The Heart I Married For

Hazel POV:

The sterile hospital air clung to my clothes as I followed Alex, my body feeling fragile and thin, a ghost in his frantic orbit. He hadn't spoken a word to me since we'd arrived, his entire being focused on the closed door of Bianca's private room.

When the doctor emerged, Alex rushed forward, his hands gripping the man's white coat. "How is she?"

"She's fine, Mr. Higgins. Just a mild concussion and a sprained wrist. She'll need to rest."

Alex' s shoulders sagged with a relief so profound it was almost palpable. He murmured his thanks, his gaze already fixed on the door, and when it opened and Bianca emerged, looking pale and delicate with a bandage on her wrist, his world narrowed to her. He wrapped his arm around her, his touch infinitely gentle, whispering words of comfort that I had never heard him utter.

He didn't so much as glance in my direction. I was invisible. A piece of furniture. It was a familiar feeling, but for the first time, it didn't sting. It was simply a fact.

He led Bianca away, his arm a protective shield around her. I stood alone in the hallway for a long moment before turning and walking out of the hospital, hailing my own cab back to the penthouse that had never felt like a home.

Back in the vast, empty apartment, I tried to make myself a cup of tea, but my hands were shaking. The delicate porcelain cup, one of a set Dale had given me for my birthday, slipped from my grasp. It shattered on the marble floor, the sound echoing the splintering of my four-year delusion.

That's what broke me. Not Alex's neglect, not Bianca's smirks, but the broken pieces of a memory. A sob tore from my throat, raw and ragged.

"Dale," I whispered, sinking to my knees amidst the shards. "Dale."

My mind flew back to him, to the easy warmth of his love. He was the one who would wrap me in a blanket when I fell asleep on the couch, who knew exactly how I liked my coffee, who would kiss the tip of my nose just to make me smile. When I cut my finger once, just a small nick from a kitchen knife, he' d treated it like a major wound, cleaning it with exaggerated care, his brow furrowed in concentration, before placing a cartoon-themed band-aid on it and kissing it better.

The pain in my hand now was sharp as a piece of the broken porcelain bit into my palm. Blood welled up, dripping onto the white floor. I stared at the red drops, a stark contrast to the clean, cold marble. This pain was real. Tangible. Not like the phantom ache I' d been chasing for four years.

Was any of it real? That desperate, all-consuming love I thought I felt for Alex? No. It was a mirage. A projection of my grief onto a convenient vessel.

A new feeling began to bubble up through the sorrow-a fierce, cold determination. Austin. Cash Carter. A new beginning. A real one.

I stood up, carefully picking the shard of porcelain from my palm and wrapping my hand in a paper towel. Then I walked to my office and pulled up the divorce papers my lawyer had emailed over. Clean, simple, irrevocable.

I called my lawyer, Sarah. "I have the papers. Can you have them sent over for Alex's signature?"

"He needs to sign them in person, Hazel," she said gently. "Or give verbal authorization for me to have someone sign on his behalf."

Of course. Another hurdle. I dialed Alex's number, my heart a steady, even drumbeat in my chest. He answered on the second ring, his voice impatient.

"What is it, Hazel? I'm busy."

"I need you to authorize my lawyer to-"

He cut me off. "Not now."

In the background, I heard Bianca's soft, cloying voice. "Alex, darling, can you help me with this pillow? It' s not quite right."

And then I heard it. A tone I had never, ever heard from Alex. It was gentle, patient, almost tender. "Of course, B. Let me fix it for you. Just like this?"

The contrast was a physical blow. The cold dismissal for me, the boundless tenderness for her. It was the final confirmation I never knew I needed.

Suddenly, Bianca's voice came back, louder this time. "Is that Hazel? Ugh, tell her to stop bothering you."

There was a muffled sound, and then Alex' s voice returned, still curt, but with a new edge. "Fine. Whatever it is, tell your lawyer to handle it. Authorize whatever you need."

He hung up.

It was that easy. He' d given me permission to end our marriage without a second thought, all to appease the woman beside him.

I relayed the message to Sarah. Within the hour, a courier arrived. I spread the papers on the dining room table where Alex and I had never once shared a meal.

I signed my name. Hazel Sellers. Not Higgins. The ink was black and final.

Freedom.

With the papers dispatched, I booked a one-way ticket to Austin, Texas. First class. The flight was for the day after tomorrow. I needed one more day to pack, to sever the final ties.

Alex didn't come home that night, or the next day. I packed in peace, a strange sense of liberation filling the empty spaces in the closets. There wasn't much to take. Most of this life belonged to him.

On the evening of the second day, he finally walked in. He looked tired but content. He saw my packed suitcases by the door and frowned.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

He walked toward me, reaching out to cup my cheek, a rare, dismissive gesture he sometimes made when he wanted something. "Don't be upset about Bianca. I'll make it up to you."

I flinched away from his touch. His hand froze in mid-air. He looked at me, truly looked at me, for the first time in days, and confusion clouded his features.

"I don't need you to make it up to me, Alex," I said, my voice as calm as a frozen lake. "I don't need anything from you anymore."