Two Hearts in Separate Bloom

Of course I knew Levi loved me.

I wasn't blind — how could I not see the depth of emotion burning in his eyes?

His love for me lived in every tiny, exquisite detail of our life together, so obvious it needed no confirmation.

The way he instinctively pulled me into his arms every time I so much as shifted in bed.

The way he remembered every offhand comment I made and quietly made it happen.

The way his gaze clung to me, no matter the time, no matter the place, like I was the only thing worth seeing in the world.

It was precisely because of all this — because the love was so meticulous, so overwhelming — that this relationship could not withstand even a single betrayal.

I stared at him, slowly peeling back the layers until the ugliest truth was laid bare.

"Can you honestly tell me you don't have any feelings for her?" I asked.

"Of course!" Levi answered without a moment's hesitation.

I closed my eyes briefly, willing myself to stay calm, and then turned my head, my voice cool as I continued.

"Then why did you keep her résumé? We've known each other for years — when have you ever gotten so drunk? Why was it that after that particular business trip, your phone was never on silent again? And every month, without fail, you suddenly had to go on 'business trips.' Where exactly did you go?"

With each question, Levi's face drained a shade paler.

And with each answer unspoken, my heart tore another inch apart.

It hit me — I had seen that woman before.

A year ago, I had dropped by his office to bring him lunch, and on his desk, set conspicuously aside from the others, was a résumé. The girl's picture smiled up at me — bright-eyed, radiant, almost offensively beautiful. She was our alumna, though her major and work experience were completely unsuited for the position.

When Levi caught me staring, he casually took the résumé from my hands, his expression unreadable.

I had asked him about it then.

"Planning to hire her? She's an alum, sure, but she doesn't seem very qualified," I said.

He'd brushed it off, explaining that HR had forwarded it, but he was about to pass on her. And because he said it so casually, so convincingly, I didn't think twice.

But after that day, Levi who had never mixed home with work suddenly changed. He started taking work calls at home — frequent ones. He even lost his temper on the phone a few times, something I'd never seen before.

I had teased him once. "Who is it that could get our mild-mannered Levi so worked up?"

He'd paused, then said, awkwardly, that it was just a new and careless assistant, nothing major.

I nodded, brushing it off.

After that, though, he stopped taking calls in front of me altogether.

I was a light sleeper, and ever since we got together, his phone had always been on silent at night.

But after that business trip? Never again.

There were nights when his phone would buzz in the middle of the night, and he would slip out, saying he had to work late.

And those monthly trips — I realized now — weren't business trips at all. They were visits to accompany her for prenatal checkups.

The cracks had been there all along.

Looking back, retracing every step with the truth in my hand, it was glaringly obvious. I had simply refused to see it.

And now that the flimsy veil had been torn away, all that remained was raw, gaping wounds. Every drop of blood was a silent testament to the broken, bleeding corpse of our marriage.

Levi stood in front of me, ghostly pale, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, utterly speechless.

The sharp ring of his phone shattered the thick, suffocating silence.

He glanced at the screen, and although guilt flashed in his eyes, he still answered the call.

There was no doubt about who it was.

I turned away, biting down hard on my lip, refusing to show even a flicker of the pain ripping through me.

On the other end of the line, a voice said something I couldn't hear, and Levi, visibly agitated, snapped back.

"Your stomach hurts again? You call me for every little thing! Even if you really are uncomfortable, the nanny will take you to the hospital. I'm not a doctor. What's the point of calling me?!"

I watched him.

He hung up on Lily White in front of me, sure. But the tightness in his brow, the nervousness in his eyes — those were betrayals he couldn't conceal. After all, Lily was carrying his child.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself.

Then I climbed out of bed.

"Let's go," I said coldly. "I'll come with you to see her."