Chapter 20
Chapter 20:
She stepped out and wrapped a towel around her hair. She stood before the mirror and wiped the steam away with her palm. She reached for a second towel to dry herself.
The door handle turned. The old, faulty lock clicked uselessly. Cole walked in.
“I brought you some —” He stopped.
June stopped.
She was naked from the waist down.
Cole’s eyes went straight to her abdomen.
Three angry red incision sites, covered in white steri-strips, marked the pale skin of her lower stomach. The surrounding skin was bruised in sickening shades of purple and yellow. One of the strips was peeling back at the edge, exposing the raw, healing line beneath.
“What is that?” Cole whispered. The tray of ginger tea in his hands rattled.
𝖱𝘰𝗆а𝘯𝗰𝖾 𝘯𝗼𝘷e𝗹𝗌 on ѕ.с𝗼𝗆
June gasped and snatched a bathrobe, pulling it around herself. “Get out p>
Cole did not move. He stepped fully into the bathroom and kicked the door shut behind him.
“June. Those are surgical scars. Laparoscopic.” He stared at her, his face draining of color. “When? Why p>
“It’s none of your business,” June snapped, cinching the robe tight.
“I am your husband for two more days. Tell me p>
“It was an appendix,” June said. “A cyst. While you were in Davos p>
“Davos was six months ago.” Cole’s brow furrowed. He stepped closer, his eyes fixed on the faint dark stain of blood already seeping through the thick terrycloth. “Don’t lie to me. Those are fresh. The stitches are barely out. That happened last week, not six months ago p>
“I lied. I didn’t want to ruin your trip p>
Cole stared at her. It didn’t add up. An appendix didn’t leave scars that looked like that. Those looked like —
“Get out, Cole,” June said, her voice beginning to shake. “Please p>
He backed out of the room looking as though he had been struck.
Two hours later, the dining room carried the weight of a funeral.
Grandmother Compton sat at the head of the table. Lunch was served — Szechuan chicken, mapo tofu, everything glistening red with chili oil.
Alycia smiled across the table with practiced sweetness. “I asked the chef to make your favorites, June. I remember Cole saying how much you loved spicy food p>
Cole picked up the serving spoon and heaped a generous portion of the chicken onto June’s plate. It was offered as a peace gesture, a familiar ritual between them.
“Eat,” Cole said quietly. “It’ll clear your sinuses p>
June looked at the plate. The red oil caught the light.
Her stomach tightened. Her doctor’s warning surfaced clearly in her mind: No spice. Your gut lining is compromised. She picked up her fork, set it back down, and pushed the plate away. The porcelain scraped against the wood with a sharp sound.
“I don’t want it,” June said.
Cole frowned. “What? You love this dish. We ordered it every Friday for three years p>
“You ordered it,” June said, her voice rising steadily. “I ate it because you liked it. I hate spicy food, Cole. It gives me heartburn. It makes me sick p>
Alycia let out a small, theatrical gasp. “But you always seemed to love it p>