Liora collapsed.
Her knees buckled beneath her just moments after Rivan's car disappeared down the driveway. Keal caught her before she hit the floor, shouting her name as panic swept through his body. Her face was pale, lips trembling, breath coming in short, frantic gasps.
"Liora! Hey—Liora!" he called, gathering her in his arms.
She barely opened her eyes, whispering, "My stomach… hurts."
Within minutes, Keal had called for an ambulance. The luxury hospital they were rushed to gleamed under sterile white lights, cold and impersonal. Rivan had arranged for premium medical access for all three of them years ago — back when they still lived like a family.
Now, Liora lay in the hospital bed, pale against the crisp white sheets. Machines beeped gently in the background, reminding Keal that time hadn't stopped, even if their world had.
The doctor approached with careful words. "She's four months pregnant. The collapse was from emotional shock. The baby is fine—for now—but she must avoid all stress moving forward."
Keal sat beside her, holding her hand. She stirred weakly.
"Four months," she whispered, her voice hoarse.
Keal smiled bitterly. "He doesn't even know."
Tears slipped down her cheeks. "He wouldn't care… Not after what he did."
Keal didn't answer. Because a part of him, deep and ugly, wondered the same.
They spent the next 24 hours in the hospital in silence. Not just because words failed, but because the future loomed like a storm cloud neither of them could push away.
When the nurse stepped in with discharge papers, Liora hesitated.
"We can't come back here," she said softly, glancing around the gleaming, sterile room.
Keal looked at her.
"We don't have enough money for places like this anymore."
Keal rubbed his face tiredly. "I'll do whatever it takes. For you, for the kids. Even if I have to clean streets or dig ditches. We'll make it work."
She nodded slowly, heart aching.
As the car drove them home, the house felt colder than ever. Even though the children were asleep, the air inside was heavy with the weight of what had just happened. They laid the twins down gently, pressing kisses to their foreheads, whispering quiet promises.
That night, Liora sat on the edge of the bed, still dressed in her hospital clothes.
"He really thinks we didn't love him," she whispered.
Keal sat beside her, gently rubbing her back. "He's lost in himself. And now we're the ones left to clean up the mess."
"We trusted him with everything," she whispered, voice cracking. "And he... threw us away."
Keal didn't reply. He didn't have the words.
Because he, too, had believed that Rivan would never, ever hurt them.
And now?
Now they had nothing but an empty house and bruised hearts.
---
The next morning, neither of them spoke of Rivan. They moved in silence, packing essentials, making lists, keeping things organized so the kids wouldn't notice.
They didn't leave a note.
Not a single word.
Because they didn't owe him an explanation. Because in their minds, he had already made his choice.
Liora found the real estate documents—he had bought a villa months ago. Quietly. In his name only. Her heart broke all over again.
"He planned it," she said, staring at the screen. "He bought that place while still sleeping in our bed. Laughing with the twins."
Keal clenched his fists. "He was preparing to leave."
The betrayal sunk in deeper. There was no way to understand it, no way to justify it. The love they had believed in—built a family on—felt like a cruel illusion.
---
They sold the house.
Quickly, quietly, and for less than it was worth.
They packed up only what they could carry. The rest of Rivan's things—his suits, his books, his watches, even the framed family photo he once called his "greatest treasure"—were boxed and sent to his company office.
No note.
No return address.
Just silence.
They changed their numbers.
Blocked his manager.
Disconnected from every shared account.
Then, with nothing but three suitcases, two sleepy children, and a hope to survive, they moved to a small town hours away. Cheap housing. Modest surroundings. Two bedrooms: one for the kids, one for them.
The walls were thin. The stove hissed before it lit. But it was peaceful. Quiet.
And theirs.
Liora turned the small kitchen into a warm corner of the world. Keal found work fixing things for neighbors, taking whatever came. They renamed everything — even the kids' last names in school registrations. No one would know where they had come from.
No one would find them.
---
Meanwhile, Rivan finished his business trip earlier than expected.
His heart was lighter, mind filled with imaginary conversations: how he'd tell them he was sorry, how he'd explain the misunderstanding — that he never meant to hurt them. That he only moved the assets to protect them all. That he was manipulated.
He even bought little gifts for the twins. Soft shoes for Keal. A handmade charm necklace for Liora. He carried the bag with pride.
He imagined their shocked, relieved faces.
He didn't expect the house to be empty.
He didn't expect silence.
He didn't expect to walk into a hollow space stripped of warmth, echoes bouncing off bare walls.
"Liora?" he called out.
No answer.
"Keal?"
Only the faint creak of the floorboards.
He ran through the rooms like a man chasing ghosts.
The kids' bedroom—bare.
Closets—empty.
Family pictures—gone.
Panic clawed at his throat. He grabbed his phone and called Keal. Disconnected. He called Liora. Number no longer in service.
His fingers trembled as he called his manager.
"They resigned last week, sir," came the clipped response. "Said to send your belongings to the office. They didn't leave a forwarding address."
He staggered back, heart crashing against his ribs.
"No. No, no, no—" he dropped his phone and collapsed onto the couch, clutching his chest.
He never thought they would leave.
He thought they would be angry, yes.
He thought there would be tears.
But he believed—foolishly, naively—that when he came back, he could fix everything. That love would be enough.
But love, he was learning, wasn't a guarantee.
And now they were gone.
And he had no idea where to start.
---
In the small town, life moved gently.
The twins turned five soon. They helped Liora set the table and brought Keal his tools. They still asked about Rivan sometimes. Not with anger. Just with wide-eyed confusion.
"Where's Daddy?" the boy twin would ask.
"Far away," Liora would say softly, holding back tears.
And every time, she'd press a hand to her belly.
Because one day soon, she'd have to answer that question for another child too.
A child Rivan would never know.
A child who, like her siblings, would grow up thinking their father disappeared.
And maybe… that would be easier than explaining the truth.
That he let fear win.
That he left before he understood what he truly had.
That he was just too late.
---