I raised my phone and snapped a photo the moment Agatha turned around with that smug look on her face.

After boarding, I scrolled through her social media, saving every recent post one by one.

Looking at her leaning against Brent's shoulder, smiling that sickeningly sweet smile—a wave of nausea hit me.

The guy in the seat next to mine offered me a mint. "Airsick?"

I blinked, then thanked him and took it.

His ears turned slightly red. "I noticed you earlier. Would you want to exchange numbers?"

Agatha's voice drifted over from the aisle.

"Oh, Eliana! Is this a new friend of yours? I had no idea you were so chatty in private—you're always so quiet!"

I looked up, my eyes passing coolly over her arm linked tightly through Brent's.

"Not as talented as you. You go straight for other women's husbands."

The passengers around us shot looks of disgust her way. Agatha quickly pulled her arm back, biting her lip with a wounded expression. "Eliana, how can you say that? I wasn't feeling well, and Brent was just looking after me. But you're married—maybe you should keep your distance from strange men."

The guy next to me clearly sensed the tension. He gave an awkward explanation: "Sorry, I didn't know she was married..."

Brent's expression darkened. His eyes dropped to my left hand. "Where's your wedding ring?"

"Forgot it at home," I said casually.

"Forgot it at home?" Displeasure flickered across his face. "Since when did you get so scatterbrained? Check if you've got all the hotel and attraction tickets. And buy Agatha's while you're at it."

He guided the suddenly dizzy Agatha back to first class. The guy beside me couldn't help himself: "Your husband treats you like that... and you just take it?"

I smiled. "Not for much longer."

Outside the airport, the hotel had sent a car.

Agatha, who usually fought to sit in the front seat next to Brent, had naturally settled into the back with him instead. She chattered at him the whole way.

It wasn't until check-in, when she learned the room I'd paid extra to secure was on a different floor, that her face fell.

"Brent, I don't know anyone here. Don't leave me all alone..."

Brent pressed the room key into her hand. "Be good. It's only three floors away. Call me if you need anything."

Agatha trudged upstairs to unpack, clearly unhappy.

Just then, Blanche sent over the divorce agreement she'd drafted.

Brent's eyes caught the notification. "What agreement? Do you still have work to deal with?"

I shoved my phone into my pocket and gave a vague "Mm."

Seeing my mood, he finally seemed to remember this was the trip I'd been looking forward to for months. He reached for my hand, his thumb brushing over the spot where my ring should have been.

"Don't be upset. I promise—next time, I won't bring anyone else. Go rest. Tonight I'll take you out for local food."

Back in the room, Brent stepped out for a cigarette. When he returned, he was holding a stick of candied hawthorns.

"Try it. They say the ones here in Harbor City taste different from back home."

I kept my eyes on my phone. "You have it. My teeth hurt."

I used to see people posting photos of those things and get cravings so bad I couldn't stand it. Brent had made a joke of it to Agatha—said I was childish, almost thirty and still wanting kid's candy.

Now he'd snuck out to buy me one, and I didn't want it at all.

When I made no move to take it, he tossed it into the trash and turned cold.

"That's enough. How long are you going to keep this up? You have ten minutes. Get yourself together and meet me downstairs."

His last word vanished in the slam of the door.

I stared at the photo of Agatha holding a bouquet of candied hawthorns, confirmed the arm she was clinging to belonged to who I thought it did, and saved the screenshot.

I'd just finished getting dressed and headed downstairs when something ice-cold was shoved down my collar—a snowball.

The melting snow sent a violent shiver through me.

Agatha doubled over laughing, then hurled another snowball that grazed my cheek.

"Eliana, it's just a snowball fight! You're not going to be mad at me, are you?"

Brent laughed along with her. "Come on, she's not that petty."

I said nothing. I bent down, scooped up a handful of snow, and shoved it down Agatha's collar.

"Ah!"

The second she shrieked, Brent sprinted over and pulled her into his arms—then shoved me aside.

I instinctively reached out to break my fall. A sharp crack. White-hot pain shot through my wrist.

"Brent... I'm so cold..." Agatha whimpered.

His face darkened. "Eliana! It was just a game—you took it too far!"

He scooped Agatha up and strode back toward the hotel, leaving me in the snow, drenched in cold sweat from the pain.

Watching them disappear, I felt suddenly exhausted.

Too exhausted to even bother being angry.

A hotel attendant spotted me and rushed over, panicked. "Ma'am, are you okay? I'll call an ambulance!"

I was about to say no when a heavy ache seized my lower abdomen. A red stain bloomed across the snow beneath me.

My right hand was encased in a thick plaster cast. The doctor frowned at me.

"You're pregnant—how could you be so careless? I'll prescribe some injections to help stabilize the pregnancy. When you get home, stay in bed, eat well..."

A ringing filled my ears. "I'm pregnant?"

"Yes. You're showing signs of a threatened miscarriage, but with proper rest, you should be able to keep it."

I came back to myself. "I don't want it."

She paused. "What did you say?"

I looked out the window at the snow drifting down, my vision blurring. "I don't want the baby. Just schedule the procedure."

Dr. Avery Grant Grant nodded slowly. "Are you sure? Don't you want to discuss this with your family?"

I looked at the latest photo on social media—Agatha and Brent soaking in a hot spring together—and my voice went flat. "I'm sure."

"Alright. Appointments are light right now. We can do it tomorrow. Get some rest—I'll switch you to a stronger painkiller."

She sighed and left.

I lay in that room reeking of disinfectant. The whole night passed without my phone ringing once.

The surgery the next day was quick. When I returned to the hotel, someone was still asleep in the bed.

Two someones, actually. Wrapped around each other.

The sound of the door woke Brent. When he saw me, he sat up slowly.

"So you're back? I say a few words to you and you throw a tantrum and stay out all night? You're getting more and more—"

His eyes landed on the cast on my arm. His brow furrowed.

"You're hurt? What happened?"

Agatha stirred awake with a soft moan, her pale arm sliding up to loop around his neck. "Brent..."

The blanket slipped. There was nothing left to the imagination.

I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, set the room key calmly on the nightstand. "Enjoy your honeymoon."

Brent shoved Agatha's arm away and leaped to his feet—only to realize he was naked too.

The panic on his face was obvious. He yanked on clothes and grabbed my arm. "Eliana, let me explain. It's not what you think. Agatha said she was having nightmares and came to talk, and then somehow—"

I pried his fingers off one by one. "You don't need to explain anything to me."

"No! You have to listen! I swear, we just fell asleep with our clothes on! I don't know how this happened!"

Agatha dropped to her knees in front of me with a thud, clutching the bedsheet around her. "Eliana, I swear nothing happened between me and Brent. If you don't believe me, I'll just kill myself! I've been wanting to join my brother anyway..."

She sobbed as she smashed a glass and slashed it hard across her wrist.

Brent grabbed her hand and pulled her into his arms. "Eliana, Agatha has depression. She can't handle stress. Wait for me in the living room—I'll explain everything later."

By the time Agatha finally fell into a heavy sleep, he searched the entire room but found no trace of me.

A knock came at the door. Brent's expression lifted as he rushed to open it. "Eliana—"

A room service attendant stood there holding a plastic bag. "Sir, this was sent over from Central City Medical Center. A woman apparently forgot to pick up her prescription, so they delivered it based on the address."

Brent took it. A medical instruction sheet slipped out of the bag. Printed across the top in bold letters: Post-Abortion Care Instructions.

Just before boarding, my phone rang relentlessly. I declined the call and sent him a text:

"Let's get divorced."

After hitting send, I blocked him on everything.