My Wife Betrayed Me. The System Chose Me

CHAPTER 2

Morning arrived without ceremony.

Caelan hadn’t slept. He’d spent the night folded into the narrow hospital chair, waking at every change in Lyra’s breathing, every soft beep from the monitor. When dawn finally bled through the window, it felt less like hope and more like an obligation, another day demanding strength he wasn’t sure he had left.

The hours between more tests stretched unnaturally.

Caelan sat in the narrow waiting alcove outside the imaging room, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had gone pale. Each time the door slid open, he straightened instinctively, only to sink back again when it wasn’t for him.

A nurse passed, then another. Shoes squeaked against polished floors. Somewhere down the corridor, a monitor alarm chirped briefly before being silenced.

Time moved differently here.

He checked the clock on the wall. Ten minutes had passed. It felt like forty.

Across from him, an elderly man stared at the floor, lips pressed together, eyes red-rimmed. A woman nearby filled out forms with shaking hands, pausing every few lines as if the words themselves weighed too much.

Caelan realized none of them were looking at each other.

Grief was private. Contained. Managed.

He wondered how many people had sat in this exact spot, convincing themselves that uncertainty was better than confirmation. How many had prayed for delay rather than truth.

His phone buzzed — a message from his wife asking if there was anything new. 

Still waiting, he typed back.

The words felt insufficient. Cowardly, even.

He imagined Lyra inside the room, a small body swallowed by machines too large for her. The thought tightened something in his chest until breathing became an effort.

For the first time, Caelan felt the urge to run.

Not away from the hospital — but away from the answer waiting for him at the end of this corridor.

  Lyra stared as the nurses adjusted her IV.

“Daddy,” she murmured, eyes half-open. “You look funny.”

He smiled faintly. “Funny how?”

“Like when you forget to shave,” she said. “But worse.”

He chuckled despite himself. “That bad, huh?”

She nodded solemnly. “You should sleep. You look like a tired panda.”

“Very intimidating animal,” he agreed.

Her lips curved upward, and for a moment, the weight in his chest eased. If humor could still reach her, maybe there was time.

 After she drifted off again, Caelan stepped into the hallway and checked his phone.

No new messages.

He stared at the screen longer than necessary before slipping it back into his pocket.

Selene arrived just before noon.

Caelan heard her before he saw her, the sharp rhythm of heels against polished floor, confident and unhurried. When she appeared at the doorway, she looked exactly as she always did: composed, immaculate, untouched by the chaos that had consumed his world overnight.

Her gaze went first to Lyra, then to the machines, then finally to Caelan.

For a fraction of a second, something flickered across her face.

Sorrow.

Then it was gone.

“She looks… pale,” Selene said.

Caelan stood. “She collapsed yesterday morning. The doctors ran tests.”

Selene nodded, setting her purse down carefully on the chair. “I see.”

That was all.

No rush to Lyra’s bedside. No frantic questions. Just observation, as though she were assessing a situation rather than her child.

Caelan waited. The words pressed against his chest, heavy and urgent.

“She’s very sick,” he said finally. “It’s serious.”

Selene folded her arms. “How serious?”

He explained again—more carefully this time. The diagnosis. The prognosis. The treatment. The cost.

He watched her face as he spoke.

There was no panic. No disbelief. Only calculation.

“That much?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Selene exhaled slowly. “That’s… unfortunate.”

The word hit him harder than he expected.

“She needs it,” Caelan said. “Without it—”

“I heard you,” Selene interrupted gently. “I’m not deaf.”

Her eyes drifted back to Lyra, lingering this time. She stepped closer, brushed a strand of hair from the girl’s forehead. Lyra stirred but didn’t wake.

Selene’s fingers hesitated.

Then she pulled back.

They moved to the hallway.

“This isn’t something we can afford,” Selene said quietly.

“I know,” Caelan replied. “But we’ll find a way. There are loans. Assistance programs. I can—”

“You?” Selene raised an eyebrow. “Do what, exactly?”

The question was calm, but it landed like a slap.

“I’ll work,” he said evenly. “I’ll take on more contracts. I’ll sell the apartment if I have to.”

Selene laughed softly, a sound devoid of humor. “And then what? Live on the street with a dying child?”

Caelan clenched his jaw. “You’re her mother.”

“And you’re being emotional,” Selene countered. “That won’t help anyone.”

Emotion.

As if love were a flaw.

“I have connections,” she continued. “Resources you don’t. But even for me, pulling strings like this is… complicated.”

Something in her tone unsettled him.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means,” Selene said carefully, “that not everything can be solved by stubbornness and sacrifice.”

She checked her phone, frowning briefly. “I have an engagement later today.”

Caelan stared at her. “You’re leaving?”

“She’s stable,” Selene said. “The doctors are watching her.”

“That’s it?” His voice rose despite himself. “That’s all you have to say?”

Selene met his gaze steadily. “What would you like me to say?”

That I’m scared. That I love her. That I’ll fight.

He said none of it.

Instead, he looked away.

Selene left shortly after.

Lyra woke again in the afternoon, groggy and thirsty. Caelan helped her sip water through a straw, careful not to spill.

“Mom came,” Lyra said.

“Yes,” he replied.

“She didn’t stay long.”

“She’ll come back,” Caelan said, the words automatic.

Lyra studied his face. “Did I do something wrong?”

The question pierced him.

“No,” he said quickly. “Never. You’re perfect.”

She seemed unconvinced but didn’t argue. “Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“If I get better,” she said softly, “can we go to the aquarium again?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

“I like the jellyfish,” she said. “They look like they’re floating through space.”

He nodded. “Then we’ll go see them.”

She closed her eyes again, comforted by the promise.

Caelan sat there long after she slept, replaying Selene’s words in his mind. Her calm. Her distance. The way she had already begun to pull away.

A familiar feeling crept in, one he hadn’t felt in years.

Abandonment.

That evening, Caelan stepped outside to clear his head.

The hospital courtyard was quiet, dotted with tired families and overworked staff seeking brief reprieve. He sat on a bench, rubbing his temples.

His phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number: 

Selene mentioned your situation.

Caelan frowned.

I hear your daughter is ill. Regrettable.

His stomach tightened.

Another message followed.

There are limits to what people like you can reach. Best to accept reality.

He stared at the screen, pulse quickening.

Some doors are not meant to be opened.

Caelan closed his eyes.

He didn’t need to ask who it was from.

The past he had spent years running from had finally caught up.

And this time, it had found his daughter first.