The day started like any other, except it wasn't.

I knew something was wrong the moment Amelia stepped out of her room that morning. She moved slower than usual, her steps less graceful, her hand briefly pressing against the wall as she steadied herself.

She didn't think I noticed. She had been like this for days—distracted, pale, weaker than she let on. I had seen the way her hands trembled when she held a teacup, how she gripped the edge of tables when she stood too fast, how her meals had grown smaller and smaller until she barely ate at all.

And then, that morning, she nearly collapsed in the shower. That was when she finally gave in.

"I'm going to the hospital," she said, her voice steady despite everything. "Come with me."

I didn't hesitate. Well, it's about time. She was finally going to find out about her pregnancy. But unlike in the novel—she wasn't alone. She had me.

The hospital smelled sterile and cold, like every other hospital I had ever been in. The quiet hum of murmured conversations and distant beeping machines filled the air as we waited. Amelia sat beside me, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her face unreadable. She was scared. She wouldn't say it out loud, but I knew.

The doctor called her in, and I waited outside, pacing the floor, trying to push away the unease in my chest. I already knew what the doctor was going to tell her. But Amelia? She had no idea what was coming. When she stepped out of the consultation room, her face was pale. Her fingers were trembling as she brought a hand to her stomach.

I saw it in her eyes—the shock, the fear, the uncertainty. She is pregnant with Michael's child. And yet, before she could even process what that meant, it happened. She saw him. Michael. Standing down the hall. He wasn't alone. Saddie stood next to him, and her hand was resting on her stomach.

The first thing I noticed was the way Michael looked at her. Not with indifference. Not with coldness. But with something far worse.

Gentleness.

Care.

Concern.

And then, I saw what Amelia saw. The bump. Saddie was pregnant. Far enough along that it was visible now. Undeniable. I heard Amelia's breath hitch beside me. I didn't need to ask what she was thinking—I already knew. About The late nights, The whispered rumors and The distance. It had been her all along. Saddie had never really left Michael's life. And neither had Michael's love for her. 

I turned to Amelia just in time to see the moment everything inside her shattered. She didn't make a sound. Didn't scream. Didn't cry. She just... stood there. Frozen. Her fingers clenched so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.

I wanted to move. To say something—anything.

But then, Michael saw her.

For the first time, I saw something flicker across his face.

Shock.

Realization.

Maybe even fear.

"Amelia?" Michael stepped forward, his voice uncertain. "What are you doing here?"

She blinked, as if waking from a trance. For a split second, I thought she might say something. But then—she turned away.

"Amelia, wait!"

Michael moved after her, but she was already walking. No—running.

I followed, heart pounding as I rushed after her, my mind racing to figure out what to do.

Michael caught up to her just outside the hospital doors, his voice sharp. "Amelia!"

She stopped. Slowly, she turned. The air between them crackled with tension, thick and suffocating.

Michael searched her face, confusion evident in his eyes. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

She hesitated. And then, she did something that made my stomach drop. She smiled. Not the warm, genuine smile I had seen before. This one was small. Hollow. Empty. Dangerous.

"No," she whispered. "I'm perfectly fine."

Michael's brows furrowed. He didn't believe her. I could see it in the way his jaw tensed, in the slight shift of his stance. But before he could say anything else, before he could reach for her—She turned on her heel and walked away.

I moved quickly, following her as she stepped into the car, her face still eerily calm. Michael didn't follow. He just stood there, watching, his expression unreadable.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

And Michael had no idea just how much.

But I knew the truth.

I knew it wasn't Michael's child.

Michael was a fool. Too kind for his own good. Too blind to see how his actions were destroying the one person who had given everything to him.

He had brought Saddie back because she had once been part of his past—because when he found her, she was running from a man who had broken her, an abusive husband who had nearly killed her.

Michael had wanted to save her, but Saddie, she had taken advantage of that kindness. She knew Michael's marriage had been arranged. She believed he didn't love Amelia. And maybe, for a time, Michael had believed that too. But that didn't matter now. Because as far as Amelia was concerned, she had just witnessed the final proof of what she had suspected all along.

She let her tears fall freely, her shoulders shaking as she clutched at the fabric of her dress.

I reached for her, placing a steadying hand on her back. "Amelia..."

"He was with her," she whispered, her voice breaking. "At the hospital. With her."

I swallowed hard because she didn't know the full truth and for the first time since I had come into this world—I hesitated.

I wanted to tell her. Wanted to tell her that Saddie's child wasn't Michael's. That he hadn't betrayed her in the way she thought he had. That the reason Saddie was still here, the reason Michael was helping her, was because of something else entirely. He was protecting her from her ex-husband.

But I couldn't. If I did, it would only raise questions. Questions I couldn't answer.

So instead, I spoke carefully. "Amelia..." I started, unsure of my own words. "Maybe you need to hear his explanation."

She stilled. Then, slowly, she shook her head. "I don't need his explanation." Her voice was soft. Final.

And in that moment, I knew—Whether or not Michael loved her, whether or not he had meant to hurt her, it didn't matter. Because something inside Amelia had already broken and she wasn't going to wait for him to put it back together.

And maybe—I wasn't sure of my goal anymore. At first, it had been simple. Save Amelia. Change the ending. Go home. That was supposed to be it. But watching her shatter like this—feeling the way her pain burrowed deep into my chest—I realized something. This wasn't just about the story anymore and this wasn't just about going back because I wasn't supposed to care this much.

But I did.

And that made this harder.

Because no matter what I felt, no matter how much it tore me apart to see her like this, the only way to change the ending was for her to leave Michael. She needed to walk away. And this was how it would begin.