After His Mistress Stabbed Me, My Husband Chose Her

Chase didn't leave.

I heard him in the hallway. Pacing. His shoes squeaked on the linoleum. Back and forth. Back and forth.

I stared at the ceiling tiles. Counted them again. Lost track. Started over.

The door opened.

I didn't turn my head.

"Eli." His voice was rough. Wrecked. "Please. Just listen."

I kept my eyes on the ceiling.

He moved closer. I heard something rustle. Plastic. Paper.

"I found this," he said. "In your purse. The nurses gave it to me when they were processing your belongings."

I turned my head.

He was holding a small white stick. A pregnancy test. Two pink lines visible even from where I lay.

My breath stopped.

"You knew," he said. His voice broke. "You knew and you were going to tell me."

He held up something else. A small square of photo paper. Grainy. Black and white. An ultrasound image.

I'd taken that test three days ago. Made the appointment. Went alone. Got the picture. Tucked it into my purse with a note I'd been writing and rewriting in my head for seventy-two hours.

Chase unfolded a piece of paper. My handwriting. The note.

His hands shook as he read it out loud.

"'We're going to have a baby. Come home tonight — I'll make dinner.'"

He read it again. Softer. Like he was trying to make the words mean something different.

They didn't.

He sank to his knees beside the bed. The test and the ultrasound and the note clutched in his hands.

"I killed our baby," he said.

I didn't answer.

"I killed our baby," he said again. Louder. His face crumpled. "Oh God. Oh God, Eli, I didn't know. I didn't—"

He broke.

Completely.

Sobs tore out of him. Ugly and raw. His shoulders shook. His hands pressed against his face.

I watched him cry.

Felt nothing.

He reached into his pocket. Pulled something out. Metal glinted.

The Meteorite Diamond ring.

He held it up. The stone caught the fluorescent light. Beautiful. Expensive. Meaningless.

"Take it," he said. His voice was desperate. Pleading. "Please. Take it. It's yours. It was always supposed to be yours."

He pressed it into my palm. Closed my fingers around it.

The metal was cold. Heavy.

I looked at it. At the ring I'd wanted seven years ago. The ring he'd told me we didn't need.

I opened my hand.

The ring fell.

It hit the linoleum floor with a sharp ping. Bounced once. Rolled under the bed.

Chase stared at the empty space where it had been.

"Eli—"

"Get out," I said.

He didn't move.

The door opened again.

Two people entered. I knew them by the way they carried themselves. The particular weight of their presence.

Mom. Dad.

Bristol Bryant moved like a blade through water. Efficient. Precise. Her black blazer was immaculate. Her hair perfect.

Walker Bryant filled the doorway. Six foot three. Silver hair. A face that had built empires.

Chase stood quickly. Tried to compose himself. Failed.

"Mr. Bryant," he started. "I can explain—"

Dad didn't slow down.

He walked straight to Chase. Drew his hand back. And slapped him across the face.

The sound cracked through the room.

Chase's head snapped to the side. He stumbled. Caught himself against the wall.

Dad didn't say a word. Just walked past him. Came to my bedside. Looked down at me.

His eyes were dry. His jaw tight.

He didn't speak.

Mom followed. She pulled a chair close. Sat down. Took my hand in both of hers.

She held it for forty-five seconds. I counted.

Then she stood. Smoothed her blazer. Walked back into the hallway.

I heard her heels click away. Heard her voice. Low. Controlled.

"Terminate everything."

A pause.

"Every contract. Every joint venture. Every co-investment. I want the Bryant name removed from anything connected to Kelley Group by morning."

Another pause.

"I don't care what it costs us. Do it."

Chase pushed off the wall. Stumbled into the hallway after her.

"Mrs. Bryant, please—"

Mom's voice cut through.

"You put your hands on my daughter. You killed my grandchild. And you want to negotiate?"

Silence.

"Get out of my sight," Mom said. "Before I have you arrested."

Footsteps. Running. Chase's phone started ringing. Didn't stop.

Dad sat down in the chair Mom had vacated. He didn't take my hand. Just sat there. Solid. Present.

"We're taking you home," he said.

I nodded.

Mom came back in. Her phone was still in her hand. She made another call. I heard fragments.

"...identity reveal... yes, the Bryant heiress... seven years... I want it everywhere by morning."

She hung up. Made another call.

"...stock liquidation... every share... I don't care about the loss..."

Another call.

"...legal team... divorce proceedings... I want him buried."

She finally put the phone down. Looked at me.

"It's done," she said.

I closed my eyes.

Heard more footsteps in the hallway. Voices. Urgent. Panicked.

Chase's voice rising above them.

"What do you mean the stock is down forty percent? It's been two hours!"

Someone answered. I couldn't hear the words.

"The Bryant family did what?"

Mom's expression didn't change.

Dad reached over. Patted my hand once. Gentle.

"Sleep," he said. "We'll handle the rest."

I wanted to thank him. Couldn't form the words.

The door was still open. I could see into the hallway. See Chase against the far wall. His phone pressed to his ear. His face white.

He looked up. Our eyes met.

I saw it all there. The realization. The horror. The understanding of what he'd lost.

Not just me.

Everything.

I turned away.

Counted ceiling tiles.

One. Two. Three.

Four.

Seven years.

Gone.