Chapter 1 The day after my miscarriage, my husband, Austin Cadwell, asked me to donate blood for his beloved crush, Kayla Watkins. “Doctor, her blood type matches. Kayla’s had her blood before—no need to test, just use it,” he said way too naturally. The doctor reminded him I needed to rest after my abortion, but Austin barely waited for the words to finish before dragging me off to have my blood drawn. “Eloise Moreau, who do you think you’re sulking at? Kayla getting your blood is a privilege,” he spat, seeing my pale face as I gave him attitude. “Draw more, doctor. She’s healthy, make sure there’s enough for Kayla,” he insisted, ignoring my protests and the nurse’s attempts to intervene, hauling me to the blood collection room. Afterwards, he left me there, weak and dizzy, and went straight to Kayla’s room to look after her. I sat for a long time before I could summon the strength to stand and walk out. This time, I truly gave up. Austin didn’t care about me at all—my life or death meant nothing to him. Years together meant nothing compared to his first love. If a marriage can’t be held together anymore, it’s better to let it go.
Austin came home past midnight. He saw me sitting in the living room, tossed a bag of clothes at me, and headed for the kitchen. “These are dirty. Make sure you wash them,” he said. Inside the bag was one of Kayla’s favorite shirts, something she’d been wearing a lot lately. If she didn’t like it, she wouldn’t have worn it twice. Once, Austin had dirtied one of Kayla’s shirts and made me wash it for her. Afterward, Kayla asked what detergent I’d used—she liked the scent. Ever since, he regularly brought her clothes home for me to wash. Somewhere along the line, I’d become the live-in maid, responsible for everything he needed—his meals, his laundry, his home. He rarely came home before midnight, always blaming it on work dinners and social obligations. No matter how late I worked myself, I’d wait for him in the living room, with a late-night snack ready, afraid he’d come home hungry. He never once asked if I was tired, never wondered if I was exhausted. Sometimes, he’d even complain that the snack wasn’t what he wanted. He took everything I did for granted, never truly caring about me. Just like today with the blood donation, if Kayla needed it, I was always his first thought. He acted like it was my duty. Every time he needed blood for her, he came straight to me, never hesitating. After coming home, I felt wrung out, drained of every ounce of strength. Suddenly, the kitchen erupted with the clatter of pots and pans—he must have been angry again. Austin walked over, staring at me with irritation. “Why didn’t you leave any food for me?” My head was spinning, my whole body aching. I had no energy left to answer. “What are you upset about now?” His tone was laced with impatience. “Kayla was in a critical condition today. The hospital’s blood bank was empty. I couldn’t just stand by and watch her in danger. What’s the big deal about giving a little blood?” Whenever it came to Kayla, everyone else faded into the background. No matter how I tried to explain, he never listened. He was always convinced I was just making excuses. He knew how much I loved him. As long as he apologized afterward, I’d forgive him. I was pathetic—a hopeless romantic, always ready to forgive, no matter what. That’s why Austin never worried about hurting me. “Enough. Tomorrow I’ll have my assistant bring you something to boost your blood. Cook it yourself and get some sleep. And don’t forget to make soup in the morning—Kayla wants the soup you make. I need to bring it to her first thing.” Hearing Austin’s self-righteous demands, I almost laughed out loud from sheer disbelief.
