My Fiancé Saved Her Painful Days, But Forgot Mine Chapter 02

My Fiancé Saved Her Painful Days, But Forgot Mine Chapter 02

I went back to the townhouse we shared and started packing.

The place was supposed to belong to the two of us, but traces of Lynn were everywhere.

Matching keychains from a cartoon series she loved hung by the front door.

A pair of ceramic mugs Mitch and Lynn had picked out together sat on the coffee table.

On the TV stand was a set of hand-painted figurines Lynn had brought back from a downtown pottery studio the year before, claiming they were an engagement gift for Mitch and me.

The male figure was painted Mitch’s favorite charcoal gray.

The female one was Lynn’s favorite pale aqua blue.

When I had asked about it, Mitch had shrugged.

“Lynn just grabbed them on a whim.”

“They look nice, so I left them out.”

I left every one of those things exactly where they were.

I packed only what belonged to me, then sat down and started scrolling through apartment listings.

For years, I had built my life around Mitch and let my own career stall.

I was staring at my low bank balance when a message from him appeared.

[Are you done with this tantrum yet? You made Lynn cry her eyes out.]

[I’m willing to pretend you never said anything about breaking up.]

[But you owe Lynn a real apology. If you refuse, I’m staying at a hotel with her until the wedding.]

The message did not hurt the way it once would have.

For the first time, I just felt relieved.

A few extra days without him in the townhouse would give me time to find a better place to live.

The next morning, I was still scrolling through listings when Mitch started calling over and over.

“Shelly, what did you do?”

“My relatives are blowing up the family group chat asking whether the wedding is canceled!”

“What do you think?” I replied.

Silence stretched across the line for several seconds.

Then his voice softened in an obvious attempt to calm me down.

“Shelly, can you stop this?”

“The wedding date is set, and my relatives have already booked flights and hotels.”

“What am I supposed to tell my mom?”

“I admit I ignored your feelings last night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll leave work early and come home tonight, all right?”

“Your period’s coming soon, isn’t it?”

“I’ll make the ginger tea as soon as I get back.”

“I’ll even bring you a new heating pad.”

I let out a cold scoff before I could stop myself.

Before I could answer, a burst of coughing came through the phone.

The call ended.

Five minutes later, another message arrived.

[Shelly, Lynn got caught in the rain last night. Her fever spiked, and she fainted. I’m taking her to the hospital now.]

[Wait until I get back. We’ll send the wedding invitations again. Be reasonable and stop picking fights over this.]

I had no interest in fighting with him.

I zipped my suitcase shut and called the rental agent.

After I signed the lease on a small studio, a familiar cramp twisted low in my stomach.

Within minutes, the pain became so sharp that I had to sit on the floor.

I swallowed ibuprofen and pressed my old heating pad against my abdomen, but the pain kept building until sweat broke out across my back.

I knew this pain.

It hit every month, and sometimes it got so bad that I felt close to passing out.

Mitch knew that too.

His response had always been the same.

“Take some ibuprofen and stop making such a big deal out of it.”

But for Lynn, he remembered the date.

He made ginger tea from scratch.

He cooled it to the exact temperature she liked.

He brought the heating pad and stayed beside her.

I gritted my teeth, called an Uber, and went to the ER alone.

I was curled on my side in a hospital bed with an IV in my hand when I heard familiar voices from the curtained space beside me.

“Drink slowly.”

“I just made it, so it’s still hot.”

Mitch was holding a pink insulated tumbler and blowing gently across the ginger tea inside.

Lynn sat propped up in bed with Mitch’s winter coat around her shoulders and a heating pad across her lap.

She pouted.

“It’s too hot.”

“I’ll burn my tongue.”

“Let me cool it down.”

Mitch spooned up a little tea, tested the temperature against his own lips, then held it carefully near her mouth.

“There.”

“Perfect.”

“Drink it.”

“You’ll feel better soon.”

At that moment, a nurse rolled a cart over to my bed to check my medication.

She looked at my pale face and frowned.

“Ms. Carter, you came to the ER alone?”

“Your pain is still this bad even after the first dose?”

Every sound from the next cubicle stopped.

Mitch yanked the curtain open.

Our eyes met.