Chapter 1

The bell above my clinic door jingled.

A young woman walked in, not looking sick, just confident.

Too confident.

"Dr. Hayes?" she asked, though she knew who I was.

"Yes, can I help you?"

She smiled, a sharp, unpleasant thing. "I'm Chloe. Mark's student."

My husband, Mark. My Mark.

"Okay," I said, waiting. My hand instinctively went to my still-flat stomach. We'd just found out about the baby. Our planned baby.

Chloe leaned against the reception desk. "He talks about you. Not much, though."

My nurse, Sarah, looked up, sensing trouble.

"Is there a medical reason for your visit, Chloe?" I kept my voice even.

She pushed up the sleeve of her trendy, too-expensive-for-a-student jacket.

A fresh tattoo. A stylized infinity symbol, intertwined with a date.

Our anniversary.

"Mark got one too," Chloe said, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. "Matching. Cute, right?"

The air left my lungs.

"He said it symbolized forever. Our forever."

My mind flashed to Mark last night, tracing patterns on my arm, whispering about our future, our family.

I looked at Chloe. Young, arrogant, glowing with a cruel triumph.

"As a doctor, Chloe," I said, my voice colder than I intended, "I'd advise you to be careful. Stress, certain… activities… can have serious health consequences. Especially with new tattoos. Infection is a risk."

Her smile faltered for a split second. She hadn't expected a medical lecture.

"Mark doesn't seem worried," she shot back, but the confidence was a little thinner.

"Mark isn't a medical professional," I replied. "Get that checked if it becomes inflamed."

Sarah was now standing, a silent protector.

Chloe scoffed, then turned and walked out, the bell jingling again, a mocking sound.

My clinic suddenly felt too small, too quiet.

"Doctor Hayes, are you alright?" Sarah asked, her voice soft.

I nodded, a lie. "Just a… difficult student."

That evening, Mark came home, flowers in hand, full of apologies for being late. "Faculty meeting ran over, Evie, so sorry."

He kissed me, his lips warm, his eyes full of what I had always believed was love.

He talked about names for the baby, his hand resting on my stomach, the same stomach that held the child he apparently wanted to build a family for.

My heart felt like a shattered thing in my chest. He smelled faintly of a perfume that wasn't mine.

I smiled, another lie. The performance of my life had begun.