Chapter 3

I was practically lying flat on the ground now, my arm buried deep in that narrow, slimy drain, feeling around inch by inch.

Seconds turned into minutes.

At last, I found the soaked photo.

And in that exact moment, the dragging pain in my belly turned savage, like a knife twisting.

“Harrison…” I clutched weakly at his sleeve. “Take me to the hospital…”

Before I’d even finished—

Natalie gasped and grabbed her wrist. “Harrison, Evelyn was bullying Leo just now, and she shoved my hand—it hurts so much!”

She went limp and collapsed, perfectly timed, toward Harrison.

My vision was starting to blur.

Through the haze, I saw Harrison turn without hesitation and open his arms to catch Natalie.

Then he lifted her and walked away, fast, without looking back.

With the last of my consciousness, I called 911.

When I woke up, the smell of antiseptic stung my nose.

The doctor was flipping through my chart. “Evelyn, you’re showing signs of a threatened miscarriage—”

My phone screen lit up. A text from Harrison: Natalie’s hand can’t get hurt. I’ll be back before our anniversary.

My finger hovered over the screen for a moment. Then I gave the doctor the faintest smile.

“I don’t want the baby.”

Just before I went under, I suddenly remembered our wedding day. Harrison, a little tipsy, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind, whispering, “Evelyn, we have a home now.”

I had never, ever had a home.

After a few days of recovery, I checked out of the hospital.

My professor emailed from London asking if I could help him install his touring exhibition at a gallery in New York.

Perfect. I needed something to fill my last two days before leaving.

On the seventh night, Harrison called. “I’m sorry, Evelyn. I can’t make it back for our anniversary.”

“That’s fine. I have plans anyway.”

Because just yesterday, a mysterious collector had bought out every piece in my professor’s exhibition.

The gallery was throwing a celebration for it.

And the moment the party was over, I’d be on a plane to London.

As I hung up, a familiar figure caught the corner of my eye at the entrance.

Harrison had walked into the party with Natalie and was shaking hands with the gallery owner.

Natalie floated over on his arm and apologized the second she saw me. “Evelyn, I’m so sorry. It’s all because I got hurt that Harrison couldn’t spend your anniversary with you. And now you’ve had to chase him all the way to a gallery.”

I smiled lightly. “What does Harrison have to do with me? Why would I chase him?”

Harrison’s face went dark. His grip on my wrist suddenly tightened. “Evelyn, do you have to talk like that?”

I gently pulled my hand back.

He took a deep breath. “About your grandmother’s photo. I found someone who specializes in photo restoration, they can—”

“Thanks, but no. I can find someone myself.” I turned to leave.

“Wait!” Natalie’s voice suddenly rose. “Harrison, you didn’t know? Evelyn’s pregnant.”

“But you had a vasectomy. So whose baby is it?”