Chapter 6 Norwell stood in the empty apartment, the miscarriage certificate crumpled in his hand, his face a mask of disbelief. He flipped the paper over and over, staring at each word as if he could will it to be different. A child? Impossible. "Cynthia's health has always been fragile. How could she possibly have been pregnant?" "And ever since I found out Lucy was terminally ill-since I decided to adopt her son and ensure he'd never be treated unfairly-I had a vasectomy. So where could this child have come from?" ...She must be lying to me. She has to be." He muttered under his breath. Dropping onto the sofa, his brow knotted tight, he pulled out his phone and dialed my number. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. He stared at the screen, a cold jolt shooting through him. He dialed again. Same response. Over and over he tried, his frown deepening, chest tightening like a fuse lit inside him. For all these years, I hadn't changed my number in all these years. Norwell convinced himself this was deliberate. I must be angry, playing hard to get, using this as a way to pull him back from Lucy's side. He remembered the flicker of pain in my eyes when we last saw each other outside the hospital. A sharp pang hit him in the chest. Yet he refused to believe it was real. He was certain I couldn't live without him, that marrying him had always been my dream. How could I possibly walk away so easily? I had loved him for years, given everything to him. There was no way I'd simply leave. Jaw tight, he opened the messenger app, hesitated, then typed a message. [Cynthia, stop this nonsense. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you, but don't push too far.] He waited. No reply. He sat in the suffocating silence, tapping into the chat window again and again, a ridiculous unease rising Chapter 6 60.00% inside him. He typed another, gentler this time: [Cynthia, I'm home waiting for you. Where did you go? You must not have eaten yet. I brought you your favorite crab. Let's sit down and talk properly, alright?) Minute after minute passed. Still nothing. "No... no, she's just angry. She only wants me to yield. That's all." "She can't leave me! She'd never leave me. We survived the hardest times together..." He tried to convince himself, desperate to banish the creeping dread. But the apartment was too empty. Every trace of me was gone. That clean, decisive absence chilled him in a way he'd never felt before. Restless, he chain-smoked, the ashtray filling until it looked like a small mountain. Finally, unable to sit still, he drove to the hospital to see Lucy, seeking stability in her presence. The moment he opened the door, he froze. The air was thick with the scent of chili oil and spice. Lucy was sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing gloves, and digging into a platter of fiery barbecued shrimp and a steaming bowl of spicy stew. Beside her sat a frosty bottle of Coke. Her face flushed from the heat, her hospital meal tray tossed into the trash. She hummed along to a cheerful song, eyes fixed on a movie playing in the background. There was no trace of illness, no hint of pain. When she looked up and saw him, her expression stiffened. The tripe bobbing in the hot pot was forgotten, left floating. "Norwell... you-you weren't supposed to come tonight. Didn't you say you had something urgent?" He stared at her, stunned. "You... you're not terminal? The doctor said you had late-stage stomach cancer, that you couldn't even touch spicy food." Chapter 6 60.00% Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!