"Aydan... where's Aydan?"

Watching Juanita's colorless face, Jenna Castillo, her younger sister, kept dialing Aydan's number. But all thirty-two calls ended with the same dead, hopeless tone.

"The patient's blood type is rare! We're running out of compatible blood!"

"Her blood pressure's crashing!"

"Didn't Mr. Johnson prepare an emergency match? Where is he?!"

Under the doctor's shouting, Jenna sobbed out, her voice trembling, "I can't get through to him..."

Before she could say more, another violent contraction twisted Juanita's abdomen.

As her vision blurred, she took one last glance at the door to the operating room—Aydan still wasn't there.

After what felt like forever, Juanita came around.

Her hands brushed over her empty belly. Panic and grief flooded her chest.

"My baby..."

She tried to sit up, desperate to see her child, but all she saw was Jenna, eyes swollen from crying.

"Nita, I thought you'd never come around..."

"My baby... Where's my baby?" Tears welled up in Juanita's eyes as she clutched Jenna's sleeve.

"The doctor said... the baby didn't make it. You were dying, Nita. If they hadn't done the C-section, you would've died."

Juanita's lips trembled. "Where's Aydan?"

Jenna hesitated, her face tight with anger. "I stayed with you three days straight. He never came."

The room spun. Juanita's heart felt like it was being crushed from the inside.

The child she had cherished and carried for seven months—her miracle after years of trying—was gone before she even had the chance to see her.

And the father who had once wanted that child more than anything hadn't shown up, not once.

Juanita's breath came in ragged gasps as she grabbed her phone and called Aydan.

This time, Aydan's assistant answered.

"Where's Aydan?" she demanded.

"Mr. Johnson is... busy," the assistant replied after a pause.

His hesitant tone made Juanita's heart sink.

"Tell him to come see me in the hospital. Now!"

She hung up, wiping her tears with shaking hands.

Later, Juanita went to the morgue with Jenna supporting her.

Her baby girl lay there—tiny, cold. Juanita tried to warm her daughter's icy little hand with her breath.

"Baby... Mommy's taking you home."

She wrapped the child in a blanket and headed to Aydan's apartment.

The one he kept for that college girl—Carlee Haynes.

Juanita wanted him to see their daughter one last time.

But when she reached the door, she froze. Through the crack, she saw Aydan holding the sobbing Carlee close, his voice soft.

"Babe, don't cry. It's okay. If you're scared it'll hurt, we won't go, alright?"

"I wanted to be there... But I was so scared," Carlee whispered, her eyes red and swollen, tears streaking her face.

"It's fine, honey. We don't have to go."

Juanita stood there, her heart splintering into pieces, leaving her breathless.

While her life had been hanging by a thread, her dear husband had been comforting another woman.

Once, Aydan had risked his life for her—three times. But in the end, he still cheated.

At eighteen, he'd shielded her under earthquake rubble for three days, telling the rescue team to save her first. And he almost died.

At twenty-one, he'd stormed a kidnapper's den for her, taking three bullets, including one 1 mm from his heart, and only barely survived after seven days in the ICU.

At twenty-five, when everyone opposed their marriage, he endured his family's brutal punishment—five of his ribs shattered—just to make her his wife.

Juanita had believed in that love with all her heart. So when Aydan said he wanted a child, she had had countless IVF treatments, even though her chances of conceiving were slim.

When she was finally pregnant, Aydan had catered to her every need. He even found a girl with the same rare blood type and kept her close, in case Juanita needed an emergency transfusion during childbirth.

She had questioned it once, but his smile had eased her doubts.

"You're pregnant, honey. Don't be so jealous. She's just there for emergencies. I'm doing it for you and our baby."

Juanita had believed him.

And that trust killed her baby.

She didn't go in and confront them. She only held the tiny bundle tighter and turned toward the crematorium.

After watching her daughter be buried, she called a long-forgotten number.

"Danica... it's been a while," she whispered. "Can I come back to the opera?"

There was a pause—then a warm laugh on the other end. "Of course. The White Swan Opera will always welcome its prima donna."

"Thank you," Juanita said, her voice trembling.

That night, she met with her lawyer to draft the divorce papers and move her assets.

"Your funds will be transferred within a week of the agreement taking effect," he confirmed.

Juanita glanced at the small tombstone before her. Beneath it lay not only her child, but the last of her love for Aydan.

After three years of marriage, she was finally disillusioned.

It was time to leave.

Juanita stayed through the entire night at the funeral. By the time Aydan finally showed up the next morning, she looked pale beside the tiny grave.

Seeing her like that, Aydan froze, disbelief flickering in his eyes. "Nita..."

He rushed forward and pulled her into his arms, his voice breaking with guilt. "We can have another child, but you must take care of your body. I can't bear it if anything happened to you."

Juanita let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Another child?

"Aydan, do you even know how hard it was for me to get pregnant? The doctor said I'll never be able to have children again!"

Aydan's face darkened. He lowered his head. "I'm sorry, Nita..."

"Then why didn't you pick up the phone?" she rasped, pointing at the grave. "I was waiting for you to come help me. Where were you?"

"I'm sorry, Nita. Something came up at work, so..."

She gave a cold laugh. "Was it really work, or was that college girl too unwilling to let you go?"

With a dull thud, Aydan dropped to his knees before the grave, his voice sincere. "Nita, it's all my fault. I failed you and the baby. I'm so sorry..."

Juanita stared down at him—and then, somehow, she laughed through her tears.

She should've seen it sooner.

The pre-booked movie tickets, the hotel notifications popping up out of nowhere, and the roses that weren't for her... Everything had been pointing to the same truth—Aydan's heart had already drifted away.

And yet she'd believed his lies.

"You don't have to be sorry," she said evenly. "Just send her away, and I'll pretend none of this ever happened."

"No." Aydan's answer was immediate. "Carla's just a lonely college girl. She's got no one else. If she leaves, how will she survive?"

Juanita smiled, "Perfect."

Without hesitation, she called the housekeeper. "Pack up everything in Carlee's apartment. And throw her out."

"Are you insane?"

Aydan snapped, snatching the phone from her. He muttered a few words into it, then hung up.

"She just refused to donate blood to you—must you be this cruel? It was her right to say no!"

Something in Juanita's chest twisted painfully.

That wasn't what he'd said before.

"If you really want to play it this way," Aydan said darkly, "don't blame me when Jenna's career goes down with you. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

He was threatening her with Jenna's future—for Carlee's sake.

In that moment, Juanita barely recognized the man standing before her.

"Stop this, Nita. You need rest." He reached for her, meaning to guide her back to the car. But Juanita pulled out a contract and handed it to him for signature. "Sign this."

"What is it?"

She drew a deep breath. "It's..."

"It's fine," he cut her off. "As long as it calms you down, I'll sign anything."

He didn't even read it. Just scrawled his name on the last page of their divorce papers.

Juanita stared at the bold, flowing handwriting—the same hand that had once written her ninety-nine love letters ten years ago.

The last one had been simple, clumsy words, "I like you."

Her eyes burned.

"Oh, right," Aydan said lightly. "I picked out some gifts for you. See if there's anything you like."

He sent over a long list of luxury items—handbags, jewelry, perfume—but Juanita couldn't bring herself to care.

At the bottom, she noticed a few prenatal books and CDs. The order date made it obvious they weren't for her.

Before she could say anything, new messages appeared on her phone.

An ultrasound image. Eight weeks pregnant.

The sender wrote, "Oops, wrong number. I thought this was Ayd's phone."

Juanita felt her heart shred apart—then burn.

She stared at the screen for a long, empty moment, then let out a laugh.

What a perfect gift.

"Aydan, this is your gift to me?"

She held up the ultrasound photo on her phone. Aydan clearly hadn't expected Carlee to throw it in Juanita's face; his expression tightened. "Nita, calm down. Don't hurt her."

Seeing the color drain from Juanita's face, he sighed, "That night, we were both drunk, it just... happened. I told her to end it, but Carla refused no matter what I said.

"I'm heartbroken too, about losing the baby. But look on the bright side—once this child is born, you'll be his mother.

"And my family needs this baby, Nita. Please, be generous. Do it for me, okay?"

"Aydan, our baby died. She was only seven months!"

Her voice cracked. "How could you..."

Tears blurred her vision. Even the air inside the car turned heavy, sticky, impossible to breathe.

The rest of her words curdled in her throat, too bitter to say.

"The baby's already buried," Aydan said impatiently. "What's the point of talking about it now? Do you really want to live in grief forever?"

Juanita listened as her heart dimmed, like a candle burning down to nothing.

Yeah. What was the point anymore?

The drive back to the house passed in silence. They walked in one after the other, weighed down by everything unsaid.

Aydan noticed right away that Carlee wasn't in the living room. It struck him as odd.

Ever since Juanita's pregnancy, they'd been sleeping in separate rooms.

When she reached her door and turned the knob, she froze. Carlee was inside, mopping the floor.

She looked exhausted, sweat dripping down her red face.

The moment she saw Juanita, she straightened up and forced a timid smile. "Mrs. Johnson, I've just finished cleaning your room."

The sight made Aydan's chest tighten. He rushed over, brushing past Juanita to take Carlee's arm. "I told you not to do heavy work while you're pregnant. Why won't you listen?

"Juanita, what is going on here?"

Juanita shook her head quickly, panicked. "I didn't tell her to do anything. I barely even see her."

Carlee swayed and fell into Aydan's arms, whispering weakly, "Ayd, please... it's fine... I'm fine."

"You silly girl. You're pregnant. Who made you do the chores? Tell me, I'll handle it."

Carlee said nothing—just buried her face against his chest and wept, delicate and trembling, heartbreak personified.

"Juanita," Aydan snapped, "I told you not to pick on her. She's pregnant too. How can you be so cruel?"

Juanita stared, stunned, her tears spilling despite herself. "You don't believe me?"

"Why would Carla lie about this? She's carrying a child."

He turned back to Carlee, holding her in his arms, his tone softening. "Don't cry, babe. Tell me what you want."

Carlee sniffled, voice trembling. "Juanita has a... talisman. It's beautiful. I want one for our baby too."

"Juanita," Aydan said, his voice low but firm, "go get one for her. Consider it an apology."

Juanita stood frozen, unable to believe what she was hearing. His voice sounded distant in her ears.

When she didn't move, Aydan's tone hardened. "If you don't apologize, I'll cut off all of Jenna's opportunities. Every one of them."

Juanita thought of Jenna's smile—and gave in. "Fine. I'll go."

She'd seen the triumphant glint in Carlee's eyes, but she was too tired to care.

There were over two thousand steps up that mountain. Juanita climbed them in the pouring rain, her body still fragile from childbirth. By the time she finally got the talisman, her legs were shaking.

When she returned, drenched and pale, she handed it to Carlee. Carlee barely looked at it before tossing it aside. "Ayd, it's dirty. I don't want it."

Before Juanita blacked out, she heard his voice one last time, "Then don't, babe. As long as you stop crying."

In the middle of the night, Juanita woke, burning with fever.

She tried to call out, but her throat was so raw she couldn't make a sound.

Aydan's room was right next door, yet he hadn't checked on her once—too busy tending to Carlee.

"Nita, what's wrong?"

Aydan burst through the door. Seeing her flushed face, his voice filled with alarm.

"You're burning up. I'm taking you to the hospital."

She opened her mouth to speak, but a cry came from the other room. "Ayd, my belly—it hurts!" Carlee's voice, sharp with pain.

In that instant, Juanita saw Aydan's hands falter. He'd been about to lift her, but instead, he let go.

She grabbed the hem of his shirt with trembling fingers, eyes wide and pleading.

He hesitated. Then he pulled away.

"I'm sorry, Nita. Carla's carrying the baby—I can't risk anything happening to her.

"Just wait here. I'll come back for you."

And then he was gone, not even looking back.

Tears slid down Juanita's temples, hot enough to burn.

With what little strength she had left, she called an ambulance—then everything went dark.

***

"Are you awake?"

When she woke, Aydan's sharply defined face was the first thing she saw. His eyes looked genuinely worried. She couldn't help but feel it was utterly ridiculous.

She turned away, unwilling to look at him. A deep, hollow ache settled in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

"I'm sorry, Nita," he said softly. "I wasn't thinking straight."

"Get out. I don't want to see you."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, sighing. "My family asked me to look after Carlee and the baby. I didn't have a choice.

"Just hold on a little longer—once she gives birth, I'll send her away. For now, please show some patience for the sake of my family, alright?"

Juanita turned back to face him, eyes full of hurt. "Aydan, tell me one thing—did you ever believe me?"

He froze, then turned his face aside. "Let's not talk about it. It's over."

It was over?

Juanita gave a faint smile, tinged with bitterness and heartbreak.

When she was discharged, Aydan didn't come.

And when she finally got home, she found him in the kitchen—Aydan, who used to claim he couldn't stand the smell of oil or smoke—awkwardly cooking soup for Carlee.

Even when they'd been at their closest, he'd never done that for Juanita.

He'd said he had a touch of OCD, hated kitchen smells, and she'd respected that—never asked him again.

It turned out he hadn't loved her enough.

"You're back," he said matter-of-factly, handing her some ingredients. "Carla wants chicken broth. I don't really know how to make it. You do. Could you make some for her?"

"I don't want to." Her tone was icy. "I just got out of the hospital, and you want me to take care of her?"

Aydan's expression darkened—again, for Carlee's sake.

After all these years, Juanita could read that look too well. For Jenna's sake, for the company's inheritance, she swallowed her anger.

Silently, she took the ingredients and worked like a servant.

When the broth boiled, hot liquid splashed onto her hand, and she winced. Instinctively, she turned to Aydan—only to see him gently feed a peeled grape to Carlee.

Her mind flashed back. He used to do that for her once.

"Why would you bother, Mr. Johnson?" she had teased back then. "I'm hardly worth all this attention."

Aydan had laughed, never stopping his movements. "As long as it makes you happy, I'll serve you for the rest of my life."

And now...

A tear fell into the soup before she could stop it.

She wiped her face, lifted the plate of chicken broth, and walked out quietly.

"Thanks, Juanita. Your chicken broth is amazing."

After Aydan carefully blew on the broth to cool it down, Carlee took a contented sip.

"When my baby's born, you'll be the godmother."

The next second, her face twisted in pain. "Ah—my belly!"

She clutched her belly, her voice trembling. "It hurts... my baby... it hurts!"

Aydan froze, heart in his throat. "Carla, what's wrong?"

Tears welled in Carlee's eyes as she turned toward Juanita. "Juanita... did you put something in the soup? My belly—it hurts so bad..."

Before Juanita could respond, Aydan's hand came down hard across her face. "You bitch!"

She hit the floor, the hot broth spilling across her clothes—sticky, burning, scalding her skin.

Pain seared through her arm. Juanita covered her swollen cheek, tears streaming freely down her face.

"You've had a child before. How could you be this cruel?"

Aydan scooped the pale, trembling Carlee into his arms, eyes dark with fury. "You'd better pray she and the baby are fine!"

Juanita stayed there for a long, long time—so long she didn't notice when her tears stopped.

She couldn't understand. She was the one who'd stood by Aydan for ten years. So why did he still choose to believe Carlee?

It was late when Aydan came back, carrying a bag of snacks.

"I got these for you," he said softly, sitting beside the bed. His gaze lingered on the redness still visible on her cheek. "I'm sorry for today.

"I didn't mean to hit you. I just—panicked."

Juanita glanced at the snacks. All of them were Carlee's favorites.

She shook her head, exhaustion dulling her voice. "If there's nothing else, I'd like to sleep."

Aydan sighed and reached into his pocket, pulling out two tickets. "You said you wanted to see this opera, remember? I got us seats. Let's go tomorrow, okay?"

When she didn't look up, he knew she was truly hurt. He pressed the tickets into her palm and whispered, "Get some rest. We'll go together tomorrow."

Sorry. Always sorry.

As if one flimsy word could erase everything.

Juanita didn't want to go the next day, but Aydan insisted, eager and relentless. So she went.

They sat side by side in the theater, waiting for the curtain to rise. Before the first act began, Aydan's phone rang. "Hey, Ayd," Carlee's voice came through. "I'm craving crab cakes from the East End. And something sour, too."

"Okay, I'll get them for you."

When he hung up, Juanita was watching him quietly.

"She's been nauseous lately," he explained. "Can't keep anything down. But today she's hungry, so I should..."

"Go ahead."

Her tone was calm. Like she'd long stopped expecting anything else.

He gave her a grateful look and hurried off.

Juanita watched the entire opera alone.

When the curtain fell, something in her heart finally shifted.

Her phone buzzed. On Instagram—Carlee's post: a table full of snacks, and Aydan kneeling beside her, massaging her feet.

On any other day, the sight would've shattered her. But this time, Juanita smiled.

"Aydan, I'm done with you."

When she got home, Aydan was at the door, about to leave. He rushed over, pulling a towel to dry her rain-soaked hair. "I was just about to come get you..."

"Don't bother."

Juanita stepped back, out of his reach. "I want to move Lilah's grave."

Lilah—the name she'd given their daughter.

Aydan paused, confused. "Why?"

"I had a dream last night. She told me she wasn't happy there."

Aydan didn't question it. "If it's what you want, then move it."

He didn't know—it would be the last thing she ever asked of him.

She was leaving, taking her daughter with her, away from everything that had ever hurt her.