After My Husband Sacrificed Our Baby for His Mistress

By noon, the sky over Manhattan turned pitch black.

Then the storm hit. Rain slammed against the penthouse windows like handfuls of gravel. The wind shrieked through the high-rise towers.

I was wiping down the kitchen counters when I saw it. Sitting on the console table by the front door was a small white bottle and a blister pack.

Kian’s midday heart medication.

My chest went tight. It was an immunosuppressant and a beta-blocker. His body needed them every twelve hours, without fail. If he missed his two o’clock dose, his heart rate would spike. His blood pressure would go wild. For five years, I had never let him miss a single pill.

I checked the clock on the stove. It was already one-fifteen.

I grabbed my trench coat and stuffed the pills deep into my inner pocket.

Outside, the street was a disaster. Cabs sped past, splashing dirty water onto the sidewalks, their yellow roof lights off. The wind ripped my umbrella inside out before I even reached the corner. I threw the broken metal into a trash can and ran toward the subway.

The rain felt like needles against my face. Cold water soaked through my coat, through my wool sweater, straight to my skin. But my right hand stayed tucked inside my chest pocket, clutching the medication to keep it dry.

I took the train down to SoHo.

Kian was at The Gilded Oak, an exclusive members-only club on Mercer Street. He was hosting a luncheon with three venture capitalists from London.

By the time I reached the heavy brass doors, my boots squelched with every step. My hair hung in dark, wet ropes around my face. Water dripped from my cuffs.

The doorman stepped into my path, his brow furrowed in disgust. "Ma'am, this is a private club."

"I’m Katalina Edwards," I said. My teeth were chattering so hard I could barely get the words out. "My husband is in the VIP lounge. He forgot his medicine."

The man hesitated, recognizing the name. He pulled the heavy door open. "Second floor, Mrs. Edwards."

The heat inside the club hit me like a wall.

It smelled like cedar wood, expensive cigars, and aged scotch. Soft jazz played through hidden speakers. Wealthy men in custom suits laughed softly over crystal tumblers.

I walked down the plush Persian runner. Water trailed behind me, dark and heavy on the fabric. People turned to stare. I heard a quiet chuckle from a nearby table. I didn't care. I kept my eyes straight ahead.

I found Kian in the private corner alcove.

He looked sharp and untouchable in a charcoal three-piece suit. Across from him sat two older men with silver hair.

And on the velvet sofa right beside Kian was Aspyn.

She wore a cream-colored silk blouse and slim trousers. Her hair was dry, styled in soft, glossy waves. She had one leg tucked beneath her, looking completely at home. In her hand, she swirled a coupe of champagne.

She saw me first. Her painted lips curved into a faint, mocking smile.

"He never asked you to do that, sweetie," Aspyn cooed. Her voice carried easily over the soft jazz. "He never asks you for anything."

The two British investors stopped talking. They looked from Aspyn to me, their eyes sweeping over my soaking, dripping clothes.

Kian turned around.

When he saw me standing there, shivering like a drowned stray, his face went rigid. The warmth drained out of his expression. His jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jump. He wasn't worried about his health. He was humiliated.

"Katalina," he said. His voice was low and dangerous. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I stepped forward. My wet boots squeaked on the dark oak floor. I pulled the medication from my pocket and held it out in my trembling palm.

"You left them by the door," I whispered. "It's two-fifteen, Kian. You're already late. You have to take the white one now."

Kian looked at the blister pack in my hand, then glanced at the two investors. The older man cleared his throat and looked away awkwardly.

That was all it took.

Kian stood up abruptly. The chair legs scraped against the wood.

"I told you to stop hovering," he snapped.

He didn't just take the pills. He swung his arm out and shoved my hand away.

The blow caught my wrist with brutal force. My wet soles lost their grip on the slick floor. I gasped as my feet went out from under me.

I fell hard, stumbling backward.

My hip smashed violently into a low glass side table.

There was a deafening *CRACK*.

The thick glass tabletop fractured into a spiderweb of jagged lines. The shock rattled through my bones. I caught myself against the paneled wall with one hand, scraping my palm raw against the edge of the wood. A dull, throbbing pain shot up my thigh and into my spine.

The entire lounge went dead silent.

The ice in the investors' glasses stopped clinking. The waiter froze in his tracks.

Nobody moved. Nobody came forward to offer a hand.

I looked up from the floor.

Aspyn sat back on the velvet cushions. She took a slow, delicate sip of her champagne. Over the rim of her glass, she gave me a small, satisfied smile.

Kian didn't even look down at me. He just reached down, pulled his cuffs straight, and adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket.

"Excuse my wife, gentlemen," Kian said, his voice completely calm. "She has a habit of being dramatic."

He sat back down and picked up his scotch. He turned his back to me.

I stayed on the floor for a few seconds. My soaked jeans clung to my bruised skin. My hand was stinging. But beneath the cold and the pain, something inside me finally went quiet. The last thread of hope snapped.

I pushed myself up against the wall.

My knees shook, but I forced my back straight. I picked up the plastic pill case from the floor where it had rolled.

I set it down on the corner of the cracked glass table, right next to his elbow.

"Take them," I said softly.

He didn't turn around.

I didn't wipe the water from my face. I didn't say another word. I turned on my heel and walked out of the warm, golden room, heading straight back into the freezing rain.