My Husband Realized He Loved Me After I Stopped Loving Him Chapter 03
I ended up in the ambulance anyway.
The abortion pills hadn’t worked on a four-month pregnancy, and combined with the confrontation with Grant, the hemorrhaging came without warning.
As they wheeled me into the ER, I passed Grant in the hallway, carrying Chloe.
His sleeve was rolled up, and his arm was a mess of old scars.
I stared at them, lost in thought.
Years ago, when my postpartum depression had spiraled, the wounds Grant inflicted on himself trying to stop me from hurting myself had been ten times worse than mine.
Back then, his love had been crazier than mine.
Later came his seven affairs.
I cut myself, broke down, screamed myself hoarse, tried everything.
But he always found some new, worse way to hurt himself, just to make me back down.
We were two gamblers, sick and extreme, wagering ourselves against each other, cut from the same cloth.
But this time—why was it suddenly different?
Before I could work it out, Grant was already in front of the doctor, holding Chloe.
“Doctor! Help her, please! Her stomach hurts! Check her now!”
The doctor pushed him back, exasperated.
“Get out of the way! She’s just had a scare, that’s all! Can’t you see Ms. Calloway is in critical condition?!”
Grant followed the doctor’s gaze.
The moment he recognized me, his whole body went rigid.
The next second, he seized my wrist, eyes burning like they could burn a hole straight through me.
“Vivian Calloway. Is this your new play?”
“Feed Chloe those photos to shake her up, force me to bring her to the nearest hospital you happen to own, then fake being sick yourself just to steal her treatment time?”
He forced out a laugh through gritted teeth.
“Very clever. Every step in place!”
I’d already lost too much blood, and being wrenched around like that made my vision go dark in waves.
The doctor was horrified.
“What do you mean, fake?! She’s hemorrhaging because she’s—”
Grant’s knees hit the floor hard enough to cut him off.
“Is that enough? Can Chloe get treated now?”
I stared at him, dazed.
The man in front of me looked nothing like the Grant Ashworth I remembered—the one who wouldn’t have bent his spine even under heaven’s weight.
Seeing that I said nothing, he went quiet for two seconds, then slammed his forehead against the floor.
A dull thud.
When he lifted his head again, blood was already seeping from his forehead.
“How about now?”
Looking into those eyes, drowning in hatred and self-disgust, I finally understood.
He was pressuring me.
Betting on whatever feelings I still had for him. Using himself as collateral, the same way we’d always played this game.
But this time, it was for someone else.
My chest tightened until I couldn’t breathe, and I couldn’t tell anymore if it was blood loss or heartbreak.
“Fine… fine…” His voice shook.
Without warning, he pulled a folding knife from his pocket and drove it into his own chest.
Blood bloomed across his shirt instantly.
He grunted, and his voice turned low and wretched.
“Vivian, I concede. Do whatever you want to me. Take my life if you want it…”
Every drop of blood in my body seemed to drain out at once.
I closed my eyes.
“Grant. What if I wasn’t faking today? What if I were really about to die?”
He froze, then answered without a second’s pause:
“Then I’d die with you.”
I already knew that was true.
And that was exactly why, right now, I felt more powerless than ever.
I forced my mouth into something like a smile and turned to the doctor.
“Treat her first.”
I was the sole controlling shareholder of that hospital.
If Grant hadn’t been truly desperate, he’d never have risked bringing them both here.
Hearing that, Grant went still for a beat, then let out a long breath.
Tears hit the floor. When he stood, his voice came out hoarse:
“Thank you.”
Two words so foreign to me, as strange now as the man himself had become in my mind.
As my consciousness slipped away, I saw Chloe’s face emerge from behind his shoulder—just half of it—and her lips curled toward me.
Provocation. Triumph. The unhurried poise of a victor.