After His Secret Son Cost Me Our Baby

Three weeks after Lydia Pierce appeared at the front desk, she brought Hayes lunch.

I saw it from the third-floor railing. A glass container with something colorful inside. Quinoa, maybe. Roasted vegetables. The kind of meal that took effort.

She set it on the reception desk and waited. Hayes came down the stairs at noon, right on schedule. She handed it to him. He smiled. Said something that made her laugh.

I turned away and went back to my office.

The product launch was in four weeks. I had presentations to finalize. Investor decks to review. A keynote speech to write. I opened my laptop and worked.

At seven that evening, I walked past Hayes' office on my way out. The lights were off. His jacket was gone.

Lydia's desk in the lobby was empty too.

I drove home alone.

The pattern repeated. Homemade lunches. Lingering conversations by the elevators. Lydia staying late, reorganizing the supply closet no one asked her to touch. I watched her rearrange the guest chairs in the lobby one afternoon, angling them toward Hayes' office door.

Marcus stopped by my office on a Tuesday. He closed the door behind him.

"The group chat is out of control," he said.

I looked up from my screen. "What group chat?"

"The company one. People are talking." He hesitated. "About Hayes and Lydia."

"Let them talk."

"Scarlett—"

"Marcus." I kept my voice even. "Unless it affects their work, it's not my concern."

He studied me for a moment. Then nodded and left.

I worked until midnight that night. And the next. And the one after that.

The fever started on a Thursday.

I woke up at five-thirty with my skin on fire. The sheets were damp. I sat up and the room tilted.

I made it to the office anyway. Took ibuprofen at my desk. Drank cold water. Kept working.

By noon, I couldn't focus on the screen. The words blurred together. I stood to get more water and my legs gave out.

I woke up on the floor of my office. Marcus was crouched beside me, his phone to his ear.

"—need an ambulance at Apex Ventures, third floor—"

I tried to sit up. "I'm fine."

"You're burning up," Marcus said. "Don't move."

The paramedics arrived. They took my temperature. One-oh-three point seven. They loaded me onto a stretcher. I watched the ceiling tiles pass overhead as they wheeled me to the elevator.

The hospital room was white and cold. A nurse hooked me up to an IV. Fluids, she said. Rest. Someone would be in to check on me.

I pulled out my phone. Called Hayes.

It rang four times.

"Hey," he said. Background noise. Voices. A door closing. "What's up?"

"I'm at Swedish Medical," I said. "I collapsed at work."

Silence.

"Are you okay?" His voice shifted. Concerned. "What happened?"

"Fever. Exhaustion. They're running tests."

"Jesus. Okay. I'll—" He stopped. More background noise. A woman's voice, faint. Lydia. "Scarlett, today is Coleson's parent-teacher conference. It's his first one with a father present. I can't miss it."

I looked at the IV drip. Watched the clear liquid slide down the tube into my arm.

"Okay," I said.

"I'll come right after. I promise. Two hours, tops."

"Okay."

"Scarlett—"

I hung up.

I set the phone on the bedside table. Stared at the ceiling. The fluorescent lights hummed.

Baylee arrived an hour later. She came through the door like a storm, dropping her purse on the chair and crossing to the bed.

"Where is he?" she said.

"Parent-teacher conference."

Her jaw tightened. She didn't say anything. Just pulled the chair closer and sat down.

We didn't talk. She scrolled through her phone. I closed my eyes.

The door opened at six-thirty.

I thought it was Hayes.

It was Lydia.

She stood in the doorway holding a small bouquet. Grocery-store flowers. Carnations and baby's breath wrapped in plastic.

"Scarlett," she said softly. "I heard what happened. I wanted to check on you."

Baylee's head snapped up. She looked at Lydia. Then at me.

I said nothing.

Lydia walked to the bedside. Set the flowers on the table. Sat in the chair Baylee had just vacated.

"Hayes felt terrible," Lydia said. "But Coleson's conference was so important. You understand, don't you? A child needs his father to show up. To be present." She smiled. A soft, sympathetic smile. "I'm sure you'd do the same if it were your child."

She paused.

"Maybe someday," she added.

Baylee stood. "Get out."

Lydia blinked. Looked at her. "I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. Get out."

Lydia turned to me. "Scarlett, I didn't mean to upset anyone—"

"Leave," I said quietly.

She hesitated. Then stood. Smoothed her sweater. Picked up her purse.

"Feel better," she said.

She walked out.

Baylee stood at the door until Lydia's footsteps faded down the hall. Then she turned to me.

"I'm going to destroy her," she said.

I looked at the flowers on the table. Cheap carnations already wilting in the plastic.

"Not yet," I said.

Baylee sat back down. Took my hand.

I stared at the ceiling and thought about the word *someday*.

How it sounded like a promise.

How it felt like a threat.