Chapter 3

She was painfully thin, her complexion pale and ghostly. Her eyes were large but devoid of life. She wore an oversized hospital gown underneath Logan’s personal jacket.

It was Chloe.

Logan bent down, retrieved a pair of soft house slippers from the entryway cabinet, and placed them gently by her feet. "Wear these. They're soft on your feet."

Chloe kept her head down and slipped her shoes off, her movements sluggish.

Logan stood patiently waiting beside her. Once she was settled, he straightened up and offered me a soft smile.

"Evie, I'm home."

I just stared at him.

He walked over to where I was sitting, lowering his voice:

"Chloe is a bit more stable today, but she still can't be left alone.

I wasn't comfortable leaving you by yourself at home, so I brought her with me. Just for tonight. I'll arrange another placement for her tomorrow."

I said nothing.

He continued, "I know this isn't ideal, but please be understanding, okay? Don't be mad.

She honestly has nowhere else to go. She's so helpless. Once our baby arrives, you'll understand that showing compassion to others is like building good karma for our little one."

He kept rambling on.

"Oh, by the way, how did the ultrasound go today? What did the doctor say? Is the baby doing well?"

As he spoke, he naturally reached out, resting his palm against my lower belly.

Then, his hand froze.

His expression instantly drained of color.

He pressed again, as if refusing to believe his own sense of touch.

Slowly, he lowered his head, staring at my stomach.

Beneath the loose linen dress, the gentle swelling was completely gone.

His hand began to shake violently.

Logan snapped his head up to look at me.

His eyes instantly welled with red veins.

"Evelyn," his voice cracked and trembled. "What happened today? Where is the baby? What happened to our baby?"

I remained silent.

His hand lingered on my stomach, desperately rubbing in circles, as if he could magically bring the child back through his touch.

"Was there an accident?" His voice tightened with rising panic. "Did you take a fall? Or was something wrong with the baby's development? Speak to me, Evelyn! Say something!"

I looked at him calmly.

His eyes were bloodshot, dark stubble covered his jaw, and his white doctor's coat was wrinkled and disheveled. There was even a faint brownish stain on his cuff—I couldn't tell if it was dried blood or something else.

He looked utterly exhausted.

Yet my heart no longer ached for him in the slightest.

"Say something!" He grabbed my shoulders. "What the hell happened to our baby?!"

"Gone."

Just one word. Spoken quietly.

His grip went limp.

He stumbled back a step, staring at me as if looking at a total stranger.

"What do you mean, gone?"

His voice went hoarse.

"Was it a miscarriage? Or was the baby not viable from the start?"

I shook my head. "The baby was developing perfectly."

He froze.

"Then why?"

He glared at me, his gaze drilling into mine.

"Why is the baby gone?! What happened to you?! Why didn't you call me?! Did you go to the hospital all by yourself?! Evelyn, what on earth happened to you?!"

He rushed forward again, pulling me tightly into his arms.

"It's okay. It's okay," he mumbled, stroking my hair frantically.

"As long as you're safe. We can always have another baby later. You're still young. Once your body heals, we'll try again. It's going to be okay, Evie. Everything's going to be okay."

His clothes reeked of hospital disinfectant, mixed with a faint, unfamiliar scent of perfume. It wasn't mine.

I shoved him away with all my strength.

He stumbled back, his eyes flooded with utter confusion.

"Evelyn?"

"I had an abortion."