One Too Many Red Flags

"Phoebe, stop messing around. This meeting is really important," Nathan's voice, unusually flustered, broke through the receiver. "Besides, there's no way I can get home in ten minutes from the office."

Phoebe's response was cold and simple. "Your time starts now."

Then she hung up.

A few minutes later, Clara, half-dressed, was shoved out of the car. Nathan sped off, his Maybach disappearing from the garage in the blink of an eye. That left Clara standing there, humiliated, clutching her belongings against her bare skin.

Phoebe adjusted her seat, settling into a more comfortable position, and turned on her headlights. The bright beam fell directly on Clara.

The darkness hid many things, but light has a way of exposing what shouldn't be seen. Clara, caught off guard, wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "Who? Who's there?!"

Phoebe couldn't be bothered to answer. She simply drove past, her car sweeping smoothly by.

Through the open window, Clara caught a glimpse of Phoebe's cold and striking profile. That was the breaking point. She snapped, screaming after her, "Old hag! Do you really think you've won? Keep dreaming! Your husband is already sick of you. He told me more than once that your flabby body disgusts him!"

The only response was the dirty trail of exhaust fumes.

By the time Phoebe arrived home, Nathan was already in a rage. "What a bunch of useless idiots! You can't even tell me where my wife went. What do I even keep you around for?!"

She stepped into the living room without a word. The moment he saw her, the anger drained from his face. In two long strides, he crossed the room and pulled her into his arms. His voice trembled slightly. "Phoebe, thank God you're here. I thought you really left me. You scared me half to death."

Phoebe tilted her head up, studying his face. Her voice was calm but unreadable. "Are you that afraid I might disappear?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation. "Phoebe, you're the most important person in my life. I can't lose you. And now that you're carrying my child, I need you even more."

His voice was sincere, his gaze deep and affectionate. If Phoebe hadn't just witnessed what happened in the car, she might have believed him.

"Promise me," he whispered, his grip tightening around her hand, his tone raw with desperation. "Never leave me. I can't live without you. If you go, I'll lose my mind."

A sharp, aching pain curled through her chest. With tears stinging her eyes, Phoebe thought bitterly, 'Then why cheat on me?'

He clung to another woman, yet begged her to stay—how much of what he said was true, and how much was just a lie?

Noticing the redness in her eyes, Nathan panicked. "Why are you crying?" His voice softened into a coaxing murmur. "Who upset my Phoebe? Tell me, and I'll make them pay."

Phoebe shook her head. "It's nothing. Just pregnancy hormones acting up."

But Nathan still wasn't reassured. He insisted on calling the family doctor to check on her.

When the doctor arrived, Nathan sat nearby, but his mind was somewhere else. He kept glancing at his phone, and each time he did, the hunger in his eyes grew stronger. It didn't take much for Phoebe to understand—Clara was messaging him.

Her own phone buzzed soon after. It was a text from Clara. [Hey fatty, want to bet I can make your husband leave you for me anytime I want?]

The message had barely registered when Nathan stood up, voice tight with urgency. "Phoebe, something came up at work. I need to go back."

On reflex, Phoebe reached out and caught his hand. "Don't go. My stomach hurts. I'm scared. Can't you stay with me?"

A flicker of hesitation crossed his face. His phone buzzed again. Whatever he read there sealed his decision. Gently, he pulled his hand away, smiling as he tried to soothe her. "Dr. Shannon is here. If anything happens, you're in good hands. Besides, I'm not a doctor. I'm not much help. Be good and listen to him. I'll be back soon."

Without waiting for her response, he turned and left in a rush.

At that moment, something inside Phoebe broke beyond repair.

She swallowed the tears burning her throat, picked up her phone, and sent a message to her brother in the military. [Ian, I want to disappear.]