Loving Him Was Her Longest Goodbye

　　"Don't move during the egg retrieval—it's really dangerous!" 　　Clara Bennett lay motionless, legs spread, her whole body shivering from the cold that seeped into her bones. 　　Her legs were strapped down, and the clinical, icy instruments forced her open. 　　A sharp, tearing pain shot through her—so real and violent that her teeth clenched involuntarily, fingernails digging deep into her palms. It felt like she'd been ripped in two. 　　"Hang in there. Mr. Collins specifically told us no anesthesia to protect the egg quality," the young nurse murmured beside her, trying to sound comforting—but for Clara, the soft voice just made everything worse. 　　She kept repeating to herself, over and over, "It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt." 　　But the moment the instrument pierced into her, agony surged through her whole body like a tidal wave. Blood, pale red, trickled down her thighs—stark and humiliating. 　　Her vision blurred, but her mind clung stubbornly to last night's scene. 　　It was the first time Eugene Collins had ever stepped into their bedroom in five years. Reeking of alcohol, he had pinned her down, seething with rage. "Clara, you really think you're worthy of carrying my child?" 　　Those big, tear—bright eyes stared at him, dazed and hurt. 　　He hated that about her—those fake innocent looks, the too—soft voice, the pitiful act that just made his skin crawl. 　　"Drop the act, Clara. You pushed Grandpa to force me into having a kid with you—don't pretend otherwise. What, you that desperate to get me in bed?" 　　The very idea of having a child with her made Eugene feel sick with shame. 　　To him, she was nothing more than a homewrecker—a stain on his love and his marriage. And yet, he'd been forced to marry her. 　　Eugene had always lived above everyone else. But marrying her? That was the one thing that shattered his pride, crushed his ego. How could he not resent her for that? 　　Every little thing she'd ever done just made him want to tear her apart. 　　His words, sharp like needles, stabbed right into Clara's heart, each one driving the air from her lungs. 　　This man—he was the one she'd given her heart to. Why did every word from him cut so deep like he didn't care in the slightest? 　　Her lips trembled. Her voice cracked. "Eugene, please, let me explain—" 　　But he didn't give her a second to speak. The disgust on his face couldn't be clearer. "You chased Ellie off, stole the title of Mrs. Collins, and now you think a baby will lock me down? Dream on." 　　Clara's eyes widened, stung and brimming with unshed tears. She shook her head desperately. "I didn't! Eugene, you've got it all wrong!" 　　"Wrong?" He scoffed, voice like ice. "Clara, I don't believe a word that comes out of your mouth. From the moment you drove Ellie away and married me, you became my enemy. I wish you were dead." 　　His words were cold—colder than any winter wind. But they didn't even come close to how frozen Clara's heart felt. 　　She knew he hated her. But before, at least, he couldn't be bothered to say it out loud. He wouldn't even speak to her. 　　Everything changed when Grandpa Collins started pushing them to have a child. Eugene had been like a ticking time bomb ever since—flipping out whenever he saw her. 　　Now he didn't even hide the cruelty. His eyes were blank slits of ice, and his hand clamped down on her jaw hard enough to bruise. 　　"There are plenty of ways to have a kid, Clara. I don't have to touch you." 　　That look he gave her—like she was something filthy—made her feel like her heart had been ripped to shreds. 　　And then, just like that, she found herself on the egg retrieval table. Just like he said. 　　His cold, detached voice still echoed in her ears. Her chest tightened unbearably, breath hitching, and tears began to fall one after another, soaking her collar. 　　Through blurry eyes, the blinding surgical lights twisted into Eugene's cold face, merging into a sharp stab of pain in her heart. 　　And then darkness came swallowing her whole—and Clara finally slipped into unconsciousness.