Love Can't Afford to Make Mistakes Time and Time Again

'So, even a heart numbed by pain can still hurt,' I whispered inwardly, feeling the throbbing ache in my ankle and the sting of my cheek.

Zane had once been the kind of man who panicked at the sight of a paper cut on my finger. He'd rush to fetch a bandage, his hands trembling as he carefully tended to me, murmuring soft reassurances. But now, that tenderness felt like an illusion—a cruel, fleeting dream. His deep affection had been nothing but a flawless act.

Even now, knowing the truth, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was trapped in a waking nightmare.

A sharp voice sliced through my spiraling thoughts.

"Emma, why are you embarrassing yourself? Get up!"

I blinked, my surroundings coming back into focus. The woman standing before me was my mother, Elizabeth, elegantly dressed as always. Her posture was rigid, her eyes narrow and cold. But calling her my mother felt wrong. 'She's Sabrina's mother,' I thought bitterly. Elizabeth had never loved me. Her affections had always been reserved for Sabrina, her golden child.

Still, some desperate part of me yearned for her approval, for the love that should have come naturally from a mother to her daughter.

"Mom," I choked out, my voice weak. "It hurts so much..."

"Hurt? What hurt?" Her tone dripped with disdain. She stepped closer, her perfume—once comforting—now cloying and suffocating. "You're just like any other woman. Don't think I don't know what you're up to. I saw everything. It was clearly you who pushed Sabrina!"

Her words hit like a physical blow. Before I could react, she raised her foot—encased in a sharp stiletto—and brought it down on my injured ankle.

A sharp, searing pain shot through me, tearing a scream from my throat. I writhed, clutching my leg as agony rippled through my body.

But the crowd that had gathered didn't step in. Their faces were filled with a mixture of curiosity and cruel delight, their whispers a cacophony of judgment and amusement.

Elizabeth leaned in closer, her voice low but venomous. "Emma, how many times have I told you? If you dare to hurt Sabrina, I will make you pay."

Through the haze of pain, a question that had haunted me for years slipped from my lips. "Mom, why don't you love me? I'm your daughter, aren't I?"

For a fleeting moment, her icy facade cracked. She froze, her expression unreadable. But then her face twisted with fury.

"How dare you ask me that?" she spat. "If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have lost my son! Do you know how many years of humiliation I endured in the Clarke Family because of you?"

Her words struck like a dagger to my heart.

"It wasn't me," I said hoarsely, struggling to sit up. "The person who caused your miscarriage was Sabrina. It was her who spilled water on the stairs—"

Slap!

The force of her hand sent my head snapping to the side. A metallic taste filled my mouth as blood trickled from the corner of my lips. My cheek burned, the fiery pain a cruel punctuation to her hatred.

"Still lying, Emma?" she sneered. "You and Zane don't have a child because you deserve it—it's karma!"

Tears streamed down my face, hot and unrelenting. I wanted to scream, to lash out, but my body felt too broken to move.

I licked the blood from my lips, the bitter taste grounding me. With every ounce of strength I had left, I staggered to my feet, wobbling as the pain in my ankle flared.

"Mom," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the pounding in my ears, "I should have realized long ago... You never loved me. I was just foolish to hope."

Something flickered in her eyes—confusion, perhaps, or hesitation. For a moment, it looked as if she might reach out to me, her hand trembling at her side. But then, as quickly as it came, the moment passed. She straightened, her gaze hardening.

"You're pathetic," she said coldly.

Her words were a final nail in the coffin of my hope.

***

I didn't know how I ended up at the hospital. My memories of the journey were a blur, swallowed by the haze of pain and despair.

When I came to, I was lying in a stark white hospital room. A young nurse hovered nearby, her face soft with sympathy. I recognized her as the same nurse I'd met the night before.

She hesitated, glancing at me as if unsure whether to speak. Finally, she murmured, "Your husband... he's in the VIP ward next door, carefully tending to another woman."

Her words hit like a cold gust of wind. I let out a hollow laugh, shaking my head. "It's fine. We're getting a divorce soon anyway."

Her eyes widened, but she said nothing more, quietly retreating from the room.

The hours dragged on, the silence of the hospital room oppressive. Late at night, I found myself utterly alone.

I reached for my phone with trembling fingers and dialed a private number. The line connected after a single ring.

"I've made my decision," I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside me. "The plan can begin."

***

The next morning, I woke to the sensation of someone holding my hand tightly. My eyelids felt heavy, but I forced them open.

Zane sat by my bedside, his face etched with guilt. His hand was warm around mine, but the sight of him only deepened the cold void in my chest.

"Honey," he began, his voice soft and apologetic. "I'm sorry. I was just too flustered yesterday. You know our company is working with Sabrina's husband on a business deal..."

I pulled my hand away, the movement slow and deliberate. His touch felt like poison.

"Oh," I said quietly, "is it about my novel?"

His eyes widened, panic flashing across his face. "Honey, what novel? I don't know anything about that."

I watched him fumble for words, his attempt to feign ignorance almost laughable. My lips curved into a bitter smile, but I didn't have the energy to call him out.

"It's nothing," I murmured, leaning back against the pillow. "I'm a little tired."

With that, I closed my eyes, shutting him out.

Let him sit there and pretend to care. I no longer cared.