He Thought I’d Always Stay—Then the Countdown Hit Zero Chapter 02

He Thought I’d Always Stay—Then the Countdown Hit Zero Chapter 02

By the time we dropped Chloe off, it was already past eight thirty.

The rain hadn’t eased. It had turned into a downpour.

Ethan parked in the underground garage and shut off the engine.

Then he turned toward me and reached across to unfasten my seat belt.

“I’m sorry, Natalie.”

The back of his hand brushed my collarbone, warm against my skin.

“I’ll cancel every meeting tomorrow and take you to the restaurant. Just the two of us. Okay?”

I looked at his face, only inches from mine.

We had been married for seven years.

He was still handsome, still wearing the same familiar gentleness I had loved.

Even the way he looked at me was attentive.

But I couldn’t forget the glaring red countdown above his head.

[198 days, 11 hours, 45 minutes.]

I unfastened the belt myself and opened the door.

“Don’t bother. I’m tired. I just want to rest.”

We didn’t speak again that night.

After my shower, my head felt heavy and my throat burned.

I must have caught a chill in the car.

Ethan came out of the kitchen carrying a glass of warm water.

The moment he saw my face, he hurried over and pressed the back of his hand to my forehead.

“Why are you so hot?”

His brows drew together.

“Did you catch a chill in the car?”

He helped me onto the couch, handling me as gently as something fragile.

Then he fetched the first-aid kit, found fever reducers and cold medicine, and brought me more warm water.

“Take these first.”

He placed the pills in my palm and watched until I swallowed them.

“I’ll make you some hot ginger-and-honey tea for your throat. Go lie down.”

I leaned against the pillows and listened to him slicing ginger in the kitchen.

I heard the clatter of utensils and the bubbling water.

That was Ethan.

He had never hit me or yelled at me.

He had never controlled me financially.

When I was sick, he took care of everything. When it rained, he brought me an umbrella.

He was a flawless husband.

That was why I had spent seven years lulled into complacency by this warm, comfortable marriage.

Until the countdown appeared.

Ethan carried the hot ginger-and-honey tea into the bedroom and carefully placed it on the nightstand.

“Let it cool before you drink it. It’s still hot.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and took my hand.

“Are you still mad at me?”

He smiled and gently squeezed my fingers.

“I just felt sorry for her. I swear, you’re the only woman in my heart.”

I looked at him.

Was I really?

My gaze moved to the numbers above his head.

[198 days, 10 hours, 20 minutes.]

They hadn’t increased.

His guilt and affection hadn’t bought back even one second.

I closed my eyes and withdrew my hand.

“I’m not angry.”

His phone rang at that moment.

The sound cut sharply through the silent bedroom.

Ethan hesitated before picking up the phone from the nightstand.

The screen lit up.

Chloe.

He glanced at me, something evasive flashing through his eyes.

He didn’t reject the call.

Instead, he answered and put it on speaker.

He always used displays like this to prove he had nothing to hide.

“Mr. Hayes…”

The girl’s voice trembled with tears.

“What happened?” Ethan’s voice instantly tightened.

“I… my roommate locked me out.”

Chloe was shaking so badly I could hear it, with the storm roaring in the background.

“I was taking a shower and realized I didn’t have a towel. I wrapped myself in one and stepped out, but the wind slammed the door shut.”

“My keys and phone are inside. I’m calling from the convenience store downstairs.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hayes. I didn’t know who else to call.”

Ethan shot to his feet.

“Stay inside the store. Don’t go anywhere!”

He couldn’t hide the urgency in his voice.

“I’m coming right now.”

He ended the call and reached for the jacket hanging nearby.

“Natalie, Chloe’s in trouble. I have to go.”

He spoke while pulling on his clothes.

I leaned against the headboard and watched him.

“It’s still pouring outside.”

“I know.”

“I still have a fever.”

His movements paused.

He came back to the bed and touched my cheek.

“You’ve taken medicine. Get some sleep, and you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“She’s outside wearing nothing but a towel. She could be in danger if I don’t go.”

His voice was filled with righteous certainty.

“Wait for me here. I’ll handle it and come straight back.”

Then he turned and strode out of the bedroom.

The front door slammed shut.

I looked at the steaming cup of hot ginger-and-honey tea on the nightstand.

Then I looked at the place where he had just been standing.

The countdown’s faint red glow seemed to linger in the air.

[120 days, 8 hours, 15 minutes.]

“All right,” I whispered. “I’ll wait.”