He Broke Me For The Girl Who Bullied Me Chapter 06
I woke up again.
Same hospital. Same bed. Same man in the chair beside it.
The difference was — before, he would never have let me get sick enough to end up in a hospital.
Once he’d learned I had severe cramps, he’d tracked my cycle better than I did. Days before my period was due, he’d have painkillers laid out for me, a heating pad plugged in by the bed. He’d taken me to a naturopath, kept me on an herbal regimen for months.
If I so much as sniffled, he’d notice before I did.
He would never — would never — have let me end up in a hospital bed twice in one week.
“You’re awake?”
He tucked the blanket up around my shoulders and brought a bowl to the bedside.
“The housekeeper made it. Try a little?”
I took it.
Chicken bone broth. The corn was sweet, and the chicken was tender enough to fall off the bone at the touch of a spoon.
His eyes brightened. He asked, cautious.
“Anything else you feel like eating? You need to build your strength back up. I’ll have her make anything you want —”
His voice cracked partway through.
“The baby… we lost the baby…”
“But we’re young. There’ll be others.”
His eyes were red. He looked shattered.
Was he so far into the role he’d started to feel it?
I didn’t know. I didn’t want to know.
I said nothing. I just kept swallowing spoonful after spoonful, forcing my grief down with them.
“Drey… please. Say something.”
Soft. Pleading.
Back when we were dating, if he’d upset me, he’d sit like this and beg for a word. I always folded. I could never stay mad at him for more than three minutes.
But this time was different.
Every memory we had was built on a lie. What was left to build a future on?
“Ethan.”
I set the bowl down. Looked at him squarely.
“Celeste killed our baby. I’m going to press charges. You won’t get in my way, will you?”
He shook his head.
“I hate her more than you do. I’d never stop you.”
“Good. I was worried you’d protect her.”
His face went pale. His hand, when it found mine, was ice-cold.
“Audrey, please. Don’t talk to me like that. Please.”
I pulled my hand back. Called the police. Gave my statement — every detail, my voice steady and emotionless.
Then I drafted a long post on my phone. Turned to Ethan and smiled a small, cold smile.
“You wanted to make it up to me, didn’t you?”
He nodded, again and again.
“Then get this post trending. Buy ads for it. Whatever it takes.”