellow light—cozy, warm, filled with the scent of old books and polished wood. But it didn't feel like home anymore. It felt like a graveyard of memories.
He began searching.
Behind the counter.
Under the register.
In the drawers.
Then he opened her private office.
There, chaos reigned. Sketches, receipts, folders—and then he saw them.
Photos. Dozens of them. Slipped under a stack of invoices. His hands shook as he pulled them out.
Lena, laughing beside Daniel.
Daniel with his hand on her waist.
One—God, one was them kissing behind the store. Her arms wrapped around him like she belonged there. Like she wanted him.
Theo staggered backward.
A folder dropped open.
Printed messages.
Emails.
Meetups.
One dated just last week—when she'd told him she was seeing a supplier and going to the clinic.
His stomach turned. He bolted for the back door and threw up into the trash bin outside, his entire body heaving with betrayal.
He leaned against the wall, sweat cold on his neck.
She had lied.
She had taken his love, his patience, his dreams—and ripped them apart like paper.
And now she was in a hospital bed, unconscious, unaware of the carnage left behind.
Theo wiped his mouth and returned to the store. He gathered every picture, every printed chat, every piece of damning evidence. Then he stood in the center of the shop—the heart of her world—and let out a slow, bitter breath.
"Is this who you truly are ?," he whispered to himself.
The streets blurred as Theo stumbled out of the bookstore, the folder clenched under one arm, his other hand jammed in his coat pocket. He didn't feel the cold. He didn't feel anything except the roaring in his chest, a storm that begged to be drowned.
He found the nearest bar two blocks away. Dim lights. Cheap beer. Silence broken only by murmurs of sorrowful men. He fit right in.
"One bottle of Jack," he grunted at the bartender, tossing enough cash to keep questions at bay.
The first shot burned. The second numbed. By the third, he wasn't sure if the pain in his chest was grief or whiskey.
The images replayed again and again in his head—Lena's smile, Daniel's smug hand on her back, the message: "I miss you."
He finished the bottle.
And stood.
"I'm going to see him," Theo muttered aloud, his words slurred but filled with purpose. "He needs to know what he's done. What we've lost."
Outside, the night was thick and cold. Theo staggered down the street, guided by the alcohol and a rage that wouldn't burn out. He hailed a cab, mumbled the address he had memorized from Lena's files.