He Chose Her While I Bled Chapter 2

The day I was discharged, Jared didn't come.

His personal driver parked the sedan at the curb downstairs, refusing to meet my eyes as he loaded my small bag into the trunk.

"Mrs. Ellis... Mr. Ellis had an urgent meeting come up at the firm," the driver stammered. "He asked me to take you home safely."

I stood holding the handle of the passenger door for a few long seconds, a sharp, dragging ache pulling down on my lower belly.

In the elevator up to our apartment, I rested my forehead against the cool metallic wall, breathing in the lingering smell of hospital disinfectant clinging to my sleeves.

The apartment door swung open. Two heavy hard-shell suitcases were stacked right in the foyer. Beside a bright pink suitcase sat a soaking wet umbrella, rain pooling from its tip and creeping into the seams of the hardwood floor.

My hand froze on my keys.

From deep inside the master suite came Cora’s soft, melodic voice. "Jared? Where did you put my heating pad?"

I walked in.

The door to the nursery was wide open.

That room—the room Jared and I had spent three tedious, blissful months measuring, painting, and decorating—was unrecognizable.

The crib we had assembled together was gone. In its place stood Cora’s luggage, her marble essential oil diffuser, her silk robes, and rows of prescription medication bottles.

Out on the balcony, a section of the rolled-up organic crib mattress was drenched, splashed by the driving rain.

A clear plastic storage bin had been dumped near the door, stuffed with my prenatal records. My ultrasound photos were taped to the outside of a paper folder, the ink bleeding and smeared by water damage.

Jared walked out of the kitchen holding a mug of warm steaming porridge. When his eyes met mine, his tense brow smoothed out slightly.

"You're back?" he said, setting the mug on the dining table. "Sit down and eat something first."

I stared into the transformed nursery. "She's living here?"

Jared adjusted his cuffs. "Cora's apartment suffered severe water damage from the storm. Building maintenance said it’ll take days to repair. I wasn't comfortable leaving her alone in a flooded place. It’s temporary."

Cora stepped out of the nursery, wearing my oversized maternity loungewear set. The soft cotton draped awkwardly off her thin shoulders.

"Sally..." she said softly, peering at me with wide, apologetic eyes. "I didn't bring enough spare clothes, so I borrowed this. I hope you don't mind."

I didn't answer her. I walked into the room, leaned down, and picked up the damp folder containing my baby’s ultrasound scans. Water had already seeped through the thick cardstock.

Cora rushed forward, her hands fluttering in panic. "I was trying to pack those away safely for you, I swear! But the storm outside was just so violent..."

Jared walked over, setting a cup of warm herbal tea into her hands. "Take your medicine first," he said gently to her.

Then he turned to me, his tone leveling into a flat, reprimanding instruction. "You can sort through those boxes later, Sally. You just had a procedure. Stop pushing yourself to make a point."

My mother-in-law’s video call incoming chime suddenly blasted through Jared’s phone.

He answered it immediately, stepping slightly away and lowering his voice. "Mom. Yeah, Sally just got home."

His mother’s voice boomed through the speaker: "How did the checkup go today? What did the specialist say about the baby's growth measurements?"

Jared instantly pulled the phone further from his face, shooting a nervous, warnings-filled glance at me. "Mom, let me call you back in a bit."

I sat down right there on the wooden floor of the nursery, picking up the scattered crib hardware piece by piece and dropping them into a cardboard box.

Two of the custom gold screws were missing. A tiny pair of knitted yellow booties lay crushed beneath Cora’s heavy cosmetic case, the edges frayed and dirty.

Cora stood at the threshold, coughing delicately twice into her palm.

Jared stepped inside, reached down, and abruptly snatched the cardboard box out of my hands. "Stop obsessing over this right now!"

The box slipped.

Wooden building blocks cascaded across the floorboards with a loud "clatter".

A small plush rabbit tumbled across the floor, stopping right at Cora’s slippered feet.

Cora bent down to retrieve it, her fingers brushing against the damp ultrasound folder. In an instant, her face crumbled, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, Jared... I really didn't know she would be this broken up about it..."

Jared immediately wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her up. His voice was heavy with sheer exhaustion. "Sally, laying all this stuff out on the floor like a shrine isn't helping anyone. Cora is already eaten up with guilt over what happened."

I slowly lifted my head and looked up at him. "Then where exactly am I supposed to put my grief?"

He had no answer for that.

Cora clutched his sleeve, her knuckles white. "Jared... maybe I should just go to a hotel. I can't bear causing this..."

Jared didn't let go of her arm. "It's pouring buckets outside, Cora. Where could you possibly go?"

I picked up the ruined ultrasound photo. The paper was soft, disintegrating at the borders, the faint, curved white outline of my baby’s spine blurred into an unrecognizable smudge.

That night, Jared sat in the living room until two in the morning, holding Cora’s hand while guiding her through an emergency tele-health consultation with her psychiatrist.

I walked into the master bedroom, pulled my overnight bag from the top closet shelf, and systematically packed my passport, social security card, marriage certificate, medical history records, and a few changes of comfortable clothes.

In the bottom drawer of the dresser lay a small stack of unworn newborn onesies.

I picked out two clean, plain white ones, folded them meticulously, and placed them into the inner zipper pocket of my bag.

At 1:00 AM, the living room lights were still brightly lit.

Through the crack in the door, I heard Cora whispering that she couldn't sleep because the shadows in the room scared her. Jared poured her a fresh glass of warm water, his movements smooth, practiced, and endlessly patient.

Leaning against the headboard, I pulled up my banking app and transferred the final payment for my private stay at the recovery lodge.

When the confirmation text popped up on my screen, the sweet, sickly scent of Cora’s vanilla diffuser crept under the bedroom door, filling my lungs.

I pulled open the window latch, letting a sliver of icy night air rush into the room.

The shock of the cold sent a violent cramp through my lower abdomen.

I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted iron, and I didn't call his name once.