Chapter 4

Back at the home Dylan and I shared, standing in the corner where the baby crib used to be, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

The burning pain from my abdominal wound couldn't make me ignore the deeper heartache within.

I held the printed job offer from a top hospital and my plane ticket for three days later, lost in thought.

Dylan pushed the door open. Seeing me, his face registered a fleeting awkwardness.

He then completely ignored my ashen face, his gaze falling instead on the document folder in my hand.

“Doesn’t your wound hurt? Why are you moving around? Get back in bed! What are you holding?”

I casually hid the documents behind my back. “Surgery case files for archiving. I need to send them back to Ocean City Hospital for备案.”

Dylan didn’t seem to doubt my words. He solicitously helped me to the bedroom, settled me on the bed, and tucked in the covers.

“Back in Ocean City, Serena wasn’t feeling well, so I didn’t have time to pick you up. I was actually just about to leave, but you came back.”

I stared into his eyes and gave a short, bitter laugh. “You didn’t have time, and you didn’t send anyone else to pick me up either.”

Dylan knew he was in the wrong and didn't reprimand my sarcasm as he usually would.

Instead, he turned and went to the living room.

I couldn’t be bothered with him anymore. I closed my eyes, hoping to get some rest.

Not long after, a knock on the door woke me. Dylan then came into the bedroom carrying a bowl of soup.

He spoke coldly, as if just completing a task. “Drink this. The doctor said you need to replenish your qi and blood.”

I turned my head and saw the obvious takeout bag in the living room trash can. My blood ran cold.

On our wedding day, Dylan had promised me he would always make me homemade meals.

And as a doctor, Dylan had countless times stated he would never eat takeout. Yet now, he was only willing to fob me off with it.

Just then, Dylan’s phone rang. He casually placed the soup bowl on the nightstand and answered Serena’s FaceTime call.

Serena, looking pale on the screen, whined to Dylan, “Dylan, my chest hurts… I can’t sleep…”

The background of Serena’s video was the VIP suite I had longed for during my pregnancy.

When I had mentioned it to Dylan back then, he had refused, saying, “That suite is reserved for an important patient who needs treatment occasionally. Chloe, let’s just stay in a regular room.”

Now I knew that Dylan’s “important patient” was none other than his Serena.

Dylan’s voice suddenly softened when he heard Serena. “Be good, don’t be scared. I’ll be right back to you. Make sure you get your IV drip.”

“Okay, Dylan. I’ll wait for you. I also want to eat the lotus root and pork rib soup you make.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll make it for you, my sweet little foodie.”

Their flirting and sweet-talking, if you didn’t know the situation, would make you think they were a very loving couple.

A sudden cramp in my abdomen made me cough out in pain. Dylan seemed to snap back to reality, glancing at me guiltily, then comforting Serena before hanging up.

“What’s wrong, Chloe? Does it hurt again?”

“I’m fine. If you have something to do, just go.”

Dylan didn't expect me to actually tell him to go be with Serena. His eyes lit up with delight.

“Chloe, you finally understand me. You’ve finally become compliant.”

“Even in her hospital room, Serena is still worried about you, helping organize your miscarriage medical records. She really cares about you. You’re too weak for high-intensity work right now. Let her take over your Head of Department position.”

I snapped my eyes open, staring at Dylan. My nails dug into my palms. I searched his eyes for any trace of reluctance, but found nothing.

Could Dylan really be so heartless, giving away the position I’d pursued for years with just a single sentence to Serena?

Then, remembering the Swiss Medical Research Institute, I withdrew my gaze, looked at the ceiling, and nodded.

Dylan’s eyes immediately lit up. His voice filled with satisfaction. “That new drug development project you were in charge of before your complicated birth? She’ll take it over and publish it. She needs accomplishments to gain respect.”

That project was the culmination of my blood, sweat, and tears. Dylan had once convinced all the group leaders to support me unconditionally, but now it was all hers too.

Fine. If I’m going to cut ties, I’ll make it a clean break.

I swallowed the bitterness in my heart, my voice hoarse. “Okay.”

Dylan was overjoyed. He habitually reached out to caress my cheek.

I stretched out my hand and brushed his away.

He suddenly grabbed my wrist, his fingers squeezing tightly as he stared at my empty ring finger. “Where’s the ring? Where’s your wedding ring? You know what that symbolizes!”

Of course I knew. It was the symbol of our promise to be together forever.

But he had broken that promise long ago, so why blame me? Why act so devoted now?

I spoke numbly. “My hand swelled after the miscarriage. I took it off. Lost it.”

Dylan furiously threw my hand away.

“You lost the baby, and you can’t even hold onto this one memory? Serena still cherishes the good luck charm I gave her three years ago, keeping it by her bedside!”

“I think you’ve truly lost your mind. You’re not fit for work anymore. I expect to see your resignation letter tomorrow.”

The same rigid attitude, the same refusal to be denied.

Dylan didn't wait for my answer, striding out the door and slamming it shut.

I pressed my throbbing temples, reassuring myself that it would all be over soon.

The next day, I placed my resignation letter and the divorce papers together on Dylan’s desk.

Still fuming, Dylan didn’t even glance at me. He picked up the resignation letter and started signing it, and naturally, the divorce papers were signed too.

Dylan flung the signed documents at me, growling.

“Get lost! Go home and reflect on yourself, or next time you’ll be crying and begging me to come back.”

I bent down and picked up the divorce papers Dylan had signed, a mocking smile on my face.

Now, I wouldn’t cry for him anymore.

Serena flaunted various gifts from Dylan and her colleagues on her SnapChat. I shredded my miscarriage diagnosis report and the blood-stained surgical scrubs, then picked up my plane ticket abroad.

The moment the taxi trunk closed, a message from Dylan flashed on my phone.