The Wind That Knows My Heart

The room was filled with a comforting warmth as Harry held me close, his voice soothing, his presence steady. Yet beneath the rich aroma of roses lingering in the air, I caught a whiff of something foreign—perfume that wasn’t mine. My stomach churned, unease creeping in.

When I glanced up at him, my gaze landed on the faint hickey peeking out from the nape of his neck. The sight sent a jolt through me, clearing the haze his charm had cast. The world slowed and every affectionate word he spoke turned hollow in my ears.

“Hubby,” I murmured, stepping back. My voice wavered but carried resolve. “Can I stop taking the ovulation injections? It’s been so long and I’m tired. I… I want to give up.”

His reaction was immediate. His dark eyes misted over and he reached for me, pulling me into his arms as though trying to shield me from my own words. “Dear,” he said, his voice filled with a tender ache, “you’ve worked so hard. But I really want a baby that belongs to us. Don’t you want to have a child for your husband?”

His words wrapped around me like a net, suffocating yet impossible to escape. He reached for the syringe, his movements steady but almost too rehearsed. “It won’t hurt, I promise. Hubby will do it for you, okay?”

I flinched, my heart pounding as I looked into his eyes. “Must I do this?” I whispered, desperate for a reprieve.

His gaze softened, filled with what appeared to be love—a love so deep and sincere it was almost cruel. “Definitely. Be good, it’s just one more step toward our dream.”

I nodded numbly, letting him press the needle into my swollen belly. The cold steel pierced my skin and pain surged through me like fire. My breath hitched as tears blurred my vision.

It hurt.

It hurt more than I could bear. But I said nothing.

***

For years, Harry had treated me with the utmost care, as though I were a treasure he couldn’t afford to lose. He noticed every shift in my mood, every fleeting sadness and he always found ways to coax me back into happiness. Yet now, as I sat here enduring the agony of this injection, I couldn’t understand.

Why did he pretend not to see my pain? Why force me to endure this when he knew I was breaking?

I swallowed my questions, biting down on my lip as he rubbed my stomach gently, his hand warm against my skin. His gaze was filled with concern, the kind that could fool anyone.

“I’m not going to work for the next few days,” he said softly. “I’ll stay home and take care of you until you feel better. Be good, okay? I’ll go make some soup.”

***

As he turned to leave, I called out to him, my voice catching. “Harry… I went to the hotel today. Those roses were beautiful.”

His steps faltered and he turned back, his expression guarded. “Oh? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Did you see anyone?”

“No.”

A visible wave of relief washed over him, his shoulders relaxing as he forced a smile. “Next time, let me know in advance. I’ll have the staff line up to welcome you properly.”

I watched him carefully, my heart sinking as his façade of composure slipped back into place. He tucked the blanket around me with practiced care before heading downstairs.

The moment he was gone, I reached for my phone, dialing my mentor’s number with trembling hands.

“Teacher,” I said, my voice low but resolute, “I want to apply for the research confidential program. And I need to cancel all my identity information.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Are you sure, Clarissa? Once you make this decision, there’s no going back.”

“I’m sure. I just… I need to disappear completely.”

After finalizing the arrangements to leave in five days, I hung up and sank back into bed. A heavy weight lifted from my chest, replaced by an eerie calm. Sleep came quickly, pulling me into its merciful embrace.

***

Five days later, the house smelled of a feast as Harry prepared for our seventh wedding anniversary. I woke to the sound of his humming downstairs, the aroma of dinner wafting up to the bedroom. For a moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling, wondering if I was making the right choice.

A knock at the door broke the fragile peace.

“Harry, the power’s out at my house,” came a soft, sugary voice from the hall. “I’m so afraid of the dark. Can I stay here for the night?”

I knew that voice. Evelyn. His good friend’s cousin, the woman who looked like a younger version of me but with sharper edges and an undeniable boldness.

I sat up, listening as Harry hesitated. “No way,” he said firmly. “Clarissa doesn’t like having outsiders stay in our home.”

But there was a tremor in his voice that betrayed him. And I realized then: this wasn’t just about a harmless guest seeking refuge. It was about the cracks I could no longer ignore, the betrayal that lay hidden beneath every word and gesture.

As their voices faded, I sat there alone, my mind racing. I had five days to leave this life behind. Five days to find myself again. But would five days be enough to escape the shadows of Harry’s love?