My Wife Betrayed Me. The System Chose Me

CHAPTER 3

Caelan didn’t reply to the message.

He stared at the phone until the screen dimmed, then slipped it into his pocket like it was something that might bite him if he held it too long.

People like you.

He’d heard that phrase before, many years ago, spoken with polite smiles and sharp eyes. It always meant the same thing: You don’t belong here.

He returned to Lyra’s room before his thoughts could spiral further.

She was awake again, sitting up slightly as a nurse adjusted her blanket.

“Daddy,” she said, brightening when she saw him. “They gave me soup. It tastes like warm sadness.”

He snorted before he could stop himself. “That’s hospital food for you.”

“I think they will try,” she added generously. “But they fail.”

The nurse smiled. “She’s very honest.”

“She gets that from me,” Caelan said.

Lyra beamed, clearly pleased.

Caelan drifted in a bit in worry, panic, tears, shaking hands.

What settled into his chest was dense. Like wet earth.

He remembered himself alone in the waiting area, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor tiles. The pattern repeated every six squares. He counted them without meaning to. When he reached sixty, he started again.

This was what helplessness felt like, not hysteria, but useless clarity.

He replayed the doctor’s words in fragments. Unusual markers. Further tests required. Let’s not jump to conclusions. Words designed to calm people like him. Words that assumed a future.

Caelan had learned long ago that danger rarely announced itself cleanly. It arrived politely. It waited for permission.

Across the room, a man argued softly into his phone, promising someone everything would be fine. A woman hugged herself near the vending machines, rocking slightly, lips moving in silent prayer.

Caelan wondered which one he looked like.

He pressed his thumb into his palm until it hurt, grounding himself in the sensation. Pain, at least, was honest.

You’re overthinking, he told himself. She’s a child. Children bounce back.

But the thought didn’t stick. It slid off something colder beneath.

He remembered another hospital. Different city. Different smells. His mother’s hand in his, too light, fingers trembling even when she smiled.

Be patient, she had told him then. Endure.

He had.

And still, she had died.

The memory left him hollow. Not afraid, aware.

Something had begun moving. Slowly. Inevitably.

And for the first time since Lyra was born, Caelan realized love alone might not be enough to stop it.

For a few minutes, things felt almost light, he snapped back into reality. 

Caelan told her a silly story about a knight who was terrible at fighting but excellent at running away. Lyra corrected his logic several times, insisting that the knight should “at least trip less.”

Then the doctor arrived.

The mood shifted immediately.

“We’ve stabilized her for now,” the doctor said once they were seated. “But I won’t sugarcoat things. Time isn’t on our side.”

Caelan nodded. “I understand.”

“There is one option,” the doctor continued. “A private institution. They have access to advanced treatment protocols. But…” He hesitated. “Admission is selective.”

“How selective?” Caelan asked.

The doctor gave a thin smile. “Think of invitations, not applications.”

Caelan exhaled slowly. “And the cost?”

The number came again.

It still sounded impossible.

“If I can get approval,” Caelan said, “can we proceed?”

The doctor studied him. “That depends on who vouches for you.”

Selene called that evening.

She didn’t ask how Lyra was doing.

Instead, she said, “We need to talk.”

Her tone was calm. Almost businesslike.

“I’m at the hospital,” Caelan replied.

“I know,” she said. “Come home. We shouldn’t have this conversation there.”

A chill settled in his stomach.

“What conversation?”

There was a brief pause, deliberate.

“Our future.”

The apartment felt colder than he remembered.

Selene sat on the sofa, legs crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

“I’ve thought this through,” she said. “Carefully.”

Caelan stood instead of sitting. “About Lyra?”

“No,” Selene said. “About us.”

The words landed with quiet finality.

“What are you saying?” he asked.

“I’m saying that continuing like this makes no sense,” she replied. “We were already… misaligned.”

Misaligned.

As if they were business partners.

“Our daughter is dying,” Caelan said, his voice low. “And this is when you decide that?”

Selene didn’t flinch. “That’s exactly why.”

He stared at her.

“Lyra was the last thing holding us together,” Selene continued. “If she’s going to be gone—” She stopped herself, correcting smoothly. “—if things don’t improve, then dragging this marriage forward is pointless.”

The room felt too small.

“You’re divorcing me,” Caelan said.

“Yes.”

The word was clean. Efficient.

“You already decided,” he said.

Selene nodded. “I’ve prepared the papers.”

Something inside him cracked, not loudly, but deeply.

“Is there someone else?” he asked.

She hesitated just long enough to answer honestly.

“Yes.”

Caelan laughed.

The sound surprised both of them.

“I should have known,” he said softly. “You don’t make moves without a landing place.”

Selene’s expression cooled. “This isn’t betrayal. This is evolution.”

“Whose?” he asked.

“Mine,” she replied.

She stood and walked to the window, gazing out at the city lights.

“He can help Lyra,” Selene said suddenly.

Caelan’s head snapped up. “Who?”

“The man I’m with,” she said. “His family has influence. Real influence.”

Hope flared instinctively.

“Then ask him,” Caelan said immediately. “If there’s even a chance—”

Selene turned to face him.

“There is a chance,” she said. “But not for you.”

The hope died just as fast.

“He doesn’t like complications,” Selene continued. “A disgraced man with no backing? A hidden identity? You’re a liability.”

“And Lyra?” Caelan demanded. “She’s your daughter.”

Selene’s gaze flickered just once.

“She’ll be taken care of,” she said. “If you sign the divorce and step aside.”

Silence flooded the room.

“You’re trading us,” Caelan said slowly. “For access.”

“I’m choosing survival,” Selene corrected. “Power decides who gets saved.”

Caelan left without signing anything.

Back at the hospital, Lyra was asleep again. He sat beside her, holding her small hand like it was the only solid thing left in the world.

His phone buzzed.

Another message from the unknown number.

Wise men know when to let go.

Caelan closed his eyes.

He thought of his mother’s face. Of promises made at her bedside. Of everything that had been taken from him quietly, legally, completely.

And for the first time in years, despair curdled into something darker.

“If power decides,” he whispered, looking at his daughter, “then I’ll take it.”

The room was silent.

Then—

DING!

A sound, crisp and unnatural, echoed directly inside his mind.