The Power of Forbidden Love

Anna's POV:

Leaning against the wall for support, I touched the back of my head and winced. The room spun slightly as I tried to stand straight. A bitter smile crossed my lips as I watched Blake's back.

Four years of marriage, and he doesn't even look back.

I steadied myself against the wall and walked away.

Sitting in the hospital's reception area, I felt my head pounding with each heartbeat.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Wright, but all our neurologists have been called to the VIP wing for an emergency. It might be a while," the nurse said, not looking up from her computer.

I nodded, immediately regretting the movement as pain shot through my skull. I've waited for him for four years... what's another hour in a waiting room?

When the doctor finally saw me, his diagnosis was quick and clinical. "You have symptoms of a mild concussion. We'll need to do a CT scan to make sure there's no internal bleeding. Is there someone who can accompany you? A family member perhaps?"

"No, I'm fine on my own," I replied as another wave of dizziness washed over me. Would Blake care if he saw me like this? Would he even notice?

I checked my phone again. Three missed calls to Blake, all unanswered. The irony wasn't lost on me that we were likely in the same hospital, separated only by a few floors and an ocean of indifference.

After the check-up, I sat alone in the waiting area afterward, staring at my phone. Forbidden love... For a couple truly in love, it hardly matters, isn't it? The more unattainable, the more desirable.

The antiseptic smell of the hospital filled my nostrils as my thumb hovered over my phone. Before I could reconsider, I typed: [If you had to choose between me and Claire, who would you pick?]

I stared at the sent message. I know this text is impulsive, but if I don't make decisions in moments of impulse, how will I ever convince myself to give up the man I've loved for so many years to someone else?

The phone remained stubbornly silent. No reply.

The door to Claire's private room was partially open when I returned. I paused at the threshold, my hand freezing mid-knock.

Blake sat beside Claire's bed, carefully spearing a piece of apple with a fruit fork and offering it to his step-sister. His eyes held a tenderness I had never seen before—not even in our most intimate moments.

If I'd arrived a little later, maybe I would have caught them in the act, I thought bitterly.

"Blake," I called, keeping my voice controlled. "Can we talk outside?"

His expression hardened immediately as he followed me into the hallway.

"What's so urgent that it can't wait until we're home?" Blake's voice was cold, distant.

"I was waiting for you to respond to my message."

Blake pulled out his phone, his eyes scanning the screen. The corner of his mouth twitched upward slightly. "What is this supposed to mean?"

I expected panic, guilt, or at least discomfort. Instead, Blake's reaction was pure confidence—as if the question were absurd.

"Why would I need to choose?" he asked, reaching for a cigarette before remembering where we were.

"You just left me to take care of her! Do you even notice I hit my head because of you and had to go through the check-up all alone?" I couldn't hold back my frustration any longer.

Blake grabbed my wrist, his fingers pressing into my skin. "You don't need to fake being sick. She's ill, and I'm spending time with her at the hospital. Why does that bother you so much?"

Tears pricked at my eyes, the pain in my head intensifying. "I'm not—"

"Stop it," Blake cut me off. "I can see right through you. She's just my sister. Don't overthink this!"

He released my wrist. "Go home. There's no reason for you to be here."

I straightened my shoulders despite the pain. "Fine, I'll go. From now on, you can spend as much time with her as you want."

Blake didn't try to stop me as I walked away. Behind me, I heard Claire's room door open.

"Blakey? Did you two have a fight?" Claire's voice was soft, concerned, with the hint of a lilt.

Martha was waiting in the foyer when I arrived home, immediately rushing forward to take my bag.

"Mrs. Wright! Are you alright? You look pale." Martha's genuine concern was evident in the furrow of her brow.

My throat tightened at her kindness. My husband of four years shows less concern than someone I pay to clean the house.

"I'm fine, Martha. You can go home early. We don't need dinner tonight."

"I'll just tidy up a bit before I leave," Martha insisted, watching me steady myself against the wall.

I looked around the living room, noticing things I'd been willfully blind to for years. A teddy bear on the bookshelf. Ballet slippers tucked in a corner. Brightly colored hair clips on the coffee table.

Every corner has Claire's mark on it now. I hate when people invade my private space, yet Claire has lived here for all four years of our marriage.

"Martha," I called suddenly. "Can you bring the suitcases from the storage room? And help me pack?"

Martha appeared in the doorway, confused. "Pack, Mrs. Wright?"

"The person who needs to leave isn't Claire—it's me."

"But Mrs. Wright, you shouldn't leave just because of an argument..."

I laughed hollowly. "If I go, Blake will be the one paying your salary. Are you sure you should be arguing his case?"

Martha's loyalty didn't waver. "Then take me with you."

"Once I'm settled, I'll send for you," I promised. "I've gotten used to your cooking. I wouldn't know what to do without it."

As Martha helped me pack, I noticed her slip away to make a call. When she returned, I smiled wryly.

"Did you call Blake? Let me guess—his response was something like 'let her suit herself'?"

Martha's silence was answer enough.

"Martha, keep working here and slack off as much as you want. Help me take as much of Blake's money as possible. Bankrupt him if you can."

Martha blinked rapidly, fighting back tears.

I turned to leave but misjudged the distance to the door. My dizziness got the better of me, and I bumped into a solid chest.