CHAPTER 3 : Mysterious Call

That evening, Marshal returned home just as the sun dipped

below the horizon, painting the western sky in hues of amber and deep crimson.

In one hand, he carried a small bag of sweet treats he'd picked up on the way

back. He knew all too well that Selena might refuse whatever he offered her.

She always did. But that didn't stop him from trying—he would continue to do

whatever he could to bring her even the smallest bit of comfort.

"Selena, I'm home," he called softly as he stepped into the

modest little living room.

The room was dimly lit, the main light off, leaving only

the soft glow of a small bedside lamp sitting atop the worn nightstand by the

second-hand sofa. The air felt still, almost heavy, as if the house itself held

its breath. After locking the door behind him, Marshal made his way upstairs,

the sound of his footsteps echoing faintly in the quiet. The upper floor, with

its creaking wooden floors and only two bedrooms, felt even quieter.

He gently pushed open the door to Selena's room, but it was

empty. His brows furrowed with concern as a flicker of unease began to creep up

his spine. Where could she be?

Marshal quickly descended the stairs, his eyes scanning the

shadows for any sign of her. That's when he noticed it—the back door was

slightly ajar, the faint chill of the evening air seeping inside.

"Selena? Are you out back?" he called, his voice a little

louder this time as he moved toward the door.

Stepping into the small, overgrown garden, his gaze

immediately fell on her. She was sitting there, slumped in the old, rickety

rocking chair that had seen better days. Her chin rested in her hands, her

expression distant, almost vacant, as though she were lost somewhere far away.

"Selena," Marshal murmured as he approached her, his voice

filled with quiet concern. "Why are you still out here? The air is

freezing—it's not good for you, or the baby."

He knelt down in front of her, his tall frame folding

easily as he reached for her hands. They were cold to the touch, icy even, and

he instinctively cupped them in his own, trying to warm them. His eyes searched

her face, looking for any sign of what she might be thinking or feeling, but

she didn't meet his gaze.

For a moment, the only sound was the faint rustling of the

wind through the trees and the creak of the old rocking chair beneath her

slight weight. Marshal stayed there, holding her hands, his heart heavy with

the weight of everything left unsaid between them.

"Selena, I brought your favourite sweet snacks.

Come on, let's go inside," Marshal coaxed gently.

Silence. That's all Marshal ever came home to

these days. No warm welcome. No sweet smile from Selena. No coffee waiting,

brewed by her hands.

"Selena, I know you didn't finish your breakfast,

did you? Come in—I'll make you some soup."

Selena remained still, staring blankly ahead,

unmoving.

"You're still angry with me? You still hate me?

I'm sorry... I know I can't give you your old life back. But I swear, I'll do

everything I can to make you happy. I found another abortion pill in the

kitchen... Please, don't hurt our baby. I'm begging you."

"I'm sorry'? Is that all you've got?" Selena

muttered, her knuckles turning white as she clenched her hands.

"I know, it's all just—"

"I'm tired of hearing you say sorry. I'm tired of

hearing your voice; I hate it," Selena interjected sharply.

"You can loathe me as deeply as you wish. Just

don't direct that hatred towards the baby in your womb," Marshal replied. "Now,

let's go inside."

"I still want to stay out here."

"It's not good for pregnant women to sit outside

at night," Marshal insisted.

"Go in if you want. I want to remain here."

"Selena… It's time for you to have dinner. You

really should take your vitamins as well," he urged once more.

Selena stared into Marshal's eyes, as if

searching for answers within them. It was the gaze he'd come to dread over the

last three years—the one he'd consistently avoided.

"Selena, come on in. The night air isn't good for

you." Without hesitation, Marshal wrapped his arms around her and guided her

gently towards their small house. 

Selena struggled to calm herself, her emotions a

tangled mess she couldn't quite unravel. She didn't fully understand why her

hatred for Marshal seemed to intensify whenever she looked into his piercing

blue eyes.

It was as if those eyes held a mirror to

something within herself—something she neither understood nor wanted to face.

Why had God dealt her this hand, she wondered, leaving her with feelings so

conflicted and raw?

"You stay here," Marshal said gently, gesturing

for her to sit on the small sofa in the living room. "I'll grab the vitamins

you usually take with dinner. What do you feel like eating tonight? Shrimp soup

or sweet and sour shrimp?"

Selena lowered herself onto the sofa, her gaze

drifting to the floor as she avoided his eyes, still simmering with an unspoken

frustration that even she couldn't quite name.

"I'm not hungry," she murmured, her voice barely

audible.

Marshal sighed, his brow furrowing as he studied

her. "Don't be like this, Selena. You need to eat."

"But I just don't feel like it," she replied, her

tone flat but firm.

There was a brief pause, and then his expression

softened, a quiet determination settling over him. "You like toast with

chocolate hazelnut spread, don't you? I'll make you some. It'll only take a

minute."

Without waiting for her protest, Marshal

disappeared into the kitchen. Selena could hear the faint rustle of movement as

he opened the cabinet and pulled out a loaf of fresh bread.

The sound of his quiet efficiency only seemed to

heighten the bitterness stirring within her. She didn't understand why his

persistent care grated on her so much, why it made her feel both comforted and

suffocated at the same time

Marshal set the microwave timer, letting it warm

up for a few minutes while he carefully spread chocolate hazelnut jam over the

slices of fresh bread. He didn't forget to finish them off with a sprinkling of

grated cheese, adding just the right touch.

Every now and then, he glanced towards Selena,

who remained seated on the sofa, her expression distant as she stared into

nothingness.

His gaze lingered, and a faint, hollow smile

tugged at his lips—a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Deep inside, his heart

ached, screaming silently in the recesses of his chest

Selena.

She hadn't always been like this. Once upon a

time, she could manage a smile, even if only for her friends. Now, though, it

seemed as though that light within her had been extinguished.

Shouldn't Selena be able to

smile in front of him? In front of the person who cared for her more than

anything?

Kling!

The sharp chime of the microwave timer broke the

silence, signalling that the toast was ready. Marshal carefully removed the

plate, letting the warm aroma waft through the kitchen. He carried it to her,

placing it gently on the coffee table in front of her.

"The toast is ready. Eat up," he said softly, his

tone encouraging.

"I—" Selena began, but her words faltered.

"Shall I feed you, then?" Marshal offered, his

voice light but tinged with concern.

"I don't want to," she said, her tone quiet but

firm, her eyes still avoiding his.

"Come on," he coaxed gently, crouching slightly

to meet her gaze. "Just a little. You need to eat."

"Why do you act like we were ever in love,

Marshal?" Selena's voice cut through the tension in the room, sharp and laced

with bitterness. Her words were pointed, almost accusatory, as though

dissecting every action Marshal had taken. "Can't you just stop pretending?"

Marshal froze, her question hitting him like a

blow. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

He lowered his gaze, his hands tightening into fists at his sides before he

spoke, his voice steady but tinged with quiet anguish.

"Because I feel responsible, Sel," he admitted,

his tone raw with sincerity. "I feel like I've sinned by leaving you to face

all of this alone. I can't bear it. I don't care what my family says, I don't

care what anyone says. I promised myself that I'd make sure we'd be alright.

And if that means working extra jobs, then so be it. I'll do it."

His words hung in the air, laden with a mixture

of guilt and determination. Selena stared at him, her expression unreadable,

though her lips parted slightly as if to respond. But before she could speak,

the shrill ring of the house phone pierced through the room, startling them

both.

Marshal turned his head sharply towards the

sound, his brows furrowing in confusion. Selena's eyes flickered to the phone,

her chest tightening with unease as it continued to ring, persistent and

unrelenting.

"Who could be calling at this hour?" Marshal

muttered under his breath, his voice low and filled with suspicion.