Chapter 2Bled Dry by the Doctor

When I was finally wheeled out of the recovery bay, the post-operative bleeding was far heavier than expected. The attending kept me under observation until dusk before reluctantly clearing me to go home.

Between the chronic anemia and the blood loss from the procedure, I was so weak by the time I reached our apartment that I could barely turn the key.

I leaned against the doorframe, gasping for breath, preparing to call out Austin’s name.

Instead, a delicate, teasing voice drifted from our living room.

"Hey, Dr. Bennett, when’s dinner going to be ready? We’re starving!"

The air caught in my throat.

I steadied myself against the wall and pushed the door open.

There was Brooke, lounging comfortably on our sofa, wearing the plush house slippers I had bought for myself.

Seeing me, her relaxed expression vanished into immediate fluster. She scrambled to her feet.

"Nora! Please don't misunderstand," she stammered, smoothing down her skirt. "Maisie woke up from the post-transfusion round crying hysterically. She was terrified of staying in the pediatric ward. Austin couldn't bear to see her like that, so he brought us back here. I promise we won't touch any of your things."

Austin emerged from the kitchen carrying a steaming platter of braised chicken.

"Why are you back so late?" He glanced over at me casually, completely blind to the gray pallor of my skin or the tremor in my legs.

I didn't answer. I kept my head down, dragging my feet toward the bedroom.

Brooke hurried over and caught my sleeve. "Nora, look, I’ll pack our bags and take Maisie to a hotel right now. Please don't fight with Austin. He performed two operations today and spent the rest of his shift managing Maisie’s vitals. He’s running on fumes."

She turned toward her rolling suitcase near the entryway. After just two steps, she swayed dramatically, her hand flying to her temple.

Austin lunged forward, catching her by the shoulders. "Brooke, stop. Where on earth are you going at this hour?"

Brooke lowered her gaze, her voice trembling. "I just don't want to make Nora unhappy."

Austin looked at me, a flare of frustrated resignation in his eyes. "Nora, Maisie has hospital trauma, but she still requires constant clinical monitoring. Having them stay here makes it easier for me to manage her recovery. Once she stabilizes, Brooke will take her home."

"How long?" I asked softly, hollowed out of any remaining hope.

He hesitated for a second. "Probably two or three months."

Our wedding was set for next month.

Which meant that in his mind, our marital home was theirs to share, and our wedding night would be spent playing host to another woman and her child.

The corners of my mouth twitched into a cold, empty smile. I looked him dead in the eye.

"Stealing seven years of my blood wasn't enough? Now you're moving the thieves into my home? Austin, do you even know what respect looks like?"

Austin’s expression hardened instantly.

"Nora, that is completely out of line," he snapped. "They're staying for a brief recovery period. Why do you have to be so venomous?"

Venomous.

I turned my face away from his, my chest tightening until I couldn't draw oxygen.

Assuming my silence meant surrender, Austin softened his tone, giving orders. "Maisie is about to wake up from her nap. Fix your expression. Don't frighten her."

I didn't utter a word. I turned on my heel and shut the bedroom door behind me.

Through the thin wood, Brooke’s quiet sniffling filtered in.

"Austin... does Nora hate me that much? I know I shouldn't impose on you two, but raising Maisie alone... I really don't know how much longer I can keep going on my own."

Austin’s voice dropped to a warm, gentle murmur. "She’s just under a lot of stress with the pregnancy. Don't take it to heart."

I leaned back against the closed door, my fingernails biting into the palms of my hands until they nearly broke the skin.

I didn't come out for dinner. I collapsed onto the bed, slipping into a feverish, shivering stupor.

When I finally woke up, my skin was burning hot.

I dragged myself into the hallway to find the medicine cabinet. In the bathroom, Brooke had just finished showering, blow-drying her hair.

She was wearing my pearl-white silk robe—the one I had purchased specifically for our wedding night, tucked away in tissue paper in the closet.

Hearing my footsteps, Austin appeared in the hall. Sensing my gaze, he lowered his voice, offering a quick, rational explanation. "Brooke didn't pack clean loungewear, and that was the only brand-new robe in the house. Don't read into it."

I looked away, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion drowning out whatever anger was left.

It wasn't until I reached into the first-aid kit with shaking hands that Austin realized something was physically wrong with me. He reached out, his palm resting on my forehead, his brow instantly furrowing.

"God, you’re burning up. When did you get a fever?"

He immediately brought over a glass of water, handed me acetaminophen, and bustled off to the kitchen to simmer some light oatmeal. He returned with an ice compress, gently applying it to my brow.

"Shh, you'll feel better once the temperature drops," he murmured.

His bedside manner was practiced and natural.

His soothing words were second nature.

As if none of the cruelty from earlier today had ever happened.

As if our foundation wasn't already rotted to the core.

Then, a tiny, groggy voice shattered the fragile illusion from the doorway.

"Daddy? What are you doing?"