His First Love Got My Heart - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Chase Holloway hovered over the profile for what felt like an eternity before finally clicking. The avatar showed Foster smiling with him in happier times—back when everything had seemed perfect. The most recent post, dated the night he'd gone to Grace's house, read:
[Goodbye, North City.]
Below it, the IP address glared back at him—Canada.
His stomach lurched. His breath hitched as the pieces clicked into place.
Adam had taken leave from the hospital recently. For a trip. To Canada.
While Chase had been drowning in chaos, Adam had been with .
Earlier, in Canada...
Adam had accompanied me to my prenatal checkup.
"The baby's healthy," the doctor assured us, though she suggested I rest more and eat better. I exhaled, running a hand over my belly. Adam squeezed my shoulder, his voice steady.
"You're okay," he said. "I've got you."
His calm presence was an unexpected comfort.
Lately, Adam had done everything to support me. Whenever I asked about the U.S., he'd brush it off—"Everything's under control." For the first time in months, I felt... safe.
It was strange, remembering how Chase used to describe Adam—cold, unapproachable, the kind of man whose sternness kept even the most determined nurses at bay.
But the Adam in front of me? Wearing the ridiculous apron I'd bought him, humming as he cooked dinner? That wasn't the man Chase had painted.
"You shouldn't be standing," he chided. "From now on, I handle meals. Just focus on you and the baby."
I'd asked him more than once why he was helping me. His answers were always the same—a shrug, a half-smile.
"Because I'm a good person."
And I believed him.
What other reason could there be? He had no obligation to take in a pregnant woman with a wrecked life. It wasn't lust—my tired reflection made that clear. Between my swollen belly and exhausted face, I barely recognized myself.
Adam owed me nothing. Yet here he was. When this was over, I'd find a way to thank him properly.
Before returning to the U.S., Adam hired a nanny.
"Don't overdo it," he reminded me. "Let her handle everything. No stress. No dwelling. Just rest."
I nodded, watching his plane vanish into the clouds.
The nanny refused to stop calling me "ma'am." After a few failed corrections, I gave up.
For a while, I existed in peaceful isolation, unaware of the storm back home.
Unaware that Chase had found my letter in the organ donor registry.
Unaware that the discovery had destroyed him.
Chase wandered the streets that night, rain soaking through his clothes until he collapsed.
Grace confronted him at the hospital—screaming, sobbing, a public spectacle that ruined his reputation. Patients avoided him. The hospital let him go. Adam seized the moment, pressuring Grace into a divorce.
Grace's schemes didn't end there. She tried conning another woman, got caught, and landed in jail.
Meanwhile, Chase unraveled.
Drunk and broken, he stumbled into our old apartment one night. The emptiness echoed. He crumpled to the floor, shaking, tears streaming down his face.
I never responded to a single one of his messages.