I Miscarried In Hospital, He Kissed His Mistress On Live TV

"Elowen, can you hear me?"

The voice pierced the heavy fog in my head.

"My stomach," I gasped.

A tearing sensation ripped through my lower abdomen. I curled inward, clutching the sterile white sheets.

"Keep still," a woman said.

I forced my eyes open. A doctor in blue scrubs stood at the foot of my bed. Her name tag read *Dr. Aris*.

"Where am I? Why does it feel like I'm being cut in half?"

"You're at City General," Dr. Aris said, her tone level but soft. "Paramedics brought you in two hours ago. You collapsed on the street."

"Give me something for the pain." I gritted my teeth. "Please."

"We already started an IV drip. It will kick in soon." She stepped closer, folding her hands over her clipboard. "Elowen, is there anyone we can call? A partner? Family?"

"My boyfriend," I choked out. "Jude. Call Jude."

"We need to discuss your condition first."

"Just tell me what's wrong with me."

Dr. Aris met my gaze. "You suffered a severe hemorrhage. I am incredibly sorry, Elowen. You lost the baby."

The room stopped spinning. Everything went dead silent.

"What?" I whispered.

"You were ten weeks pregnant. The miscarriage was already in progress when you arrived."

"No." I shook my head, pressing my palms against my stomach. "No, you're wrong. I just found out last week. I haven't even told him yet."

"The ultrasound confirmed it. There was no heartbeat."

"Check again!" I yelled.

"The procedure is over. We had to intervene to stop the bleeding."

Tears spilled over my cheeks. I stared at the blank white ceiling. The tiny life I had planned to surprise Jude with tonight—gone.

"I need my phone," I demanded.

"You need to rest."

"Give me my damn phone!"

Dr. Aris sighed, pointing to the plastic tray on the bedside table. "I will give you a few minutes. Press the call button if the pain worsens."

She walked out, the heavy door clicking shut behind her.

I lunged for the tray. My fingers fumbled with the screen. I found his contact. *Jude.*

I pressed call and held the speaker to my ear.

*Ring. Ring. Ring.*

"Pick up," I muttered. "Please, Jude, pick up."

*Hey, it's Jude. Leave a message.*

"Jude, it's Elowen," I said, my voice shaking. "I'm at City General. Something terrible happened. Please call me back immediately. I need you."

I hung up and dialed again.

Straight to voicemail.

"Why aren't you answering?" I slammed the phone against the mattress.

Right. The Super Bowl.

I grabbed the television remote from the side rail and hit the power button. The wall-mounted screen flared to life.

The volume was low, but the roar of the stadium was unmistakable. Confetti rained down in a violent storm of red and gold.

"And the clock runs out! The Falcons take the championship!" the announcer bellowed.

The camera panned across the field. Players jumped over each other, screaming and crying.

Then, the lens zoomed in.

Jude Lawson.

My secret boyfriend of two years. The man who promised me that once he won this ring, we wouldn't have to hide anymore. He stood in the center of the madness, hoisting the silver Lombardi trophy above his head. His face was smeared with sweat and turf, but his smile rivaled the stadium lights.

"You did it," I whispered, touching my flat, empty stomach. "You won."

I dialed his number a third time.

*Hey, it's Jude. Leave a message.*

"I'm watching you on TV," I cried into the receiver. "I lost our baby, Jude. I'm alone in a hospital bed. Look at your phone. Just look at it."

On the screen, a blonde woman pushed her way through the celebrating players. Serena Fox. The network’s top sideline reporter.

She shoved a microphone in Jude's face.

"Jude! You just threw the game-winning touchdown!" Serena shouted over the crowd noise. "How does it feel to be a champion?"

"Unreal!" Jude yelled back. "Best night of my life!"

"You promised your fans a surprise if you took home the trophy tonight. Care to share?"

I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. This was it. He was going to say my name. He was going to tell the world about the woman who stayed in the shadows, who cooked his meals, who nursed his injuries, who just lost his child.

"Yeah, I did promise," Jude said.

He didn't look at the camera. He looked at Serena.

His eyes dropped to her lips.

My heart stalled. "Jude, what are you doing?"

Jude wrapped his massive hand around the back of Serena's neck. He pulled her flush against his chest and smashed his mouth onto hers.

Right on live television. In front of millions of viewers.

Serena didn't push him away. She dropped the microphone. It dangled by its cord as she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him back with practiced perfection.

The crowd erupted. The announcer chuckled over the broadcast. "Well, folks, looks like Jude Lawson is taking home more than just a trophy tonight!"

They broke apart. Serena’s cheeks were flushed, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips.

Jude grabbed the dangling microphone. "Meet my girl, everyone! We're making it official!"

"I love you, Jude!" Serena yelled into the mic.

"Love you too, baby."

The television remote slipped from my fingers. It hit the linoleum floor with a sharp crack.

My chest caved in. I couldn't draw oxygen. The tearing pain in my abdomen was nothing compared to the violent rupture in my chest.

Two years.

Two years of sneaking out of his house before dawn. Two years of deleting texts. Two years of believing his excuses. *My agent says a public relationship will ruin my draft stock. Just wait until I win the big one, El. Then it's just you and me.*

All lies.

He hadn't been protecting his career. He had been protecting his options.

I stared at the screen. Jude spun Serena around, laughing, completely oblivious to the fact that my world had just burned to ash.

My phone buzzed on the mattress.

I snatched it up. The screen lit up with a new text message.

It wasn't from Jude.

It was from an unknown number.

*Unknown: Did you enjoy the show, Elowen?*

I stared at the words, my thumbs frozen over the keyboard.

*Unknown: He’s mine now. If you ever try to contact him again, I’ll make sure the press finds out exactly how pathetic you really are.*

Another message popped up instantly, containing a photo.

I clicked it.

It was a picture of Jude sleeping in a hotel bed. Serena’s manicured hand rested on his bare chest. The timestamp was from last night. The night before the Super Bowl. The night he told me he was in solitary film study.

I threw the phone at the wall. It shattered into pieces, just like every promise he ever made me.

The hospital room door swung open.

I didn't turn around. "I said I want to be alone, Dr. Aris."

"I'm not the doctor."

The voice was deep. Masculine. Completely unfamiliar.

I whipped my head toward the door.

A man stood in the doorway, dressed in a sharp black suit. His dark eyes locked onto mine, taking in my tear-stained face and the broken phone on the floor.

"Who are you?" I demanded, pulling the blankets up to my chest.

He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

"Someone who hates Jude Lawson just as much as you do right now," he said smoothly. "And I have a proposition for you."