Chapter 115 up
“Breathe, Mrs. Hale. Slow, steady breaths.”
Elara’s fingers dug into the edge of the hospital bed as if it were the only solid thing left in the world. The antiseptic smell burned her nose. Machines hummed softly beside her, indifferent to the storm raging inside her chest.
“I am breathing,” she whispered, though her lungs felt too tight, too small.
The doctor exchanged a look with the nurse before turning back to her, voice calm but firm. “Your blood pressure is elevated. Stress like this is dangerous—especially in the first trimester.”
Elara swallowed hard. Her hand slid instinctively to her stomach, trembling.
“Is my baby—” Her voice broke. She couldn’t finish the sentence.
“We’re monitoring closely,” the doctor said. “But you need rest. Emotional stress can be just as harmful as physical strain.”
Across the room, Clark stood frozen. His reflection in the glass cabinet looked like a stranger—pale, rigid, guilty. He hadn’t moved since the doctor mentioned dangerous.
Elara turned her head slightly, her eyes finding him without effort.
“Did you hear that?” she asked softly. Too softly. “Stress.”
Clark stepped forward. “Elara, I’m here.”
She smiled faintly. “You’re standing here,” she corrected. “That’s not the same thing.”
The doctor cleared his throat. “I’ll give you two a moment. But please—no arguments.”
As the door closed, silence crashed down between them.
Clark moved closer, his hand hovering above hers, uncertain. “You scared me.”
A bitter laugh slipped from Elara’s lips. “Imagine how I feel.”
He flinched.
“This isn’t just about us anymore,” she continued, eyes locked on the ceiling. “Every secret you keep, every half-truth—it doesn’t just stay in your mouth, Clark. It settles here.” She pressed her palm against her belly. “It sinks in.”
Clark finally took her hand. His grip was warm. Solid. And still, it felt unfamiliar.
“I never meant for this to hurt you,” he said.
“That’s the problem,” Elara replied. “You keep hurting me without meaning to—and somehow that makes it worse.”
His thumb brushed her knuckles. “I told you things are complicated.”
She turned her head sharply, eyes blazing. “My pregnancy is not a puzzle you get to solve later.”
Clark opened his mouth, then closed it again.
Elara watched the moment pass. Another truth swallowed. Another silence fed.
Two days later, Elara sat by the window at home, wrapped in a blanket despite the warmth of the afternoon. The city below moved on, unaware that her world had narrowed to the slow rhythm of her heartbeat.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown Number: How are you feeling today?
Elara stared at the screen. Her fingers hovered before typing a reply.
Elara: Who is this?
A pause. Then—
Unknown Number: Someone who understands how fragile happiness can be.
Elara’s stomach tightened.
Elara: Selena.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Selena: I’m glad you recognized me.
Elara closed her eyes. Of course.
Elara: What do you want?
Selena: Nothing. Just concern. Pregnancy is… delicate. Especially when the father is carrying unresolved ghosts.
Elara’s hand shook. She didn’t respond.
Selena: Stress is dangerous, Elara. For you. For the baby.
The words felt less like advice and more like a warning.
Elara typed, deleted, typed again.
Elara: Stay out of my life.
A moment passed.
Selena: If only Clark had done the same with his past.
The message burned itself into Elara’s mind.
She dropped the phone onto the couch as if it had scalded her.
Her breath came shallow. Too fast.
“No,” she whispered, pressing both hands to her stomach. “No, no, no… not you too.”
A sharp cramp twisted low in her abdomen.
Elara gasped, doubling over.
“Clark!” she called out, panic tearing through her voice. “Clark!”
He came running from the study, eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”
“It hurts,” she whispered. “I think—”
Clark was beside her instantly, arms around her shoulders. “We’re going back to the hospital.”
As he helped her up, Elara clutched his shirt, tears spilling freely now.
“This is because of you,” she said, not accusing—just broken. “Because you keep lying.”
Clark froze.
“I’m trying to protect you,” he said hoarsely.
“From what?” she sobbed. “The truth? Or the consequences of it?”
He had no answer.
That night, Elara lay awake in the dim light of the bedroom. Clark slept beside her—or pretended to. His breathing was slow, measured. Controlled.
She watched him, memorizing the curve of his jaw, the faint crease between his brows. The man she loved. The man who had built their marriage on foundations she was only now discovering were cracked.
Her phone buzzed again.
She didn’t need to look to know who it was.
Selena: I heard you went to the hospital.
Elara’s heart raced.
Elara: How would you know that?
A pause.
Selena: Clark talks when he’s afraid.
The room felt colder.
Elara: You’re lying.
Selena: Am I? Ask him about the child he never claimed. Ask him why your baby scares him more than it excites him.
Elara turned slowly to look at Clark’s sleeping form.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
Elara: If you’re wrong—
Selena: Then you lose nothing by asking. But if I’m right…
The message ended there.
Elara set the phone down, hands trembling.
She leaned closer to Clark, her voice barely a whisper. “Why are you so afraid?”
His breathing faltered—for just a second.
Elara’s chest constricted.
Even in sleep, he couldn’t escape the truth.
The next morning, the doctor’s words echoed in her mind as Elara sat alone at the kitchen table.
Avoid emotional triggers. Prioritize peace.
Peace.
She laughed softly at the irony.
Clark entered quietly, holding two cups of tea. He placed one in front of her. Chamomile. Her favorite.
“For the baby,” he said.
Elara looked at the steam rising from the cup.
“For the baby,” she repeated. “Or to ease your guilt?”
His shoulders slumped. “I don’t know how to fix this.”
“Start by stopping the bleeding,” she said calmly. “Tell me everything.”
Clark’s hands curled into fists.
“There are things—” he began.
Elara stood abruptly. “If you don’t say it now, I will assume the worst.”
He met her gaze, pain etched deep into his features.
“I had a relationship before you,” he said slowly. “It ended badly.”
“And the child?” Elara asked.
Silence.
Her heart cracked open.
“Clark,” she whispered, tears streaming freely now. “Every lie you keep is hurting my baby.”
He looked at her then—not as a husband, not as a powerful man—but as someone cornered by his own past.
“I was young,” he said. “I made choices I can’t undo.”
“That’s not an answer,” Elara cried. “That’s an excuse.”
She pressed her hands to her stomach as another wave of pain rolled through her—not sharp, but heavy. Suffocating.
“My body is screaming,” she said. “Because it knows something is wrong.”
Clark reached for her, desperate. “Please—”
She stepped back.
“Whatever secret you’re protecting,” Elara said through tears, “it’s poisoning us.”