Chapter 6 Fate's Reckoning

• Zayla staggered home, the ten-minute walk stretching into a grueling twenty. The cold villa welcomed her with a chill akin to death's embrace without the heating turned on.
• Removing her high heels, Zayla stumbled into the bathroom, her movements unsteady like a drunk. While filling the bathtub with hot water, she fell into it, her earlier resolve replaced by a lifeless demeanor. The vibrant red dress draped over the tub starkly contrasted Zayla's haggard complexion.
• With her eyes closed, Zayla submerged her face in the water, shutting off all sensation as it enveloped her. Briefly cut off from oxygen, her heart felt numb, prompting an involuntary intake of the warm bath water, eliciting a wave of nausea from her stomach.
• As she resurfaced, her bloodshot eyes opened, her body slumping against the tub's edge, a force tugging at her insides. She parted her lips stiffly, her upper body convulsing uncontrollably. After a day of abstaining from food, she expelled yellowish acidic water, its acrid burn tearing through her throat and stinging her eyes with tears.
• After emptying her stomach, Zayla gingerly rubbed her sore, swollen eyes, noting the blood-tinged mucus on the floor. A faint smile tugged at her lips, but it failed to reach her eyes, which mirrored a profound sense of desolation and emptiness. She swiftly removed her red dress, using it to blot away the bloodstains, unwilling for Joaquin to witness the sight.
• Zayla returned to the bedroom barefoot as the sky outside dimmed, collapsing onto the bed. Sleep eluded her. Before she knew she was ill, she once envisioned a hopeful future. But now, all efforts seemed futile. The four years they were married felt like an eternity as she poured out her love to Joaquin, only to be met with unending despair.
• On this day, it seemed like she had exhausted all tears in her lifetime. Zayla laid her hand upon her heart, bitterly mocking herself, "Your stomach is the one that's ill. Why does your heart ache?"
• Her phone buzzed in her bag, prompting Zayla to instinctively prop herself up and retrieve it swiftly. Seeing the caller ID, a wave of disappointment washed over her. It wasn't him... What am I expecting? Zayla wondered bitterly.
• Zayla stared at the phone vacantly for a moment, her rigid fingers hesitantly reaching to accept the call. "Hello, Stellan," her voice emerged hoarse and unpleasant, edged with a hint of harshness.
• Stellan Miller was her childhood friend. They weren't related to each other, but they were incredibly close. Zayla had spent considerable time with the Miller family when she was young, and Stellan was like a brother to her.
• Concern tinged Stellan's voice as he inquired, "Zayla, why does your voice sound so hoarse? Are you feeling unwell?"
• "Just a slight cold," Zayla replied, her voice tapering off, "My voice is hoarse because I just woke up..."
• Before she could finish, Stellan interjected, "Zayla, don't try to deceive me. Remember, I'm a doctor. I know how your voice sounds after waking up, when you're having a cold, and when you've cried."
• Her throat tightened as though a jagged stone had lodged within, scraping her mouth raw, rendering both speaking and staying silent agonizing. Unable to articulate her emotions, Zayla released a bitter laugh.
• "Can you tell me why you're crying, Zayla?" Stellan pressed, seeking answers.
• Zayla's gaze fixed on the wooden floor as she clutched the phone, grappling with the vulnerability of exposing her inner turmoil. Nobody relished baring their weaknesses. With a shake of her head, she murmured, "I can't."