I Saw Two Faces In My Husband’s Heart Chapter 04
I sent him a brief text asking him to clear his schedule to accompany me to an appointment at the medical center. His response was a single word: Sure.
But at seven the following morning, a message popped up on my screen: [An urgent matter came up with a corporate client out of state. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow. If you feel unwell, have the driver take you. Love, Ethan.]
I tried calling him immediately. His phone went straight to voicemail. When I rang the firm’s front desk, the receptionist informed me that Mr. Vance had no travel scheduled on his calendar for the week.
I took an Uber to the clinic alone.
The waiting room was filled with couples. To my left, a man was kneeling to tie his wife’s shoe; to my right, another was gently supporting his partner as they walked down the corridor. I sat completely isolated in the center row.
The physician reviewed my chart with a frown. “Your progesterone levels are dangerously low, Christina. There’s a severe risk of a miscarriage. Is your husband here with you?”
“I can sign the consent forms myself,” I replied quietly.
The doctor offered a lingering look of sympathy but didn’t press further. “Very well.”
While sitting in the observation room receiving an intravenous line to stabilize the pregnancy, my phone chimed. I opened Instagram and saw Amber’s latest post.
It was a flawless grid of photos featuring a pristine beach getaway at sunset. The caption read: [Someone told me that whenever stress hits the ceiling, the ocean is the only cure. Caught a last-minute drive down to the coast — it’s wonderful having an executive who spoils you.]
In the bottom right corner of the final photo, a man’s hand was resting on the railing. On his ring finger was the white-gold band that perfectly matched the one on my left hand.
At ten that night, the sharp, agonizing cramps began.
I managed to hail a cab to the emergency room alone. Within minutes, the triage nurses were wheeling me back toward the surgical suite.
“Is it gone?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the hum of the monitors.
“The pregnancy has terminated,” the attending surgeon said gently. “We need to perform a clearing procedure immediately. Do we have any family members present to sign the authorization?”
“I’ll sign it myself.”
The procedure concluded at three in the morning. Sitting alone in the sterile recovery corridor, I dialed Ethan’s number repeatedly, but the automated voicemail loop was the only response. Finally, I typed out a short message: Ethan, there’s been an emergency. Please come home.
It wasn’t until the following afternoon that his call finally came through. In the background, I could distinctly hear the rhythmic crash of ocean waves mixed with the hum of a highway.
“I just stepped off the highway back into the city,” he said, his voice entirely casual. “What happened?”
Swallowing the lingering dull ache in my body, I kept my tone perfectly flat. “It’s been taken care of.”
“Good to hear. I’ll be home by dinner. I picked up some fresh Maine lobsters from the coast; we’ll have them tonight.”
When the front door opened that evening, the living room was entirely dark.
“Why are the lights off?” he asked, dropping a chilled bag onto the kitchen counter. “I brought the lobsters. I’ll prepare them tomorrow.”
I didn’t answer.
Noticing the stillness in my posture, he walked over to the sofa and reached out, his hand moving toward my forehead to check for a fever. I calmly leaned back, avoiding his touch.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I said. “I was —”
Before the word could leave my lips, his phone erupted with a distinct, high-pitched ringtone — the custom alert he had assigned to Amber. The subtle, instantaneous shift in his expression was a look I knew all too well.
He raised a finger, silently asking me to pause, and immediately swiped the screen to answer.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone laced with sudden concern.
The speaker volume was low, but in the quiet room, every word carried clearly. “Ethan… I think I have a severe fever. My entire body is shaking, and I don’t think I can get out of bed… Could you…”
“Have you checked your temperature? What does it read?”
“One hundred and one point three…”
Ethan was already on his feet, moving toward the foyer as he spoke into the phone. “Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”
Halfway through pulling on his coat, he finally glanced back at me, offering a rushed explanation. “Chris, Amber has a severe fever and she lives alone with no family in the city. I need to go check on her and drop off some medicine. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Whatever it is, it can wait until I get back, okay? I have to go.”
The explanation I had prepared remained trapped in my throat. I sat silently, listening to the heavy thud of his footsteps echoing down the corridor until the elevator doors closed.
The apartment fell into absolute silence. On the kitchen counter, the lobsters remained sealed in their plastic bag.
The final, lingering thread of affection I had held for him dissolved into nothingness.
The following morning, Ethan rushed back into the apartment, a strange, uncharacteristic knot of anxiety tightening in his chest. But the moment he pushed open the door and caught sight of the medical discharge papers laid out on the coffee table, his footsteps came to a violent halt.