Bleeding Out for My Husband's First Love

When Chad reached home, the nightlight in the nursery was still on.

Its warm glow pooled over the brand-new crib, which was neatly made with the sheets I had washed and dried.

My hospital bag sat wide open on the couch, packed with tiny clothes and diapers. On the entryway shoe rack lay my pregnancy journal. And on the dining table was a note with my pre-written postpartum meal plan.

Chad looked around the empty living room. His brows furrowed deeper.

He probably expected to find me sitting on the couch waiting for him, demanding to know why he saved Lucy first with red-rimmed eyes.

But the house was dead quiet, save for the ticking of the wall clock.

He walked over to the table and picked up the note.

On the back of it was an emergency contingency plan I had written out for my delivery. "If I hemorrhage, please prioritize the baby. If I don't make it off the operating table, please tell Chad never to let Lucy near our child."

Chad let out a cold sneer, crumpled the note into a ball, and tossed it into the trash can.

"Playing these scare tactics again," he muttered.

He pulled out his phone and dialed my number again.

The line offered nothing but a cold, automated voice stating the phone was turned off.

Switching to the messaging app, he tapped the screen forcefully.

"That's enough. Your due date is any day now. Stop risking your health over a grudge.

"I've already handled the situation with Lucy. She's a patient. Don't need to keep score with her.

"Once you're on maternity leave, you'll have some free time to keep Lucy company and help her through this with some counseling."

The messages were sent, but the silence remained unbroken.

Chad threw his phone onto the couch and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Right then, his phone rang.

The caller ID showed Professor Eve Richards, my medical school advisor, who had always treated me like her own daughter.

Chad answered, his tone shifting back to his usual polite but detached voice. "Professor Richards, what can I do for you?"

"Chad, where are you right now?" Eve's voice was trembling, thick with suppressed rage.

Chad glanced at the crumpled note in the trash, naturally assuming I had run to complain.

"I'm at home. If Caitlin sent you to play mediator, you can save your breath. If she wants an apology, she can walk back through that door herself. She's about to be a mother, yet she's still acting this spoiled."

A heavy, ragged breath came through the receiver. "Spoiled? Chad, do you have any idea what happened last night?"

"Of course I do," Chad said, his tone turning icy. "Lucy had an episode and accidentally scratched her. I already had Lucy apologize. What more does she want?

"If she feels that wronged, I'll buy her that jewelry set she's been eyeing for months as compensation once the baby is born."

"Are you even human?" Eve roared into the phone. "I don't care how much you usually favor that other woman, but last night was her due date! You—"

Before Eve could finish speaking, Chad's second phone started buzzing. It was a video call from Lucy.

Without a second thought, he hung up on Eve.

He answered the video call, and Lucy's tear-streaked face filled the screen.

"Chad, you have to come back! Quick! I dreamed about her! She came after me with a knife, saying she was going to kill me! I'm so scared!"

Chad stood up and grabbed his car keys without a moment's hesitation. "Don't be scared. I'm on my way."

As he reached the entryway, his eyes caught a beautifully wrapped velvet box.

It was a silver baby anklet he had picked up on a whim while attending a medical forum last week.

Engraved on it was the name he had casually thrown out—Grace.

It seemed he originally planned to use it to appease me after the delivery.

He slipped the box into his pocket and locked the door behind him.

…

By the time Chad rushed into the VIP suite, Lucy was cowering in the corner of her bed, pointing out the window and screaming, "She's here! She's holding the baby, and she's coming for me!"