Doxycycline
Hello, angels! If you're reading this book, then you are an angel created specially for me!
Hehe!
Sorry, I'm a little silly... and happy. ♡
This was my first work when I wanted to write for webnovel. I'm still going to publish it there, but i'm already writing a book there < From Deadbeat To Doting: Something Is Wrong With My Husband!> You can read that, BUT, don't come for me if this isn't Inkitt worthy. I just want to see if this gets traction. If it does, I'll def update more.
Anyway, hope you enjoy this... Blah, blah, blah. My username on Webnovel is actually<Dóe> I wrote dark romance and all.
Dont steal this story idea, I'll come for you 🔪!!! This is NOT a joke.
~♡~
Kathleen Hillary never expected her miscarriage to come with prescription for an STD.
The pharmacy was quiet enough for her embarrassment to echo. The bell above the door chimed when she walked in, and every small sound~the click of her heels, and the rustle of her bag~felt louder than it should have.
The pharmacist gave her a polite smile, the kind offered to someone who already looked unsteady.
“What can I help you with today?”
Kathleen lowered her gaze. “Doxycycline.”
The pharmacist paused. It was judgment~a moment too long of scrutinizing gaze. “Do you have a prescription?”
“Yes.” She pulled out the folded slip, hoping her fingers weren’t visibly shaking.
While the pharmacist typed, two women in line whispered behind her. Kathleen didn’t need to hear the words to know the tone.
She had been surrounded by that tone for years: public assumptions, unintelligent conclusions, everything people thought they understood about a marriage that looked perfect from a distance.
The pharmacist finally set the small box on the counter. “Here you go. Just make sure you finish the course. These things tend to… come back if the cause isn’t addressed.”
The cause. It wasn't simple enough to "address."
If only he would use condoms.
Kathleen managed a thank you, tucked the box deep into her bag, and escaped outside before her composure could falter in public.
The moment she slid into the back seat of the Range Rover, her smile dropped. She didn’t bother to pretend with the bodyguard.
“Everything all right, Mrs. Hillary?”
"Mm."
"So we're going to the villa now?"
She nodded, though nothing about her felt steady. The children’s voices filled the car almost immediately~Aiden announcing he wanted the new video game edition, Aurora asking for a vacation, and Lila insisting on both.
Their noise was chaotic, warm, and familiar. She held onto it like a railing on a staircase she couldn’t see the bottom of.
Three weeks.
She had been three weeks pregnant.
After years of waiting before he even spared her a look. Moreover, a touch.
"Kathleen, all men cheat," and somehow she ended up with chlamydia.
She pressed a hand to her stomach. It wasn’t pain, not exactly, just heaviness. Part physical, part something she couldn’t name.
When they reached the villa, the children darted toward the house, leaving her walking behind at a slower pace. Her body felt off-balance, as if one wrong step would send everything unraveling again.
But she was hoping to just plop on her bed and sleep... though she had barely reached her bedroom when the housekeeper rushed in holding an ornate envelope.
“Mrs. Hillary,” she said cautiously, “your dress and mask arrived. For the masquerade ball tonight.”
Kathleen blinked. “Tonight?”
“You… knew about it,” the housekeeper said, shrinking a little under Kathleen’s stare. “Mr. Hillary had everything delivered earlier.”
The housekeeper set the envelope down and hurried out, as if sensing the fragile thread holding Kathleen together was close to snapping.
A masquerade tonight.
Of all nights.
She sat on the edge of the bed and breathed slowly until her chest hurt less. The feathery dress laid out for her shimmered under the bedroom lights—black feathers, silver embroidery, tailored perfectly to her shape.
Of course it fit perfectly. Curtis always knew her measurements, even when he hardly knew anything else about her anymore.
If she didn’t attend, he would notice. And noticing never ended well.
Eventually she showered, did her makeup by habit, and fastened the rhinestone mask over her face. It covered just enough to make her feel hidden—maybe even safe.
When she stepped into the dress and saw her reflection, she wasn’t sure whether she looked elegant or trapped.
Maybe both.
