After His Mistress Pushed Me, I Lost Our Baby

I stood in the mirror, my trembling fingers tracing the barely-there curve of my abdomen. Six weeks. The doctor's confirmation still echoed in my ears from yesterday's appointment. Six weeks pregnant with Alex's child—our child—and I couldn't bring myself to tell him.

The black Valentino dress I'd chosen for tonight's business dinner hung nearby, its sleek silhouette a silent mockery. Would it still fit? Would anyone notice? The questions swirled as I applied concealer to the dark circles under my eyes, evidence of nights spent crying myself to sleep since Madison's reappearance three weeks ago.

"Savannah!" Alex's voice cut through my thoughts, impatient. "The car is waiting."

I smoothed the dress over my stomach, took a steadying breath, and stepped into the living room. Alex barely glanced up from his phone, his attention fixed on the screen.

"You look nice," he said absently, the compliment hollow.

The Bentley waited downstairs, our driver holding the door. Alex's hand rested on the small of my back as we walked—a gesture that once made me feel cherished but now seemed mechanical, performed for the doorman's benefit rather than mine.

The restaurant, an exclusive Michelin-starred establishment in Tribeca, glowed with understated opulence. As we entered, I spotted her immediately. Madison Lane, resplendent in a crimson dress that made her pale skin luminous, stood chatting with Mrs. Morgan, Alex's mother. The older woman's face lit up at the sight of her son.

"Alexander, darling!" Mrs. Morgan air-kissed both his cheeks before turning a considerably cooler gaze on me. "Savannah."

I nodded politely, fighting the wave of nausea that had nothing to do with my pregnancy and everything to do with the seating arrangement becoming clear as we approached the table. Madison beside Alex. Me across from them, next to Mrs. Morgan.

"Such a pleasure to see you again," Madison said, her voice like honey over glass. "That dress is lovely on you, Savannah. So... simple."

I mumbled thanks, watching as Alex pulled out Madison's chair first, his fingers lingering on her bare shoulder a moment too long.

Throughout dinner, I pushed salmon around my plate, the smell suddenly revolting. Mrs. Morgan noticed, her shrewd eyes narrowing.

"Not hungry, dear? The chef prepared this specially."

"It's wonderful," I lied, forcing a small bite. "Just watching my figure."

Mrs. Morgan's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Not everyone thrives in our world, Alexander. Some find the pressure... overwhelming."

I felt the blood drain from my face as Alex merely nodded, engrossed in whatever Madison was whispering in his ear, her hand resting casually on his arm.

Our child deserved better than this. I deserved better.

* * *

Three days later, I stood in a corner of the Gagosian Gallery, surrounded by New York's art elite and feeling utterly alone. Alex had disappeared into the crowd with a potential investor, leaving me to fend for myself among people who viewed me as an accessory to his success.

I wore white tonight—a Dior dress I'd splurged on months ago, before Madison, before the pregnancy, when I still believed in the fantasy of our engagement. The fabric felt too tight now, constricting around my ribs as I tried to breathe through another wave of morning sickness that had decided to make an evening appearance.

"White is so brave," Madison's voice came from behind me. "Especially at an event with red wine flowing."

I turned to find her holding two glasses of cabernet, extending one toward me with a smile that didn't reach her calculating eyes.

"I'm not drinking tonight," I said carefully.

"Oh?" Her eyebrow arched. "How interesting."

Before I could respond, she stumbled forward—a movement so deliberately clumsy it couldn't have been anything but intentional. The red wine splashed across my dress, blooming like blood against the pristine fabric.

Gasps rose from nearby guests. Madison's hand flew to her mouth in mock horror.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Her voice carried, ensuring everyone turned to witness my humiliation.

I stood frozen, the cold liquid seeping through to my skin, staining not just the dress but what remained of my dignity.

"Here," Madison unwrapped an exquisite cashmere shawl from her shoulders and draped it around mine. She leaned close, her lips brushing my ear. "He'll always choose me, Savannah. Always."

I pulled away, fighting tears as Alex finally appeared, concern on his face—concern for the scene, not for me.

Later that night, I returned home alone. Alex had stayed behind, citing "damage control" with important clients. I slipped off the ruined dress and padded to the closet to hang up Madison's shawl.

That's when I saw it—an empty space in Alex's section of the walk-in closet, freshly cleared. And tucked in the corner, a small stack of silk scarves I'd never seen before, each monogrammed with elegant initials: M.L.

I sank to the floor, my hand protectively covering my stomach, when Alex's voice drifted from his study down the hall. I hadn't heard him come in.

"I miss you too," he was saying, his voice low and intimate in a way it never was with me. "Madison, you know how I feel... I've never stopped..."

The rest of his words blurred as blood rushed in my ears. I'd been a fool for so long, but no more. Not just for my sake, but for the tiny life growing inside me, I needed to find the strength to walk away.