After my divorce, I became a racing queen

He froze, eyes wide in shock as I shoved him away. Before anger could twist his face, a knock rattled the door.

“Liam!” Vanessa’s voice trembled, urgent and sweet at once. “Noah won’t stop crying—I’ve tried everything! Please, come help me!”

Liam frowned, torn for a moment, then sighed and released me.

“I’ll go see what’s going on.”

But instead of leaving, Vanessa appeared in the doorway, gently pushing Noah toward me.

“Clara,” she said breathlessly, “please take care of him for a bit. I really can’t calm him down.”

Before I could respond, she tugged Liam’s arm and hurried away, leaving me with the boy.

The moment Noah stepped inside, he began wreaking havoc—jumping on the bed, hurling things off shelves, scattering everything I had just neatly packed.

I tried to stay calm. “Noah, it’s late. You should be in bed.”

He glared at me, defiant. “Who are you to tell me what to do? You’re just a servant! I’m not going to sleep—and you can’t make me!”

My patience frayed. “Who taught you to speak like that?”

He only grinned, stuck out his tongue, then darted to the balcony, his small face twisted with spite.

“You’re just some poor maid pretending to be my dad’s wife! Let’s see what happens if you can’t take care of me!”

Before I could even process what he meant, he climbed onto the railing—

and jumped.

My heart stopped.

I lunged forward on instinct, catching his wrist at the very last second.

The sudden weight wrenched my arm; the old balcony rail gave a sharp crack—then snapped clean in half.

The world tilted.

We fell.

I managed to grab hold of a metal water pipe, the rust biting into my palm. My other hand clamped desperately around Noah’s wrist.

We dangled three stories above the ground, bodies swaying against the cold night air.

“Noah!”

“Clara!”

Liam and Vanessa’s screams echoed from inside. They burst through the balcony doors, faces drained of color.

Vanessa’s eyes filled with tears as she cried out, “It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have asked Clara to watch him. If she was angry with me, she could’ve taken it out on me—not on a child!”

“Enough!” Liam’s shout cut through her sobs. His gaze flicked between us—between me clinging to the pipe, and Noah slipping from my grasp.

In that split second, he had to choose.

Save me—the woman hanging closer to him, the one who had been his wife for eight years—

or save the only child his dead fiancée had left behind.

His jaw clenched. I saw the decision harden in his eyes before he moved.

He reached over me—past my trembling arms—and grabbed Noah. With one strong pull, he hauled the boy to safety.

And then, just as relief crossed his face, Vanessa stumbled forward. Her shoulder slammed into me.

Pain exploded through my body. My fingers slipped.

And I fell.

The world spun into chaos—the wind, the rush, the final crack of impact.

Then nothing.

---

When I opened my eyes again, everything smelled like antiseptic. The light burned white and cruel.

Pain radiated from my forehead down my spine, but what chilled me most was the hollow ache in my abdomen—a deep, cold emptiness.

I was in a hospital bed. Liam sat beside me, his expression dark and unreadable. Vanessa leaned into him, her wrist wrapped in a bandage, her eyes rimmed red.

“Clara,” she whispered, her voice trembling just enough to sound sincere, “I know you hate me for taking your place. But Noah’s innocent. How could you try to push him off the balcony? If Liam hadn’t reacted in time, I—” Her voice broke theatrically. “I can’t even imagine what might’ve happened.”

My throat burned. “I didn’t push him,” I rasped. Every word tugged at the stitches across my ribs.

Noah peeked out from behind Liam, eyes wide and accusing.

“Yes, you did! Aunt Vanessa saw it! You tried to kill me so you could be alone with Dad!”

“Enough!”

Liam’s voice cracked like a whip. His fist slammed down on the nightstand. A glass shattered on the floor.

“Both witnesses saw it,” he snapped. “Don’t insult us by pretending otherwise. Vanessa’s shaken up and bleeding, and the hospital doesn’t have her blood type. You’re RH negative—you’ll donate. That’s the least you can do to make this right.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

The nurse entered, pushing a cart. The glint of the needle made my stomach turn.

“No,” I whispered. “I—I don’t feel well…”

“You don’t have a choice.”

Liam’s hand clamped down on my shoulder, the pressure bone-deep. “This is what you owe her—and what you owe us.”

The needle pierced my vein. A flash of sharp, searing pain raced up my arm.

I clenched my jaw, trying not to cry out, when suddenly a cramp tore through my lower abdomen—hot, blinding pain that made the world blur.

My body curled in on itself. Cold sweat soaked through the hospital gown. My fingers gripped the sheet. “It hurts…” My voice shook. “Liam, my stomach—”

He didn’t even look at me. “Stop faking. We’ll talk after you’re done.”

“Liam, maybe we shouldn’t—” Vanessa began softly, eyes glistening with false concern.

“She’s being dramatic,” he snapped. “It’s just a bit of blood. How bad could it be?”

The blood bag filled slowly, red against the white hospital walls.

My vision dimmed. My body trembled violently. Then—warmth spread beneath me.

The nurse gasped.

“Oh my god—she’s bleeding! She’s bleeding out!”