Chapter 2
Ella's POV
The hallway outside Presbyterian Hospital's ICU was as cold as a morgue.
Harsh fluorescent lights cast merciless shadows across every inch of floor, while the smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air, making me nauseous. I clutched a thermos container, having paced this corridor for three days straight.
Three days.
Vincent hadn't come home once, hadn't answered a single one of my calls, hadn't even asked about me.
Through the ICU's glass window, I witnessed a scene that shattered my heart.
Vincent sat beside Aria's bed, carefully adjusting her pillow.
When will I ever receive such tenderness?
I watched him take her temperature, watched him gently dab her forehead with a damp cloth, watched him lean close to whisper comfort in her ear. That focus, that heartbreak, that delicate care—it was everything I'd dreamed of receiving for three years.
"You're safe now, Aria. I'm here," his tender voice carried through the glass. "No one will hurt you again."
My hand instinctively moved to my stomach. Baby, do you see? This is your father—a man who will never look at your mother this way.
The nurses at the station recognized me now. They looked at me with pity, like I was some pathetic abandoned wife.
"Mrs. Rossi, you're here again?" young nurse Jennifer asked softly. "Should I tell Mr. Rossi you stopped by?"
I smiled bitterly and shook my head. "No need. He's busy."
Busy caring for another woman.
I pushed open the ICU door. Without turning around, Vincent said, "Just set it down and leave."
Like dismissing an irrelevant servant.
I placed the thermos on the nearby table—homemade chicken soup and his favorite sandwiches. But he didn't even glance over, his entire attention focused on Aria.
"Vincent, you haven't eaten properly in three days," I said carefully. "At least have some soup. Your health—"
"I said LEAVE." His tone grew colder, still refusing to look at me.
I stood there feeling like a fool.
Three years, and I thought I'd grown used to this treatment. But watching him be so tender with another woman while refusing me even a glance—the pain crashed over me like a tidal wave.
I'm carrying his child, yet I can't get an ounce of his care.
The fourth morning, sunlight streamed through the blinds, warm and peaceful.
I returned to the hospital only to hear Aria's weak voice from inside the room.
She was awake.
Standing outside with fresh porridge, I witnessed through the crack in the door what I never wanted to see.
Aria weakly opened her eyes, immediately searching for Vincent. When she found him, her eyes held a light I'd never seen directed at him—the light of love.
"Vincent..." her voice was hoarse but full of longing. "I thought I'd never see you again."
Vincent gripped her hand tightly. "You're awake. Thank God, you're finally awake."
"I'm sorry, Vincent. I apologize for leaving you three years ago," tears welled in Aria's eyes. "I was selfish and stupid. I thought I could build a better career in Europe, but I was wrong. So WRONG."
"Don't apologize. Never apologize," Vincent caressed her cheek. "What matters is you're back now. You're safe."
"When the attack happened, I was terrified. All I could think about was you," she squeezed his hand. "I thought I might die without getting to tell you how much I love you."
My hands began trembling, nearly dropping the bowl.
"I swear I won't let anyone hurt you again," Vincent gazed into her eyes. "Never again."
These were the words I'd longed to hear for three years, but he'd never said them to me.
I watched them gaze lovingly at each other, watched the tenderness in his eyes, and felt overwhelming despair.
So this is what love looks like. This is how he's capable of loving a woman. Just not me.
I gently pushed open the door. "I brought you some porridge..."
Only then did Vincent notice my presence, his tenderness instantly vanishing. "Ella, what are you doing here?"
"I wanted to see how Aria's recovering," I tried to keep my voice normal. "I made porridge—it's good for healing..."
Aria looked at me, something familiar flashing in her eyes—contempt.
"How thoughtful of you, Ella," she smiled weakly, but her gaze was ice-cold. "But I think I need some quiet rest. Could you...?"
She didn't finish, but the message was clear—get out.
I looked to Vincent, hoping he'd say something, but he just awkwardly avoided my gaze.
"Aria needs space to recover," he finally spoke, his tone businesslike. "Maybe you should go home."
Space? The space she needs includes him but excludes me, his wife.
"I just wanted to—" I tried to continue.
"Ella, PLEASE," Vincent's tone turned impatient. "Can't you see she's unwell?"
Suddenly, Aria's face went pale, her hand clutching her chest. "Vincent, I feel dizzy..."
Vincent immediately tensed. "Are you okay? Should I call the doctor?"
"I'm fine, just feeling uncomfortable," Aria looked at me weakly, the hint obvious.
Vincent turned to me, clear irritation flashing in his eyes. "Ella, you need to leave. RIGHT NOW."
Right now.
I was being thrown out by my own husband like an unwelcome stranger.
I stood in the empty hallway, listening to Vincent's worried inquiries and Aria's delicate responses through the door.
"Are you sure you're okay? Let me call Dr. Martinez..."
"I feel much better now that she's gone. I just need you to hold me..."
I leaned weakly against the wall, the porridge still in my hands, completely cold now.
Three years. What exactly am I in this family, in his heart?
Nurses passed by, looking at me with sympathy. They must find it ridiculous—a wife being kicked out of a hospital room by her husband and his ex-girlfriend.
I slowly walked to the hospital's small garden and sat on a bench. Autumn sunlight fell on me, but I felt no warmth.
I gently touched my stomach, murmuring with bitter laughter, "Little one, it seems Mommy has become surplus in this family."
Your father's heart belongs to another woman, and your mother is just a pathetic shadow.
I leaned back exhaustedly, my voice growing softer, "Maybe we should leave this place and start fresh somewhere new..."
But even as I said it, I knew it was self-deception.
How could I possibly leave? Some things, some people, had burned so deeply into my heart that they'd become an inescapable obsession. Even knowing it meant pain, even knowing I wasn't loved, I still couldn't break free.
