No Shore to Return

A sharp, twisting cramp erupted deep within my lower abdomen.

My fingers clamped rigidly around the edge of the stainless-steel work counter, my knuckles bleaching white under the strain. Labored gasps tore through my chest as I fought to stay upright.

“Noah…” I breathed shakily, my voice thin and fragile.

“Noah, I need to go to the hospital. Right now.”

My husband had his back turned to me, fidgeting restlessly as he adjusted his apron.

At the sound of my desperate plea, he spun around in an instant, his brows furrowed into a tight, unforgiving line.

Displeasure and unmasked impatience blazed plainly in his eyes, no longer hidden behind the tenderness he once reserved only for me.

“For God’s sake, Irene. Are you seriously pulling this crap on me today of all days?” He raised his voice in a sharp, irritable roar.

“This is our café’s fifth-anniversary VIP tasting event. We’ve got journalists from Time Out and investors from three top-tier investment firms out front. You’re telling me you suddenly need to run off to the hospital?”

“Noah, I’m bleeding…”

I stretched out a trembling hand to grab his forearm, cold sweat beading across my forehead and dripping onto the tiled kitchen floor.

I was eight weeks pregnant.

This child was the miracle we’d ached for, the future we’d whispered about together during our hardest days.

Yet right this second, warm, sticky blood was seeping down the inside of my thighs, staining my clothes and draining every ounce of my strength.

Noah wrenched his arm away from my grasp with blatant disgust.

The force of the rejection sent me stumbling backward, my spine colliding harshly with the cold surface of the commercial freezer.

“Enough, Irene. Drop this manipulative act once and for all.”

He ground his teeth, every word laced with simmering exasperation.

“You’re just upset that I put Selena in charge of media relations today, so you’re throwing a petty tantrum to steal the spotlight. You’re being irrational, overdramatic, and utterly suffocating.”

“I’m not faking it. I’m in real pain, Noah—”

“Noah?” A sweet, sugary voice cut through my trembling pleas before I could finish.

The back kitchen door swung open.

Selena stepped inside on the click of her high heels, not even sparing a single glance at my pale, hunched figure huddled in the corner.

She walked straight toward Noah and held out a printed guest list in front of him.

“The former regional operations director of Blue Bottle Coffee just arrived upstairs. He specifically asked to speak with you about our exclusive roasting formula.”

She tilted her head up at him, her gaze soft and coquettish, laced with blatant infatuation. “This is an incredible opportunity for brand exposure. You need to come upstairs right away.”

All the fury and irritation on Noah’s face melted away in the blink of an eye, replaced by undisguised approval.

“You’ve done excellent work, Selena. I’d be lost without you today.”

He patted her shoulder in praise, then tossed a cold, dismissive glance in my direction.

“Quit this pathetic, hysterical performance, Irene. Pull yourself together and get through today’s event. If you ruin this crucial moment for us, I will never forgive you.”

With that, he turned on his heel and followed Selena out of the back kitchen without a single backward glance.

Agony crashed over me in overwhelming, relentless waves.

I could barely recall how I managed to drag myself across the floor to the restroom. I twisted the lock shut behind me and sank heavily onto the toilet seat.

A large, dark patch of blood had already seeped across the fabric of my underwear.

My baby. The future we’d daydreamed about together in that damp, cramped basement apartment in New York… It was slipping away from me.

Just as despair began to swallow me whole, Selena’s voice drifted through the bathroom door, thick with feigned grievance—loud enough for every staff member smoking in the nearby hallway to hear.

“I’m already stretched so thin running this event. Where on earth is Irene? Even if she’s upset about my work responsibilities, she shouldn’t vanish at such a critical time.”

“Leave her be.”

It was Noah’s voice, sharp and saturated with unbridled contempt.

I clamped a hand tightly over my mouth to muffle my broken sobs, terrified of making even the faintest sound and drawing their attention.

“This is typical of her,” Noah scoffed disdainfully. “Whenever I acknowledge another woman’s competence at work, or stop catering all my attention to her alone, she fakes illness or throws a fit to get my focus back.

This isn’t the first time she’s pulled this selfish stunt. She’s nothing more than a spoiled, jealous child. Let her stay in there and cool off. Don’t let her pointless tantrum ruin our night, Selena.”

Their footsteps gradually faded into the distance.

I slumped against the cold bathroom wall, trapped inside the cramped, sterile stall. The stabbing pain in my abdomen still tore at my body without mercy, yet compared to the icy numbness spreading through my heart, physical agony felt almost trivial.

The boy who’d wrapped his only tattered winter coat around my body on a freezing snow day in Queens, the boy who’d sworn to shield me from every hurt in the world, the boy who’d always stood firmly on my side no matter what—he was gone.

He’d died somewhere along the way, buried beneath the glitz, greed, and vanity of this materialistic world.

The Noah standing before me now only saw me as an obstacle standing in the way of his success.

The event finally drew to an end at eight o’clock that night. My phone vibrated once inside my bag, a single text from Noah lighting up the screen.

Drop the petty silent treatment. Selena and I are heading to the after-party to entertain clients. Don’t bother me with your trivial drama tonight.

I didn’t reply. I left the empty café by myself and headed straight for the hospital.

The doctor’s expression turned grave the second she finished reviewing my test results.

“Ms. Irene, you’re suffering from a threatened miscarriage with severe bleeding. Due to significant delays in seeking medical treatment, your condition is extremely unstable. You must be admitted to the hospital immediately for fetal preservation. Under no circumstances can you overexert yourself or endure any form of emotional stress from this moment onward.”

I stared down at the diagnosis slip in my trembling hands, swallowing back rising panic, and dialed Noah’s number.

One ring. Two rings. Three rings.

The subscriber you have dialed is not available at this time.

I redialed his number, stubborn and desperate.

The call finally connected.

“Noah—”

“Irene, will you ever learn to quit?!” His enraged shout pierced my eardrums, sharp and unforgiving.

“I’m in the middle of a meeting with investors! Can you not act your age for once? Stop clinging to me like a leech and ruining every important moment of my career!”

Beep—Beep—Beep—

The line went dead without a shred of hesitation.

Harsh, blinding white fluorescent light flooded the quiet hospital corridor. For the first time all night, I found myself completely unable to cry.

I folded the diagnosis slip neatly and slipped it back into my bag, sinking into hollow, numbing silence.