Chapter 8

"Emma! Open up already!" Ethan’s banging on the door echoed again and again. Emma forced herself to focus, dragging herself off the bed. She splashed some water on her face, barely rinsed her mouth, and went to get the door. "What happened to you?" Ethan stood frozen at the door, his eyes sweeping over the blood stains she hadn’t fully cleaned — bright red against her sickly pale skin and the collar of her shirt. "It’s nothing. The pneumonia I had last year’s been acting up again. Coughed a little too much, burst a blood vessel, that’s all," she brushed it off, voice weak, trying to sound casual. Ethan didn’t bother replying. He just kicked at the papers strewn across the messy floor with his shoe, then grabbed his coat and slipped it on. "Come with me. We’re going to the hospital." "What?" Emma froze, thinking she’d heard wrong. "I’m really okay… I don’t need to—" "You think I care if you’re okay or not?" Ethan cut her off with a sneer. "Didn’t you want to make things right? Clara’s in the hospital after a miscarriage. You’re going to look after her. In person." "Ethan, don’t you think that’s a bit much?" Emma shut her eyes for a second, holding her ribs as another jolt of pain hit. "I can hire the best nurse to care for her. You don’t have to do this to me—" "Hire?" he laughed coldly. "You talk like you’ve got money to throw around. What part of this house did you pay for?” His glare was sharp as a blade. “Besides, those nurses? Rough hands and zero taste. You? Miss Carter? You’re high-end, at least you look decent doing it." Emma had nothing left to say to that. She pushed back the messy strands of hair stuck to her cheek and muttered, "At least let me change into something else…" Ethan turned and went down the stairs without a word. Emma leaned against the wall, catching her breath, pressing her chest where it throbbed the most. She regretted what she'd said earlier. Sophie — that name was always off-limits. A scar Ethan refused to let anyone touch. And also the one secret, the one wound, she herself never had the courage to lay bare. *** "Are you trying to boil me alive?!" Clara kicked over the foot basin with a crash, eyes blazing. Emma was too sore and slow to dodge, and half a basin of hot water soaked her pants. Wet, cold, miserable. Still, even now, she wasn’t going to stoop to Clara’s level and get into some ugly shouting match. She’d already played all her cards over the past few days — Clara’s tantrums weren’t anything new. "The doctor said you shouldn’t catch a chill after a miscarriage. The water’s supposed to be hot.”"Emma, drop the act already. Ethan’s not here now, so cut that fake sweet routine, will you?" Clara practically spat the words out, completely shedding her usual soft-spoken persona she put on in front of Ethan. Her cheeks were flushed, like she was hyped up and ready to explode. "Let me tell you something—Ethan's not the type to be fooled. The more you act all pitiful and long-suffering, the more he’s gonna get sick of you!" Emma couldn’t help but laugh bitterly to herself. At this point, did it really matter whether Ethan liked her or not? "You still planning to wash up or not? After eight, the hot water shuts off downstairs." "Mind your own business!" Clara snapped, but there was barely any fight in her voice. That just made her even more pissed off. "You better remember this, Emma—so what if I lost a baby? Ethan’s still gonna have more with me, a second, a third, however many he wants!" Just then, the hospital room door creaked open. "Ethan, you’re back!" Clara’s whole demeanor flipped in a second—she huddled under the blanket like a shy kitten, all innocence and fragility. Her big, watery eyes practically screamed “poor me.” "Ethan, can you talk to Emma, please? She insisted on washing my feet even though I told her not to… I just feel so bad about it… Look, now the floor’s all wet." Ethan shot a glare at Emma, then rolled up his sleeves and bent down. As he gently took Clara’s cold feet in his hands, he couldn’t help throwing a jab at Emma. "Is this the best you can do? At least bring me a towel." Emma froze for a second, then quietly obeyed. "Ethan, I… I can do it myself," Clara said softly, her voice shaky. Her shoulders trembled just slightly, her lips pressed together in that perfect ‘I’m shy but touched’ way. Her dainty feet in Ethan’s hands looked like fragile porcelain. "Hold still. Just let me do it. After this, get some rest or you’ll catch something again." So this was Ethan’s version of gentle? Emma leaned silently against the doorframe, watching the whole scene unfold like she didn’t even exist. Every second cut a little deeper. Suddenly, a memory flashed through her mind—words from a message, still vivid: [Emma, is it cold where you are? You really should take better care of your health. Don’t end up like me—I caught a cold again. Haha, but don’t worry! Ethan’s been so sweet. He even ran out at night to buy me meds and helped me take them himself. Oops, did I just spill a little relationship tea? I really hope one day you find someone who loves you like this…] Emma smiled faintly. So maybe not all fairy tales were lies. It’s just… Ethan’s kind of love? That warmth? She knew deep down, it was never meant for her.