After My Groom Proposed to His Mistress at Our Wedding

Two days after my world collapsed at Chase's mansion, I sat in the sterile waiting room of Dr. Brennan's office, my hands trembling as I filled out form after form. Name: Madison Cooper. Emergency contact: I hesitated, then wrote Chloe's name instead of Chase's. The pen felt heavy in my hand.

A young mother across from me bounced a gurgling baby on her knee, cooing softly. The sight made my throat tighten. Would that be me in eight months? A single mother, alone with my child? Or would Chase step up once the shock wore off?

"Madison Cooper?" The nurse called my name, her smile professional but kind.

I followed her through the corridor, past examination rooms where other women's lives were changing. The nurse took my vitals, her eyebrows lifting slightly at my elevated blood pressure.

"First pregnancy?" she asked, making a note on my chart.

"Yes," I whispered, the word catching in my throat.

Dr. Brennan entered moments later, a tall woman with silver-streaked hair and eyes that had seen everything. She reviewed my paperwork, asked about my medical history, then had me lie back on the examination table.

"How far along do you think you are?"

"About six weeks," I said, calculating back to that night after Chase's victory in Daytona, when he'd promised me the world and I'd believed him. Again.

The ultrasound was inconclusive—too early to see much. Dr. Brennan frowned slightly as she studied the screen.

"Your hormone levels are a bit lower than I'd like to see," she said carefully. "And your blood pressure concerns me. I want you to take it very easy for the next few weeks. No stress."

I nearly laughed at that. No stress, when my entire life had just imploded.

"Is the baby in danger?" I asked, my voice small.

"Early pregnancies are delicate," she said, not quite answering my question. "I'm going to prescribe some supplements and want to see you again next week."

She handed me a stack of pamphlets and prescriptions, her expression softening. "Do you have support at home, Madison? These first weeks can be challenging, especially if you're experiencing emotional distress."

I nodded automatically, the lie easier than explaining that the father of my baby had just publicly proposed to another woman.

Twenty minutes later, I walked through the clinic's sliding doors into the bright afternoon sunlight, my arms full of paperwork and prenatal vitamins. Despite Dr. Brennan's concerns, a fragile hope had taken root. This baby was mine—something pure and untainted by Chase's betrayal.

I was halfway across the parking lot when I heard the engine rev. Turning, I saw Amanda's sleek BMW accelerating toward me, sunlight glinting off its polished hood. Our eyes met through the windshield—hers cold and determined, mine widening in sudden understanding.

There was no time to move. The impact sent me flying backward, my body connecting with the asphalt in a sickening thud. Papers scattered like confetti around me. A scream tore from my throat—not from pain, but from the primal knowledge that something precious was in danger.

"Someone call an ambulance!" A woman's voice shouted from somewhere nearby.

I lay on the hot pavement, one hand instinctively covering my stomach. Through shock-blurred vision, I saw Amanda emerge from her car, her face a perfect mask of distress.

"I didn't see her!" she cried to the gathering crowd. "She just stepped right in front of me!"

Darkness crept at the edges of my consciousness as strangers' hands gently turned me over. Warm wetness spread between my legs, and I knew—I knew before anyone told me—what was happening.

"Please," I whispered to no one and everyone. "Please save my baby."

The hospital lights were too bright, the voices too loud. I drifted in and out of awareness as doctors and nurses worked around me. Someone mentioned internal bleeding. Someone else said the word "miscarriage" in a hushed tone they thought I couldn't hear.

Hours later—or perhaps it was minutes—the door to my room burst open. Chase stood there, his face pale with shock. For one heartbreaking moment, I thought he'd come for me.

Then Amanda appeared behind him, cradling her arm in an exaggerated display of injury. A small bandage covered a scratch on her forehead.

"Baby, are you okay?" Chase rushed to her side, his hands gentle as they examined her minor wounds.

I lay there, hooked to monitors, my body emptying itself of the life we had created, and watched as he tended to the woman who had deliberately taken everything from me.

A doctor I hadn't seen before entered, clipboard in hand. He glanced at Chase and Amanda, then at me, his expression clinical and detached.

"Ms. Cooper," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "I'm sorry to inform you that you've lost the pregnancy."

Chase's head snapped up, his eyes meeting mine across the room. In that moment, I saw something flicker across his face—guilt, perhaps, or the faintest shadow of grief. But then Amanda whimpered dramatically, and his attention returned to her.

I closed my eyes, tears streaming silently down my temples into my hair. The baby was gone. My last connection to the man I'd loved for eight years, severed as deliberately as Amanda had aimed her car.

And Chase—the man who had promised me forever after 999 love letters—couldn't even cross the room to hold my hand while I mourned alone.