The Lie He Called Love

Alena Koch POV:

Jake' s face, which a moment ago had held such smug certainty, crumbled into utter disbelief. He stared at the small pharmacy bag in my hand, then at my slightly rounded stomach, then back at the bag, as if trying to reassemble a puzzle that no longer made sense.

"Conception?" he choked out, his voice barely a whisper. Before he could process it, before he could ask the question that hung in the air, a question I was ready to answer, Britney jumped in.

"Jake, darling," she cooed, her hand on his arm, her eyes wide with a carefully practiced innocence, "we should tell Alena. About the wedding. It' s… well, it' s postponed. Just for a year. Because of me." She lowered her gaze, feigning embarrassment. "My therapist said I need you by my side for a full year to recover from my breakup. I' m so fragile."

She looked up, a tear shimmering in her eye. "Oh, Alena, I feel terrible! But Jake, he' s such a good friend. He insisted. Maybe… maybe you could just have your wedding at the same time as ours? A joint ceremony? It would save so much money, and we could all be happy together!" Her suggestion was so utterly ludicrous, so insulting, it almost made me laugh.

Jake' s excuses used to shatter me. Now, they just sounded pathetic. "I' m already married," I stated, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. "And I' m not interested in a joint ceremony."

The people around us, Jake' s colleagues who had gathered, mostly ignored my words. They were too busy laughing at Britney' s 'cute' suggestion, too busy patting Jake on the back. "Oh, Alena, don' t be like that!" one of them chirped, a woman I vaguely remembered from Jake' s company picnics. "He' s just teasing! Come on, give your fiancé a kiss and make up!"

A wave of nausea hit me. I rolled my eyes, desperate to escape. But before I could turn, Jake' s arm shot out, wrapping around my waist, pulling me against his chest. His touch, once familiar, now felt foreign and invasive. "You' re just upset," he murmured into my hair, his voice thick with a self-satisfied affection. He tried to angle my face towards his, clearly intending to kiss me, to reassert his claim.

I reacted on instinct, my hand flying up, the sharp crack of my palm against his cheek echoing through the quiet pharmacy. The sound was deafening. "I' m married," I repeated, louder this time, my voice trembling with a fury I hadn't known I still possessed. "Keep your hands off me, Jake. We are over."

A heavy silence descended. Jake' s hand flew to his cheek, his eyes wide with shock, then narrowed into angry slits. "Married? What kind of sick joke is this, Alena? You think you can just play games after all these years?" His voice was low, dangerous. "After everything I' ve done for you?"

Everything he' d done for me? The words were a bitter acid in my mouth. I remembered the week before our wedding, the way he' d left me standing there, a discarded promise. I remembered taking on extra shifts, saving every penny, sacrificing my dreams for his "future." Three years of waiting, of being pushed aside, of watching him lavish his attention and resources on Britney. Three years of being mistaken for a heartbroken stalker at his government facility, a desperate woman clinging to a man who didn't care.

Suddenly, Britney, who had been leaning against a metal shelf of herbal remedies, stumbled slightly. The shelf wobbled, and a large, steaming clay pot of traditional medicine, left cooling, tipped precariously. My body moved without thought. I reached out, grabbing Jake' s arm, a desperate, ingrained instinct to pull him to safety, a ghost of the woman I used to be.

But Jake, his eyes fixed on Britney, saw only her. He yanked his arm free from my grasp, shoving me away with a force that sent me stumbling, his focus entirely on catching Britney before she fell. "Britney, watch out!" he cried, pulling her into his embrace.

The clay pot crashed to the floor, right where I had been standing. Hot, dark liquid splashed up, searing pain blooming on my ankle and foot. My scream was raw, involuntary. The scalding liquid scalded my skin, a painful echo of the burning rage in my heart.

"Alena! Oh my god, Alena, I' m so sorry!" Jake cried, finally looking at me, his eyes wide with a fleeting horror. But he didn' t move. He didn' t offer a hand. He just stood there, holding Britney, while I hopped backward, gripping the counter for support, my leg on fire.

I sucked in a sharp breath against the agony, but I didn't acknowledge him. I didn't look at him. I turned away, gritting my teeth, and hobbled towards the nearest sink, turning on the cold water to douse my burning skin. A passing nurse, seeing my distress, rushed over and helped me to a private room, calling for a doctor immediately. I sat on the examination table, my jaw clenched, as the doctor carefully cleaned and dressed the angry red burns on my foot. He talked about first-degree, maybe second, about healing time, about avoiding infection.

"Are you sure you' re okay, Alena?" the doctor asked, his brow furrowed with concern. "You look a little… pale. And you mentioned conception earlier? Just to be safe, we should probably run a few more tests."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a new fear eclipsing the pain in my foot.