Chapter 2

Sleep never came that night. As dawn bled through the curtains, I gave up the pretense and slipped out of bed, leaving Grayson to his peaceful slumber.

Hours later, sunlight cut through the blinds, casting striped shadows across the living room. The silence was a physical weight, suffocating.

This was my new routine: sleepless nights, hollow days. Three days running, I'd managed maybe an hour or two of rest. Every time I closed my eyes, Emma's face swam behind my lids. I ran on endless coffee and the occasional half-pill, but my mind whirred on, a clockwork mechanism of grief.

I found myself standing before the closed nursery door again, my hand gripping the cool handle but unable to turn it. Behind it lay the pink-and-white paradise we'd prepared for Emma—the crib, the tiny wardrobe, the music box that would never play.

"Why is it so quiet?" I whispered to the empty hall. "There should be crying…"

The memory surged back, unbidden—those final days in the NICU, Emma's tiny heart struggling against its defect. There had been a young female doctor there, one I hadn't recognized. Confident, quick to take charge, but something about her felt detached. Clinical.

Grayson had been in surgery when Emma's condition worsened. I was alone with our daughter and this stranger.

"Mrs. Morrison, we need to adjust the cardiac medication," she'd said with a professional calm that now felt like ice. But I remembered it—the slight tremor in her hands as she approached the incubator.

I shoved the memory down. They'd said Emma's defect was genetic. Natural. Nothing anyone could have done.

Then why couldn't I shake the feeling that something had been wrong that night?

Grayson was working more. Leaving at seven, still at the hospital at ten. Our conversations had dwindled to morning kisses, goodnight kisses, and the hollow "How was your day?"

At three p.m., my phone rang.

"Working late again. Emergency surgery. Don't wait up." Grayson's voice was flat with exhaustion.

"Okay. Take care," I answered mechanically.

After I hung up, I stared at the ceiling. Was he really that busy, or was he just escaping this house, this tomb of our loss?

Midnight found me waiting in the living room. The weak glow from the fireplace and the TV's blue light were my only companions.

The key turned in the lock. Grayson tiptoed in.

"You're still up?" He came over and kissed my forehead.

In that instant, I caught it. Faint. Sweet. Definitely not the smell of hospital antiseptic.

"Who did you work with today?" I asked, my voice careful.

"Just the usual team. Why?" He loosened his tie, confusion flickering across his face.

"Any new doctors? Young women?"

Grayson stilled. "Evelyn. What is this about?"

"Nothing. Just curious." I forced a smile, but my mind was already racing, cataloging: Perfume. Averted eyes. A question dodged.

---

The next afternoon, the silence in the apartment became unbearable. My chest was tight with all the questions I couldn't ask, the doubts chewing me up from the inside. I needed answers.

Presbyterian Hospital. I told the cabbie I was visiting a friend, but my hands shook as I pushed through the familiar rotating doors.

White corridors stretched before me, echoing with footsteps and muffled pages. The antiseptic smell hit me—a mix of memory and nausea. Some beautiful, like meeting Grayson. Others devastating, like watching Emma slip away.

But today, I was here for a different reason.

I was a suspicious wife, trespassing in a world where I didn't belong, hunting for answers to questions I was too afraid to ask outright.

I gravitated toward the obstetrics ward—Grayson's territory. My heart hammered against my ribs as I lingered in the corridor, phone in hand, eyes scanning every face that passed.

That's when I saw her.

A young woman in a pristine white coat glided past, her dark hair swept back in a perfect ponytail. Even in profile, she was stunning—the kind of effortless beauty that steals the air from your lungs.

My stomach dropped.

Who was that?

I hurried after her, but she'd already turned the corner. Strangely, when I reached it, the hallway was empty.

"Excuse me," I stopped a passing nurse, "that young female doctor who just walked by. Who was she?"

"Which one? We have many doctors here…" The nurse looked puzzled.

"The beautiful one with the ponytail. She looked… polished. Like old money. That kind of ease."

The nurse shook her head. "I'm sorry, I'm not sure who you mean."

But I knew what I saw. That woman, her bearing, her grace… she was someone. Someone who belonged here in a way I never could.

I couldn't leave. Not yet.

I sat in the hospital cafeteria, watching the corridor through the glass. The image of that woman burned in my mind, growing clearer, sharper.

She was maybe twenty-five—my age when I'd pursued Grayson. But where I had been awkward, desperate, she moved with an innate grace. Where I stumbled, she would glide seamlessly into their world.

I started building her story: Harvard Med, almost certainly. Her bearing screamed medical dynasty, third generation at least.

A couple nearby discussed baby names. "Sophia," the woman said, touching her belly. "It means wisdom."

Sophia. The name fit the woman in my head—elegant, sophisticated, timeless. Yes. That's what I would call her.

I pictured her working alongside Grayson, discussing cases with the same passion, understanding his world completely. She'd share the intellectual connection that I…

The thought made my chest ache. What if she was already working with him? What if that sweet scent on his collar…?

"Would he still choose me?" The words escaped as a whisper. "This failure who lost his child?"

The afternoon bled away as I wandered the hospital, hoping for another glimpse.

At dusk, I hid near the elevators. Doctors streamed out, the corridor buzzing with end-of-day energy.

Then I saw him. Grayson. Talking to a young woman.

It was her! The woman from this afternoon!

Grayson was looking at her with a light in his eyes I hadn't seen in months. They stood close, shoulders almost touching, creating a bubble that excluded the rest of the world—and me. The way she tilted her head, the way he leaned in to listen… it was like watching strangers wearing the faces of people I knew.

"I knew it," I breathed. "I knew someone like her would appear."

Back home, I couldn't hold it in.

"Who were you talking to when you left work? By the elevators."

Grayson set down his briefcase, confused. "Colleagues from the nurses' station, probably. Why?"

Nurses' station? He was lying. I saw a young, beautiful doctor.

I said nothing. I waited until he showered, then quickly checked his phone on the coffee table. No Sophia. But there had to be traces.

As the water ran, everything clicked into place with terrifying clarity.

Dr. Chen's words echoed: "Morrison could've married anyone… A real medical dynasty." They'd never accepted me. And now, seeing this perfect woman in his world, a chilling thought took root.

What if this was what they'd waited for? Someone had found Grayson the ‘right' choice—from their world. A medical arrangement, with me as the only obstacle.

"I'm just a restaurant owner's daughter who couldn't even keep her child alive," I whispered to the empty room. "How can I compete with that?"

When Grayson emerged, I was back on the couch, pretending to read. But my mind was set.

I would find evidence. I would expose this before it was too late.

Whatever the cost.