Chapter2

The rain continued until I took a taxi back to the apartment.

The empty living room was terrifyingly quiet. The air seemed to still hold traces of Jordan's cologne and the sickeningly sweet perfume Chloe had left behind on her last visit.

I threw my soaked coat on the floor and walked straight into the bathroom.

Hot water pounded on my skin, but I felt no warmth.

I watched the fog-covered mirror, hand slowly moving to my still-flat stomach.

There had been a tiny, burning hope there, just hours ago.

Now, all that remained was a heavy, cold reality.

I dried my hair, walked to the bedroom, and pulled that small plastic stick from my bag.

Two clear lines.

I stared at it for a long time, then walked to the kitchen, opened the trash can lid, and threw it in.

After that action, I returned to the study and opened my computer.

First I searched for the most reputable women's clinic in the area and scheduled an appointment online for surgery tomorrow morning. When I clicked confirm, my finger didn't hesitate.

Then I opened another webpage I'd bookmarked long ago—"Swiss Alpine Cultural Heritage Restoration Center," that top-tier program requiring three years.

I downloaded the application form and in the "Motivation" field, I typed a line: "Seeking absolute focus and professional reinvention."

Very official, and very true. I needed a reason to completely extract myself, a space he couldn't reach, couldn't interfere with using sweet words or violent anger.

Click send.

The next morning, I arrived at the clinic right on time.

The nurse routinely confirmed information and handed me a form. "Ms. Sienna, you're certain you want to terminate the pregnancy?"

"I'm certain." My voice was clear in the quiet room.

The procedure was quick, almost painless, or rather, the physical sensation was covered by a more massive, psychological numbness.

When I left the clinic, the sunlight was blinding.

I stood at the curb and took a deep breath. Air flooded my lungs, bringing a strange lightness.

The possibility that would have bound Jordan and me together in the most fragile way had disappeared.

I no longer needed to make any decision about it, no longer needed to fantasize that he might change because of it.

He would never need to know now.

Back home, I found an old lockable file box. I placed the clinic receipt, post-procedure instructions, and a printout of the preliminary confirmation email from the Swiss project neatly inside.

Then I took down from the top shelf a thick file I'd never signed before—something my father had given me last year, a draft about establishing an independent art trust fund, involving some asset separation and legal entity change clauses. I put that in too.

A soft "click" as I locked the box.

Just then, my phone rang. Jordan's name flashed on the screen.

I stared at that name for three seconds, then answered, my tone calm as if nothing had happened.

"Hello?"

"Where are you?" His voice came through with some noisy background sound, not like he was at the office. "I came home to grab a file, you're not here. Why's the kitchen empty? Didn't you go shopping?"

See, he didn't even ask how I got home last night, didn't ask if I was safe, didn't ask why I wasn't home.

In his world, there were only his needs and Chloe's needs.

"I'm out meeting a client." I lied, my voice betraying nothing.

"Oh." He seemed to accept this explanation without suspicion. "Come back early then. Chloe might come over for dinner tonight, she's still not feeling well. Remember to make something she likes, that pasta last time was good."

He didn't even use a question. It was a command.

I gripped the phone tighter, nails digging into my palm.

I looked out at the bright daylight, clearly feeling the last remnant of ridiculous warmth in my heart completely freeze through.

"Jordan," I interrupted him, my voice still strangely steady.

"What?"

"If one day you discovered there were things you'd permanently lost the chance to know about," I said slowly, my gaze falling on that locked file box, "would you regret it?"

Silence on the other end for a few seconds, then his impatient laugh came through.

"Sienna, what's wrong with you now? Saying weird things. I'm busy, remember to make dinner. Hanging up."

The dial tone sounded.

I put down the phone and walked to the window. The street below was bustling with traffic, everything as usual.

No one knew that on this ordinary afternoon, a not-yet-formed life had disappeared, a contract for flying far away was taking effect, and a three-year relationship had, in my heart, completed its final funeral.

Jordan, you'll soon learn that what you've lost is far more than a secret you didn't know about. You've lost everything. And this is just beginning.