Chapter 3

Clara's POV

Back in the city, my first stop was the ER.

The emergency doctor examined my ear, informing me that the cartilage was torn and needed stitches, and the eardrum was partially ruptured. I had to let it heal carefully, and if it worsened, surgery would be unavoidable.

"How did this happen?"

"Accidentally bumped into something."

The doctor glanced toward the waiting room door. "No family came with you?"

I shook my head.

They didn't use local anesthesia for the stitches. As the needle pierced through torn flesh, a searing pain shot across the side of my face straight into my brain. I clutched the hem of my shirt, never making a sound.

Five stitches in total.

The nurse taped a gauze pad over my ear, and I swept my hair down to conceal it.

The doctor wrote a prescription for antibiotics, warning me to keep it completely dry, return to have the stitches removed, and get regular checkups on the eardrum.

My right ear heard every word clearly. My left ear remained muffled and dead.

My phone kept buzzing incessantly inside my purse. I pulled it out and held it to my right ear. It was a bar manager, sounding frantic.

"Is this Mrs. Mitchell? Mr. Mitchell got into a massive brawl at our place and smashed several tables. You need to get down here right away to settle the damages and pick him up."

"We're getting divorced. Call someone else."

I hung up, flipped the phone to silent, and took two steps before the screen lit up again. The same manager.

I answered, and the voice on the other end rushed out: "Someone has to pay for the destroyed property! If you don't show up, we have no choice but to call the police. If this blows up, it won't look good for anyone."

If it really blew up, it would reach Jeremy's company and leak to our relatives. That would only drag out my pending divorce with endless complications.

Hailing a cab, I reminded myself: the only reason I was dealing with this was to make sure my divorce went through cleanly and quickly.

People were coming and going outside the lounge entrance, with two bouncers dragging out tables with broken legs.

The second I stepped out of the taxi, I spotted two figures sitting on the front steps.

Jeremy leaned against the wall, a split lip bleeding and one side of his face heavily bruised.

Chloe was crouched in front of him, pressing a tissue against his lip, scolding gently, "Are you stupid? Getting into a fistfight with strangers? Look at your face!"

Jeremy didn't look angry in the slightest. In fact, he looked genuinely pleased.

"Who told him to whistle at you? He dared lay eyes on my woman."

"If you pull something like this again, I'm not taking care of you."

Jeremy grabbed her hand, resting it on his knee with a gentle pat. "Don't worry. Before our baby is born, I'll make sure you're my bride."

"Who says I want to be your bride?"

Chloe lowered her head, but the corners of her lips curved into a smug smile.

I stood on the opposite side of the street, the hospital bill still clutched tightly in my fingers.

For six years, I genuinely believed I was the only person who could keep him from self-destructing with alcohol. He was the one who begged me, and I was the one who watched over him. I thought I was indispensable.

Now, someone else was dabbing his bleeding lip and fussing over him, and he was just as thrilled.

All those drinks I took for him, all those years of babysitting—completely meaningless.

I folded the medical bill in half and shoved it back into my bag.

The manager called again. I glanced at the screen and powered the phone off entirely.

His drinking, his split lip—none of it was my responsibility anymore.

I didn't step through the doors, didn't make a scene, and simply turned on my heel and walked away.

The freshly stitched ear throbed with a sharp, pulsing ache. I pressed a hand against it, walking to the curb to flag down another cab.

The driver asked where I was headed. I stayed silent for a long time before muttering, "Just drive forward for now."