Scars that Healed Us

Part 5

No need to worry, I will tell my secretary to consult a good gynecologist. 

He crossed by her and left the room. Was he happy about the baby? This conversation, like so many others between them, was incomplete. He had a way of saying a few words and leaving her to dwell on them for the entire day. She wanted him to hate her for her sins, to confront her with his anger or, at the very least, punish her for the wrongs she believed she'd committed. She wanted an end to the torment. He could kill her, or do worse. But why was he neither fully joining her nor leaving her? His distance was like a slow torture—always close enough to remind her of his presence, yet far enough to break her.

Her hands instinctively moved to her stomach, clutching it softly as if seeking some sense of understanding. But she found none. The confusion swirling inside her was overpowering. What was she to do in this house, in this state, where peace was elusive and tension suffocated every breath? Alone, with nothing to occupy her time but cooking and cleaning? He had been right. This lifestyle was suffocating, and the very luxury around her had become a noose around her neck. Unable to digest the oppressive surroundings of the mansion, she decided to leave.

She sat on a bench in the park, the hours ticking away unnoticed. It was already past 7 PM by the time she returned to her senses, having sat there since morning after their brief and unresolved conversation. The sky was now a canvas of deep blues and blacks, the sun long gone, and the darkness consuming everything around her. She looked around to find that the park had emptied, the few remaining figures fading into the shadows as the night took over. She realized with a sudden jolt that she needed to go back. He must be home by now.

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, he entered and immediately sensed something was off. The stillness, the unusual silence—it was unsettling. He glanced around, feeling a small knot of worry forming in his chest. She wasn't home. A flicker of fear crept in alongside a question that refused to leave him: Where is she? Yet, he tried to brush it aside. She was no longer his concern, right? He had given her the freedom she had never even asked for, the freedom she had never truly wanted.

Still, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling as he made his way to the kitchen, hunger gnawing at him after the long day. There, he noticed the stove was cold, the food uncooked. Letting out a sigh, he headed toward the entrance and called for the guard, his voice sharp, though masked in indifference.

"Where is she?" he asked, his cold tone making the guard tremble.

The guard gulped before replying, "She went out in the morning and hasn't returned yet."

A deep frown creased his forehead. She had left in the morning, and she still wasn't back. His mind raced as questions flooded in—where could she be? Why hadn't she returned? But more than that, there was a nagging concern gnawing at the back of his mind: the number of enemies he had made over the years. Any one of them could use her against him. He had never let his personal life intersect with his business, but it seemed that now, the lines were blurring. The thought of someone taking her as leverage was the last thing he wanted. He might have kept his emotions buried deep, but he wasn't about to let anyone else take control of his life through her.

His hand instinctively reached for his car keys. Without another second of hesitation, he stormed out of the mansion, his long strides echoing through the eerily silent halls. As he stepped outside, the cool night air hit his face, but it did nothing to calm the storm building within him. His jaw clenched, and without even taking a breath, he unlocked the car and slid into the driver's seat. His grip on the steering wheel was tight, the tension in his body palpable. The engine roared to life as he sped off, his foot pressing hard on the gas pedal, pushing the car to its limits as he headed toward the highway.