23

Arthur.

At some point, I feared that the idea of Michelle being pregnant might be true.

I feared many things when my life depended on whether my heart would keep beating or not.

The news of businessman Arthur Müller having an accident couldn't spread worldwide. That's why, as soon as Harold entered through that door, the first thing I asked him was that.

"Where is she? Tell me she's here."

I plead for the first time. Harold looks at me with concern, and a hint of guilt clouds his eyes. I raise an eyebrow, observing his attire. Even in sleepwear, he was obsessed.

Sapphire blue. Everything in his attire was sapphire blue.

"Yes, I called her but..."

"I want to see her," I interrupt, placing my palms on the bed to sit up. "Harold, bring her here or else..."

"Calm down, Arthur," he grumbles.

Pushing me back, making me stay lying down. I grab his forearm, halting the struggle between us, gripping his shirt desperately.

"Bring her, Harold. Bring her to me."

Minutes pass and pass. My focus is fixed on the door that seems to mock me for being so desperate. I feel like hours form between the silence of the room and my thoughts.

I growl, uncovering my legs and directing my hands to the intravenous line in my arm. As I am about to remove it, I hear the soft, hesitant knock on the door.

I take my place with accelerated breathing and a steady pulse. If my heart didn't stop after the crash, it is now too fast to stop on its own.

"Arthur," she clears her throat. "We need to talk."

I don't know what comes out of her mouth. My eyes are fixed on her swollen belly covered by that coat that makes her look even more tender than she is. I feel my eyes sting, and my hands hidden beneath the sheet become fists while she trembles.

Her steps are uncertain as she decides to approach, remaining at the foot of the bed.

"It's true," I murmur.

I refused to believe it. But now I have the evidence in front of me.

Michelle is pregnant.

"I..."

"Is it his?" she stammers in surprise.

I arch an eyebrow, waiting for an answer. Even though the answer could end everything, including me. However, when her eyes stop looking at me and lowered to the floor, I feel the weight of my body collapse.

"It... yes. It is," I gulp.

I bite my lower lip, nodding, furrowing my brows as anger surges through my veins. My head hurts just thinking about the thousand and one ways to kill him.

"Go," I request.

I wait in silence, trying not to give in to my impulses.

"Arthur, let me ex..."

"Leave, Michelle. Harold will talk to you later," I demand.

I hold my calm for a while longer, her scent filling the room, and it leaves as I hear the door close. Seconds pass, and it opens again.

I don't even lift my gaze to know it's him.

"She was with someone else while she was with me," I inform.

The bitterness of the sentence tasting in my mouth and exposed in my tone, I remove the sheet.

"What are you doing? You can't leave yet..."

I remove the intravenous line and, with unsteady steps, I make my way to the bathroom with my arm bleeding and my vision blurred. I gulp, wanting to know why.

Despite that, talking to her wouldn't make sense right now.

A child.

She will have a child.

A child who is not mine.

I should feel relieved.

But I'm not because the mere idea of picturing her with someone else's child sickens me. I was so determined to tell her that I love her with every fiber of my being.

Damn it, why Michelle?

Do you hate her?

I could never.

"Make sure the accident doesn't become known," I say, starting to dress with great difficulty due to the weakness of my body. "No one must find out about this."

"I'll take care of it. As for Michelle... I can't do anything anymore. The photos are going viral, and the speculations too... some of them are bad."

"Give her bodyguards, I want people to protect her. Now more than ever."

"Even though..." he interrupts himself when I give him a cold look. "I'll take care of it."

I nod my head to signal him to leave and finally leave me alone. When he does, my cheek becomes damp, and a few mucus start coming out of my nose, which I quietly clean.

Tired, I start getting dressed while the pressure on my chest continues to crush me. My muscles ache with every minimal effort I make.

When I have my pants and shoes on, the door opens, revealing one of the nurses. She looks at me in astonishment. I put on the ironed and clean shirt that Harold brought.

"But what are you doing? You're still in a delicate state."

"I'm in perfect condition. Let me demonstrate that by looking at me. I don't regret at all informing you that I'm married."

I tuck the shirt into my pants and zip it up when I finish. The nurse's cheeks turn into two small strawberries along with her nose. I approach the table next to the bed and pick up the glass of water that lies on it.

Dazed, I head towards the door.

"Mr. Müller...

"Have a good life," I bid farewell.

Harold will take care of paying for everything. I have a trip to make.

As I walk, listening to the nurse's screams, my eyes catch her figure, and I mentally berate myself for being such an idiot not to realize.

The cravings. Her weight gain. The fainting spells. The vomiting.

I was there for most of it, and I never noticed.

I investigated what could be happening to her, but it was as if there was no medical record anywhere.

I've wondered who Michelle was on more than one occasion, and I still don't have an answer.

I knew nothing about the woman who watched me with tearful, guilt-ridden eyes. Absolutely nothing.

I don't know why she's going to a law firm. I don't know why she's going to state prison.

And I know even less why she's now having appointments with lawyer Frida Velázquez.

I grit my teeth as the idiot who's always with her puts his hands on her shoulders and pulls her close to him. Yet, she doesn't look away from me.

I wanted to hit him, to scream at him that the woman he was embracing is mine. But I did nothing; I bottled up all my indifference and played along.

"Arthur," I turn my face slightly to give my lawyer a glimpse of my profile. "Everything is ready."

I nod, licking my lips, and start walking again. With each step, I feel regret and annoyance. I have to pass by them while doing so, and I don't want to see her.

I won't be that strong.

She's still my weakness, despite all the times I tried not to let her be.

She still gets under my skin.

"Arthur," I tense, stopping in my tracks. My heart falters at her choked and timid voice. "I'm sorry."

That was the last thing I heard from her for a long time.