In the private hospital room, Lorelai Howell sat on the hospital bed, shooting an irritated look at her unexpected visitor, Rhys Howell.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, slicing through the silence with a sharp edge of annoyance.

Rhys set his briefcase on the table like he owned the place, his voice flat. “Mom asked me to keep an eye on you while she’s stuck overseas. Her flight got delayed a couple more days.”

“No need. The staff are taking good care of me. I can just tell Mom you stopped by. You should go,” Lorelai offered, tossing him an easy out.

She wanted him gone. Needed him gone. To Lorelai, Rhys was an unhealthy obsession—one she was done letting ruin her.

Rhys didn’t so much as flinch. He made no move to leave. Instead, he picked up a mug of coffee and held it out. “Want some?”

Lorelai watched him like a hawk and shook her head. Undeterred, Rhys set a mug of warm coffee on the table beside her bed, then crossed to the desk to work.

They were married. Yet their relationship was colder than that of strangers.

Watching him at the desk, Lorelai knew the real reason he was here: she was his cover. His real interest was Maryam.

Maryam was being treated at this same hospital, funded by Rhys—something the Howell family knew nothing about. Rhys used Lorelai as an excuse to visit Maryam, dragging her out under the guise of shopping and conveniently abandoning her.

Looking back, those memories cut deep. Lorelai used to tell herself that Maryam’s promise meant they were only friends.

How naive she’d been.

The familiar ache settled in her chest. She’d once clung to Rhys’s surface-level concern. Now it only repulsed her.

Later that afternoon, while Rhys was in the restroom, Lorelai seized the chance. She called a nurse over and handed her a note, instructing her to deliver it to room 4401—Maryam’s room.

Minutes after Rhys returned, his phone rang.

Unsurprisingly, it was Maryam.

Lorelai couldn’t hear the conversation, but she watched Rhys’s expression tighten. He ended with, “I’ll be right there.”

Lorelai smiled faintly and gestured for him to go.

Rhys looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he stayed silent and strode out.

Watching him disappear, Lorelai realized she hadn’t fully let go. Her heart still ached.

But she knew, eventually, this too would pass.

As day bled into night, Rhys didn’t come back.

At first, Lorelai welcomed the quiet. Then it hit her—something was off. Dinner never arrived.

She remembered the caregiver who usually attended to her had been fired, probably on Rhys’s orders. He’d left her for another woman.

Frustrated and out of options, Lorelai texted Rhys. Straight to the point:

[Get someone to bring me dinner!]

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Still nothing. Her vision blurred with hunger, and his silence was unnerving.

What was he doing?

Maybe Maryam had him so wrapped up he’d forgotten his phone.

Calling now might mean hearing things she was better off not knowing.

Yet, with the divorce pending, Lorelai reasoned, what did it matter if Rhys ended up with Maryam? Soon Maryam would officially be Mrs. Howell. No sense brooding over it.

She took a deep breath and dialed his number, expecting it to take a few tries. It connected immediately.

There were no scandalous sounds on the other end. Just Rhys’s cold voice: “Why aren’t you speaking?”

Lorelai’s anger flared. The choice to be with Maryam instead of her—it cut deep.

“You’re wondering why? Why did you fire my caregiver? Rhys Howell, if you want to make me suffer, be direct. Don’t play games!”

A cold laugh echoed through the line. “Make you suffer? I’m not that bored.”

But sensing her irritation, Rhys found himself unexpectedly amused.

He lifted a takeaway box and said, like it was nothing, “Next time, just call me directly if you need something.”

Lorelai was livid. He’d obviously seen her message.

Before she could let her anger get the best of her and unleash on him, the hospital room door swung open.

Rhys stood there—phone in one hand, takeaway box in the other. Like some delivery god.

Lorelai blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected him to show up so fast, dinner in hand. Wasn’t he supposed to be with Maryam?

Rhys set a wooden food box on her small dining table. She recognized the logo. One of her favorite restaurants.

That took some of the edge off her anger.

“Are you trying to poison me or something?” Lorelai joked, eyeing him.

Rhys almost laughed. “Yeah. With arsenic.”

Lorelai rolled her eyes and eagerly opened the box. But when she saw what was inside, her hope vanished, replaced by cold disappointment.

The smell of fresh-cooked food wrapped the room in a rich, mouthwatering haze. But to Lorelai Howell, it was wasted. Not a single dish appealed to her—some she wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole. The Howell family knew her food preferences inside and out. Rhys Howell, apparently, didn't have a clue.

Rhys caught her expression and frowned. "What's wrong? Not a fan?"

Lorelai's face stayed blank. Then, without warning, she swiped the meal box off the table. It hit the floor with a crash. "Get out!" she yelled, her voice shaking with fury.

Rhys stared at the scattered food—two-plus hours of running around, gone. His expression darkened with irritation. "Lorelai, what now?" His patience was hanging by a thread.

Lorelai didn't so much as flinch. "What do I want?" she shot back, ice in her voice. "Did you not hear me? I said get out!"

The door slammed shut. The echo rang in Lorelai's ears. A moment later, she heard the thud of the meal box hitting a trash bin—the sound carrying down the hospital corridor.

Heat burned behind Lorelai's eyes. Three years of sharing meals, and she'd memorized Rhys's tastes down to the last spice. Yet he hadn't bothered to remember a single thing about hers.

The real knife in the back? Rhys hadn't just ignored her preferences—he'd ordered Maryam Dixon's favorites. Lorelai knew them by heart. She'd lost count of how many times he'd sent her to pick up meals for Maryam from that impossible-to-book restaurant forty minutes from the hospital.

Standing there, her stomach twisted with nausea.

Meanwhile, in the shadows of the corridor, Maryam slipped back out of sight. Earlier that afternoon, when Rhys had asked her what women usually liked, she'd suspected he was planning dinner for Lorelai. And that was unusual—Rhys had never gone out of his way for Lorelai before.

Ever since Lorelai woke up and filed for divorce, Maryam had sensed a shift. Rhys hadn't fallen for Lorelai in three years of marriage, but Maryam wasn't about to risk it now. She'd invested too much in securing her place in the Howell family to slip up.

So the dinner Rhys put together based on Maryam's suggestions was a trap. Rhys, clueless about Lorelai's tastes, took her complaints as unreasonable.

Back at the hospital, Rhys stormed out of Lorelai's room, cold as ice—exactly the confirmation Maryam wanted. Now all she had to do was wait for a heartbroken Rhys to come running to her.

Maryam went back to her room and waited. Rhys never came.

Downstairs, Rhys sat on a bench, his face carved from stone, fingers tapping at his phone as he waited for a message.

In Lorelai's hospital room, Mathias Olson coaxed his sister gently. "These are all your favorites. Eat up."

Lorelai had no appetite. She forced down a few bites, then the medication pulled her under.

Quietly closing the door, Mathias dialed Rhys Howell. The second the call connected, he let him have it. Normally, insults like that aimed at Rhys Howell would've earned retaliation. This time, Rhys said nothing.

When Mathias finally ran out of steam, his voice went cold. "Fine. I'm done. Finalize the divorce with my sister so our families can cut ties completely."

Rhys finally spoke, his voice icy. "I'm not divorcing her."

Mathias's blood pressure spiked, but before he could fire back, Rhys cut him off—calm, commanding, leaving no room for argument. "Go home. I'll stay with her tonight. And send me a list of her favorite and least favorite foods by morning. If you have a problem with that, I'll take it up with your parents directly."

The mention of Lorelai's parents killed Mathias's fury on the spot. The divorce was still a secret from the Olson family. Rhys had always been the elders' favorite on both sides, and if divorce suddenly came up, Lorelai would be painted as the irrational one—and face major pushback.

Besides, Lorelai's family business thrived under the Howell family's influence. A divorce would upend that growth, and even if her parents were open to it, the powerful Olsons would object.

Bottom line: Lorelai couldn't end the marriage on her own.

That night, nightmares tore at Lorelai's sleep. In the restless dark, she felt someone beside her—a hand closing around hers. Warmth seeped through her, chasing the terror away, leaving peace in its wake.

The next morning, Lorelai woke to the soft glow of dawn—and immediately spotted Rhys Howell in the corner of the room. He was slumped in a single armchair, shadows under his eyes, dead tired.

He's here again? Lorelai couldn't believe it.

After last night, she'd basically slapped him in the face. By all rights, he should've been avoiding her for months. Yet here he was, the very next day.

Did he have amnesia or something?