His Cold Heart Belonged to Another Woman

Someone kicked my pregnant belly at the hospital.

The whole thing got taken down to the station, and just as the man who'd done it was about to try for a settlement,

my husband arrived.

He glanced at the bloodstain on my dress,

then lifted his wrist to check his watch.

It's nothing serious.

I signed the settlement waiver for you. Go on back. The family dinner starts in half an hour. Don't be late.

Silas Sheridan cared about nothing.

Throw him a birthday party, and he'd say I was making trouble out of thin air.

Morning sickness in my pregnancy, and he'd tell me to get over it on my own.

He ignored the holidays, bought no gifts, and left the crib for his assistant to pick out.

I'd only seen him show any feeling twice.

Once on our wedding day, when he smiled at me for a long while, and once after the pregnancy was confirmed, when he was so flustered he forgot to hold an international conference call.

I thought it was a good beginning.

But yesterday, Silas suddenly asked me what I wanted for my birthday.

I followed him in secret, and in an alley I saw him,

sleeves rolled up, eyes rimmed red, driving his fist into a man's face, blow after blow.

The girl beside him clung tightly to his waist,

crying, begging him to calm down.

I rolled down the car window and saw clearly the way Silas's arm trembled with rage.

And it hit me then that whether his feelings ran cold or blazed hot

really came down to whether he cared.

When Silas finally stopped, blood was dripping from his knuckles.

He gave the man on the ground one cold glance,

then pulled the girl into his arms.

"As long as I'm here, I won't let you get so much as a scratch."

I stared at the owner of that hand,

and when I looked up again, memory and present bled into each other,

Silas half-turned toward me and asked.

"Why haven't you left yet?"

Behind me, the man who'd kicked me slapped his thigh with a sneer,

telling the friends around him,

"See? I said this woman was here to shake us down for money. If something were really wrong, would her husband not care?"

"A woman like this needs a firm hand!"

Another burst of grating laughter.

The automatic doors slid shut, and Silas got into the car a step ahead of me.

He didn't ask whether it hurt.

Instead he tossed a bag of clothes at me.

"Change into these in the car later. My mother can't stand the sight of blood."

"Do you really not care at all?"

I pressed down the stabbing pain in my belly

and spoke almost at the same moment he did.

Surprise surfaced in Silas's eyes, as if he hadn't expected me to say that.

"Aren't you fine, though?"

That answer again.

Bitterness spread through my mouth, and I almost wanted to laugh.

When I slipped on a rainy day and twisted my ankle, he'd driven past me,

and it was the same line, 'You look fine to me.'

Our fifth wedding anniversary, booked with him a month ahead, and still I waited until the candles burned all the way down,

only to get, 'I thought you didn't care about it.'

Silas's palm settled over the back of my hand.

"If you're still not feeling well, go to the hospital tomorrow and get it checked."

"The reason I said that just now was only because I think the baby in your belly is strong."

I wanted to say no.

After my last fall, the doctor had told me this pregnancy would be dangerous,

that in all likelihood I wouldn't be able to keep it.

It was I who begged him to prescribe the medicine, saying I'd take good care of myself, that the baby's father would look after me too.

But now this child was probably one I couldn't carry to term.

What can't be kept can never be kept.

I drew my hand back and rifled through the clothes in the bag.

They weren't new. They were the same outfit that girl in the alley had been wearing yesterday.

I let go of every ounce of strength in me,

lifted my head, and said to Silas.

"After dinner tonight, there's something I want to tell you."

Silas waited outside the car for me to change,

and when I opened the door, I was still in that first outfit, the hem crusted with bloodstains long since dried and darkened.

"Why didn't you change?" Silas frowned.

This was the only kind of thing that ever drew any feeling out of him.

I looked at him.

"I can't fit into the dress."

My belly had gotten bigger, and I couldn't squeeze into that kind of tightly fitted gown anymore.

But Silas hadn't thought of that.

Silas paused, and in the end said nothing.

I followed him in,

and watched my mother-in-law's smile fade from wide to thin,

before she tossed off a light, airy remark. "A perfectly nice family dinner, and now some outsider shows up."

My mother-in-law didn't like me.

The first few years of my marriage, I didn't realize it.

When there was a holiday gathering, she'd send someone to call for me, and I'd want to go,

but Silas would say the table was too loud, too crowded, nothing worth going for.

So most of the time he went alone with my gift in hand,

then left early to come home and spend the holiday with me.

Later I understood that she didn't like me.

She accepted every gift I sent without a single kind look or word of thanks.

And Silas had been using his own way to keep me from being humiliated at that table.

Once, that had moved me deeply.

But today I'd come because I wanted to.

For no other reason than the woman's voice I'd heard last night, right before Silas hung up the phone.

As I walked closer, I realized there was no seat for me.

At my mother-in-law's side sat Silas, and then a pretty, delicate girl.

My mother-in-law beckoned to him.

"Mia Winfield's finally back in the country. Hurry and sit over here, keep her good company."

Then she gave me a once-over,

and when she saw the bloodstains on my clothes, her brow furrowed deep.

"What is that you're wearing? Didn't the Ellisons teach you to come to the table in clean clothes?"

Silas, already seated, said nothing.

He didn't even glance over to see whether I stood there awkward or not,

only leaned in to murmur something to the girl beside him, drawing a laugh out of her.

Once she'd finished laughing, Mia slowly rose to her feet.

"Ma'am, Silas, I'm sure Marion didn't mean anything by it. Why don't we just eat? Oh... it looks like there aren't enough seats..."

She glanced left and right, as if only now noticing she'd taken the seat that belonged to the Sheridan daughter-in-law,

her face flushing at once, biting her lip, at a loss.

Mrs. Sheridan reached out and pressed her back down.

"No need. Mia, you sit right here beside me."

I stepped forward, one hand supporting my belly.

"Get up."

Mia didn't move.

There was a piece of fish in her bowl now. Silas had put it there.

I loved fish,

but looking at it now, the smell hit me raw and turned my stomach.

Silas stood.

"I remember telling you Mia isn't well. Don't speak to her in that tone. She owes you nothing."

Mia's eyes reddened.

She fumbled helplessly with the bracelet on her wrist.

"It's fine, Silas. I was the thoughtless one, sitting in the wrong seat. I'll just eat standing up."

I looked at that bracelet.

The jade was fine, an heirloom of the Sheridan family.

They said it was usually passed down to the Sheridan daughter-in-law, but on my wedding day, my mother-in-law never gave it to me.

She only told me the family had so many things, she couldn't find it just then.

My mother-in-law followed my gaze,

then told Mia to sit down again.

"The right person wears the right thing, sits in the right seat. Isn't that so, Silas?"

Silas didn't deny it. He had someone bring a new chair to the spot below him.

"Marion, sit. Aren't you feeling unwell?"

I didn't want to sit, but he pulled me down by the wrist.

Mia picked up a crystal shrimp and placed it in Silas's bowl.

"I remember we always used to fight over these when we were little. Do you still like them?"

Silas's lashes trembled faintly, and almost in the next second he put the shrimp in his mouth.

Then, as if offhand, he set a piece in front of me too.

I put the meat in my mouth, but I couldn't taste a thing.

After so many years of marriage, I knew Silas didn't like shrimp.

Only once, when he was drunk and in a good mood, did he tell me that he used to fight someone for it, snatching it back and forth.

I asked him why.

He said it was because teasing that person that way was so much fun.

I set down my chopsticks, and Silas ladled more soup into my bowl.

Tonight he was so different.

Mia saw it. She bowed her head, biting her lip, then lifted her eyes again.

"I really shouldn't have come back this time, but my boyfriend hits me... just now, he even called..."

The suspended ladle dropped into the soup bowl.

The hot broth splashed across half my hand,

and in an instant it went red.

Silas didn't even glance at it. He only looked at Mia, his voice changing pitch.

"He came after you again? Where is he?!"

The words ground out through his teeth, all his usual composure gone.

When Mia said nothing, he leaned halfway across and slid one arm around her.

I pulled out my handkerchief, covered my hand, and stood.

"I've had enough. I'll go wash up first."

I held my hand under cold water for five minutes,

but it still couldn't cover the red on my skin.

A few of the servants passed by carrying cleaning supplies, muttering as they went.

"Miss Winfield's back this time. Looks like she and Mr. Sheridan will be picking up where they left off."

"What are you talking about? Didn't Mr. Sheridan marry into that Ellison girl's family? Isn't he afraid the Ellisons will make a scene if there's a divorce?"

They stopped walking and dropped their voices.

"Make what scene? Everyone knows it's the Ellisons who need Mr. Sheridan. Besides, the old madam already cleared out the marital home in the back courtyard that was meant for Mr. Sheridan. What do you think that means!"

"And really, look at how Mr. Sheridan's treated the Ellison woman these past few years, then look at how he treats Miss Winfield. Her nail breaks and his eyes go red with worry. If that's not caring, what is?"

I shut off the water, and at the sound the servants hurried away.

When I married in, both my mother-in-law and Silas told me the old estate was too plain and old-fashioned, not suitable for me to live in.

On top of that, my late father-in-law had left behind so many antiques that there was no room to spare.

Back then I said it didn't matter. Wherever Silas was, that was where I would be.

I gave a soft laugh,

leaning against the wall, stroking my belly again and again.

It hurt so much.

I hadn't taken more than a few steps out of the inner room

when I saw Silas standing under the corridor lights, in the dim, waiting for me.

"You threw a fit and wouldn't eat, and now Mia won't eat either. Her stomach's bad, she can't skip meals. Come back with me and smooth it over."

His gaze fell on my hand for a single moment,

and for that moment I thought he'd come to ask if my hand hurt.

I looked up.

"So she's going to live in the back courtyard from now on?"

"Who told you that?" Silas frowned. He didn't deny it.

"Do you know the back courtyard was supposed to be our marital home?"

I didn't want to be angry, but I couldn't stop my hand from curling into a fist.

"I'm not saying I won't live there because I don't want a place of my own in this family."

I only didn't want my willfulness to make Silas resent me.

Silas's furrowed brow smoothed again, his whole manner turning cool and remote.

"I bought you a marital home of your own so you could be Mrs. Sheridan with your dignity intact. And now you're fighting with me over a single courtyard?"

Right. If Silas hadn't once sat down with the blueprints and planned that back courtyard with me,

telling me where the cabinets would go,

where the children's play area would be,

where our bedroom would be,

which shelf would hold the flowers I loved and the books he'd read,

then I probably wouldn't have kept dwelling on it.

I really had believed that one day I would move in there with Silas.

Even if my mother-in-law didn't accept me, at least Silas cared a little.

He was always so distant, and yet he had once held me in his heart.

The air had turned cold and still, right up until Mia came walking over, her shadow stretching ahead of her.

Please don't fight over me. I won't move in here, and I won't take anything that belongs to the Sheridan daughter-in-law.

She slid the jade bracelet off her wrist,

and held it out to me.

I didn't reach for it.

I stepped around her and walked away.

Mia suddenly grabbed my hand, trying to press the thing into my palm.

Then her grip loosened,

and the bracelet dropped to the floor, breaking into pieces.

Mia knelt down to gather them up,

a few tears falling to the floorboards.

I'm sorry. You have every right to be angryMarion, please don't misunderstand things between Silas and me. Yes, we were once engaged, but that was a long time ago.

A shard cut into her finger,

and Mia pulled her hand back with a wince of pain.

The next second, Silas had her hand cradled in his palm.

Silas stared at the string of blood beading at her fingertip,

his eyes cold enough to freeze,

and that look settled on my face.

Mia didn't ask for a single thing, yet all night you've done nothing but go after her.

Do you have any idea that Mia's hands are for playing piano?

I met his eyes without hesitation.

You won't even hear a word of explanation?

What's left to explain? I've seen all of it with my own eyes.

In that moment, Silas was terrifyingly calm,

and yet something dark seemed to gather all around him.

Apologize. Admit you were wrong.

At once I thought of him in that alley, of his fist coming down again and again on that man's face.

I took a step back.

I'm sorry.

Mia started to stand, then stumbled and fell back into Silas's arms.

Marion

Don't call me that. I don't have a sister. I looked at her coldly.

From the moment I walked in, you've never once called me his wife. That's because you still want to marry Silas.

The color drained from Mia's face in an instant, and she waved her hands.

No, that's not it. I never meant to break up your family

She clutched at Silas's sleeve, at a loss.

Marion didn't break the bracelet on purpose. Let it go, please. Can't we just not fight?

That one sentence was enough to thaw some of the chill around Silas.

He glanced at the broken pieces on the floor.

I'll have it repaired for you.

That won't be necessary.

I looked at Mia, curled up in his arms.

First thing tomorrow morning, let's get divorced.

I was done playing this sickening game.

Silas's expression didn't change.

His arm tightened around Mia, enough to make her frown without thinking.

Over one little thing, you're threatening me with divorce?

I said nothing and walked straight out of the courtyard, meaning to get in the car.

The driver blocked my path and gave a slight bow.

Ma'am, Mr. Sheridan said you can't leave until tomorrow morning.

I dug out my phone. The signal outside the gate was weak,

and the old estate was so remote it was nearly impossible to call a car.

It seemed I wouldn't be able to reach a lawyer until tomorrow.

I walked back inside,

into the room that had originally been prepared for Silas and me.

I gathered my clothes and moved them into the room next to Silas's.

I'd barely set my things down

when the housekeeper came in, his face full of apology.

Ma'am, this was the master's old room. It can't be used without permission.

Only then did I notice

that, compared to the other rooms, this one did carry a certain age.

Spotless as it was, you could still feel time itself frozen inside it.

I walked over to the long table inside, where a small cabinet with a lock sat.

It was an old-fashioned lock, the kind you had to turn to the right combination to open.

I thought for a moment, then dialed in 0205.

Click! The lock opened.

Seeing this, the housekeeper hurried out behind me.

But I no longer had the time to care, because that number

it was Silas's lock screen code, the middle digits of his bank card PIN, the default combination on the door lock.

It was also Mia's birthday.

I opened the cabinet, and the first thing I saw was a stack of yellowed receipts.

Mia's male deskmate once brushed against her hand in class,

and after school Silas dragged him into an alley and beat him until the bones in his hand broke.

Mia scored badly on a test and got laughed at,

so Silas stood up for her.

Mia had suitors,

so Silas drove every one of them off.

On the back of one receipt,

in Mia's handwriting: "Mia will love you always and always."

Then another wire transfer slip,

every year, every month, even last month's record, all of it here.

Whenever Silas and I came back to the old estate, we slept in the room next door,

but he always came to bed late, always in this room, reading until deep into the night.

Only today did I understand why he loved this one old room above all the others.

Because what he loved was the desk lamp Mia had thrown away,

the water cup she'd made by hand before going abroad,

that line in her reply email: "If I were single again, would you still want me?"

And Silas's answer to her

was a property transfer agreement.

The Fullmoon Bay seaside home. The one I'd loved more than anything.

A weight came down on my shoulder.

Silas reached out and shoved me back, hard.

"What do you think you're doing!"

I couldn't keep my footing and dropped to one knee on the floor.

A dragging pain pulled low in my belly, and a few drops of blood ran down the inside of my thigh.

Silas put everything back and locked it again.

His fingertips rubbed twice over the numbers on the lock, then spun them back into place.

"Some things aren't yours to touch."

"If you love her that much, why did you agree to marry me before, and why won't you divorce me now?"

We spoke almost in unison. Silas's face went blank, then he looked away.

"What's between Mia and me now isn't what you think."

"She was mistreated and came home with nowhere to go, and I can help her. That's all."

I couldn't quite catch my breath. Bracing against the wall, I pulled myself up and looked at the drops of blood on the floor.

When I was kicked in my pregnant belly, Silas couldn't help me,

but no matter what it was for Mia, he would cross any line to help her.

Just as the smell of blood seemed to reach the tip of Silas's nose,

the housekeeper appeared in the doorway.

"Sir, Miss Winfield had a bad fright and she's running a bit of a fever. Would you like to go check on her?"

When I burned at a hundred and four, I wanted Silas to stay home.

He answered me: I'm not a doctor, what good would staying home do.

Now, he spared me a single glance.

"Go back to your room. We'll talk later. I'm going to see Mia."

He took a few steps, and I called after him.

"Silas, my stomach hurts"

Silas turned and saw the streaks of blood on my thigh,

and heard the coughing from the bedroom across the hall.

"You bled before too, and the doctor said it was nothing."

"If it really hurts, come find me again."

Nothing.

My heart dropped to the bottom of a pit.

My hand settled over my belly.

In the middle of the night, several servants were woken to bring tea and water and fetch medicine for Mia.

Silas kept vigil at her bedside, watching the pallor of her face.

Once she was fast asleep,

Silas rubbed the bridge of his nose and walked out,

asking a servant in passing,

"Has Marion gone back to her room to sleep?"

The servant stammered,

and in the end mumbled it out anyway.

Silas's pupils shrank,

as if he'd heard something unthinkable,

and his voice rose before he could stop it.

"What did you say. Say it again!"