Chapter 2 A Chance Abroad
The flashlight beamed into my eyes, making my pupils shrink.
For a moment, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.
But then, I heard the doctor’s sharp voice scolding me. “Do you realize if someone had found you even a little later, you would’ve suffocated and ended up in a vegetative state? Your phone still had a battery, why didn’t you call your husband?”
Wearing an oxygen mask, I couldn’t speak.
Silent tears ran from the corners of my eyes. What good was a charged phone if Hugo was never going to save me?
This book had been added on your bookshelf.
Hugo’s call came the next morning. “Rosalie, where are you? I’m with Sylvie at the hospital for her checkup. Later, make some broth chicken vegetable soup and bring it over. She’s not doing well. Remember that tonic soup supplement my mom gave us? Crush one of those capsules and mix it into the soup really well.”
His tone left no room for refusal; it was a command, not a request. My hand clenched so tightly that blood began to flow backward into the IV
tube.
At this hour on any other day, I would’ve already been home, finishing making toast and waiting for Hugo and Sylvie to come over to eat. I had to be at work by nine. After cleaning up their dishes, I’d barely have time to eat a single hard–boiled egg myself.
The tonic soup supplement? Hugo’s mother gave it to me to help with my anemia and fatigue.
I had always taken care of their every need. But now, lying alone in a hospital bed, Hugo still expected me to cook soup for Sylvie.
“Did you hear me? Say something!”
I sat up straighter, suddenly realizing how little my past efforts meant.
“Go buy your own ingredients at the market. I don’t have time.” My cold, firm tone surprised Hugo.
He quickly followed up, “What about clothes? We haven’t changed yet.”
“Hire a delivery service. They’re fast.”
The time was already 10 a.m. My colleague sent a message asking why I wasn’t at the office. I hung up on Hugo and replied, “Still at the hospital. I’ll email the manager for some time off.”
While I wrote the email, Hugo kept calling. I declined each call.
Soon after I sent the message, my manager replied “Rosalie, take all the time you need. By the way, given your capabilities, there’s an open position for an international lead. Would you be interested in applying?”
In the past, I would never have stayed away from Hugo and Sylvie for more than two hours. They always came first. But now, I replied immediately, “I’ll consider it.”
If there was a chance to break free from those two leeches, I’d be a fool to let it pass.
The doctor advised a three–day hospital to stay for my recovery. Dressed in a hospital gown, and having just settled my bill, I unexpectedly encountered Hugo pushing Sylvie in a wheelchair
outside for some fresh air.
I had no intention of acknowledging them, but Hugo approached me first. “So this is why you refused me?“.
He was still fixated on me not making the soup or bringing Sylvie clothes. But I wasn’t born to be their servant. Head down, I held the rising breath in my chest.
Hugo misinterpreted my silence and grabbed my wrist. “Oh, I get it! Are you faking illness to avoid helping Sylvie? Rosalie, how can you be so selfish? She’s your best friend!”
Best friend? I looked at Sylvie in the wheelchair, her eyes appearing to glisten as if tears were imminent. What kind of best friend steals your husband and treats your possessions as her own?
The doctor had cautioned me to remain calm and avoid emotional stress for the next few days. But the anger within me surged uncontrollably, making my head spin.
I couldn’t even grip the medical papers in my hand and collapsed.
Instantly, Hugo rushed forward and scooped me into his arms. For a fleeting moment, I thought he still cared.
But then I caught the scent of gardenias–Sylvie’s favorite perfume–on his coat. The smell made me nauseous. Instinctively, I grabbed his arm and saw fresh bite marks all over his wrist. Hugo quickly pulled his sleeve down to conceal them.
Sylvie rolled her wheelchair closer, unfazed, and stood before me. Looking down, the hickey on her collarbone was clearly visible, along with bruises on her chest.
“Rosalie, you don’t know the pain I was in last night. You weren’t
around, so I borrowed Hugo to help me out a bit. You don’t mind, do you?”
Perhaps it’s true that when rage peaks, clarity follows.
I would rather push Hugo away and fall painfully to the floor than keep pretending our relationship was normal.
Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I wiped it away, my eyes sharp and cold,
“If you want him, take him.” I truly didn’t care anymore.
Hugo tried to explain but ended up silently gripping his shirt hem.
Gathering my remaining strength, I went to the pharmacy. Sylvie followed, still playing the act. “Rosalie, why didn’t you tell me you weren’t well? Even though I’m weak too, I could’ve taken care of you.”
As she spoke, she stood up, then immediately collapsed back into the wheelchair–deliberately.
Tears welled in her eyes as she pushed Hugo toward me, saying, “I’m fine. Go take care of Rosalie. She’s your real love.”
That single line sent Hugo into a flurry of anxiousness.
He scooped Sylvie into his arms, frantically checking for injuries.
Not once did he turn to look at me standing behind him, pale and breathless.
“Rosalie, if anything happens to Sylvie today, you’ll regret it!” He glanced at my hospital gown and then sneered. “You’re not sick. Do you think wearing the same gown as Sylvie will make me believe you? What a cheap trick for attention.”
He thought my collapse was an act.
Right on cue, Sylvie fainted again. Hugo, sweating and frantic, pushed the wheelchair forward, shoving me out of the way without hesitation.
At that moment, the last bit of attachment in my heart vanished.
I wiped the tears from my eyes and texted my manager, “I’ve made my decision. I’ll take the job.”
