I Found My Boyfriend Signing As Another Woman’s Husband Chapter 05

I Found My Boyfriend Signing As Another Woman’s Husband Chapter 05

“Your baby is gone.”

The nurse said it so softly, like she was afraid of waking someone.

But I knew the one who should wake up never would.

I stared at the ceiling. I didn’t cry. Not because I didn’t want to. I just couldn’t. It felt like someone had flipped

a switch inside me, sealing all my emotions behind a sheet of glass.

The door to the hospital room opened.

It wasn’t Caleb.

It was the man who had handed me a mint candy in the school hallway that day.

He wore a dark gray coat and carried a small bag. His face was calm, almost blank.

“I was here visiting a friend,” he said. “Saw them wheel you into the ER.”

He set the bag on the bedside table. Inside was a cup of warm milk and a straw.

“If you need anything, just let me know.”

I looked at him, my lips barely moving. “Thank you. Could you help me hire a caregiver?”

He nodded. No questions, no curiosity. Then he turned and left.

The moment the door clicked shut, my nose stung.

He was the only person who had asked if I needed help.

On the other side of town, Caleb had spent half the night at the hospital with Kaylee.

When the results came back, there was nothing wrong with her. Heart rate normal. Blood pressure normal.

The baby was fine.

He let out a breath of relief.

Then something twisted in his chest.

He pulled out his phone and called me.

Powered off.

He called again.

Still off.

Frowning, he sent a text.

[Where are you? Stop being stubborn. We can talk this out.]

No reply.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, assuming I was throwing another tantrum.

Three days later, I was discharged.

Back in the apartment I had lived in for three years, I pulled out a few large boxes and started packing.

His clothes. His mug. His toothbrush. The matching sneakers we bought together.

At the very back of the closet, my hand brushed against a box.

Inside was a silver necklace. The pendant was a tiny star.

There was a card.

His handwriting.

[For my future wife.]

Dated two years ago.

He had bought it two years ago and never gave it to me.

I didn’t know if he had forgotten, or if he had been waiting for what he thought was the right moment.

That moment would never come.

I tossed the necklace and the card into a trash bag.

Then I placed the key on the coffee table.

Beside it, a document.

My surgical record.

That afternoon, Caleb pushed the door open.

The entryway was empty. The closet was empty. The kitchen was spotless, not even a strand of hair left

behind.

Only the key and the document sat on the coffee table.

He picked it up.

The words uterine evacuation procedure hit his eyes, and his hands started shaking violently.

The date of the surgery was his birthday.

He flipped the page over.

Blank.

He didn’t even know what he was looking for. Maybe a note. A sentence. Anything I might have left behind.

There was nothing.

Blood rushed to his head as he frantically dialed my number.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service…”

He ran to the school.

“My colleague? Ms. Winslow?” someone told him. “She took a long leave. Moved out. Didn’t leave an

address.”

He stood at the school gate, like someone had ripped the spine out of his body.

He collapsed inward.

I moved into a small apartment on the outskirts of the city.

Cheap. Quiet. Far away from everyone.

That night, I went downstairs to the convenience store to buy instant noodles.

I ran into him again.

The man who had given me candy.

“Julian Thorne,” he said. “I live upstairs. I teach history at Wycliffe University.”

Standing beside him was a little girl, around five years old, with two tiny pigtails. She was hugging a box of

strawberry ice cream.

She looked up at me, blinking.

“Miss, you look really sad.”

She dug into her pocket, pulled out a wrinkled strawberry candy, and stretched up on her tiptoes to hand it to

“Have something sweet. My dad says sweet things make you feel better when you’re sad.”

Hook the candy

Held it in my hand.

The tears I had held back for three days came crashing out all at once.

I crouched down at the entrance of the store and cried like a child.

The little girl panicked, tugging at her dad’s sleeve.

Julian glanced down at me.

He didn’t ask why I was crying.

He grabbed a pack of tissues from the shelf, opened it, and handed it to me.

“Take your time,” he said quietly. “No rush.”