Losing Baby to His Mistress

I stared at the hospital ceiling, counting the tiny holes in each acoustic tile as the nurse explained the procedure. Her voice sounded far away, as if I were underwater, drowning in a sea of impossible choices.

"Mrs. Mills, are you sure you want to proceed without anyone here to support you?" she asked gently.

I nodded, my throat too tight for words. Danny didn't even know I was here. He hadn't asked where I was going this morning, hadn't noticed the appointment card on the refrigerator, hadn't seen the tears I'd silently shed into my pillow for three nights straight.

"The doctor will be in shortly," she said, squeezing my hand before leaving.

Alone in the pre-op room, I placed my palm flat against my stomach. Eight weeks. Just a tiny flutter of life, barely begun, and now ending before it had a chance. My baby. Danny's baby. The child we'd once dreamed of having together, back when dreams still existed between us.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, tears sliding down my temples into my hair. "I'm so sorry."

When Dr. Mitchell came in, her face was composed but kind. "Ashley, we can still wait if you're not ready."

"And then what?" My voice cracked. "Die in three months instead of having a chance to live?"

She didn't argue. We both knew the statistics. Without immediate treatment, my chances dropped dramatically. With a baby, treatment wasn't possible.

"I'm ready," I said, though nothing inside me felt ready at all.

When I woke hours later, the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow emptiness that had settled in my chest. Mac was waiting in the recovery room, his normally composed face lined with worry.

"Ashley," he said, taking my hand in his. He didn't offer platitudes or false comfort, just his steady presence.

"He doesn't even know," I whispered, my voice raspy from the anesthesia. "My husband doesn't know I just lost our baby to save myself."

Mac's jaw tightened. "You didn't lose anything. You made an impossible choice that no one should ever have to make."

"I keep thinking... if things were different between us, maybe I would have chosen differently."

"Don't do that to yourself," Mac said firmly. "The cancer wouldn't have waited for your marriage to improve."

He helped me into the wheelchair, then into his car, and finally into my empty house—the house that had never really felt like a home. Danny had texted once: *Working late with Luciana on the Henderson account. Don't wait up.*

Mac made tea and sat with me until the worst of the physical pain subsided, until I could speak without feeling like I might shatter.

"This is the last sacrifice I make for him," I said finally, staring into my cup. "The very last one."

Mac nodded, understanding in his eyes. "What do you need me to do?"

"Find me a good divorce lawyer."

That night, after Mac left, Danny called. I watched his name flash on my phone screen, wondering if some part of him had sensed what had happened.

"Ashley? You sound strange," he said when I answered. No hello, no how are you.

"I'm tired," I replied, which wasn't a lie.

"Did you go to that doctor again? Get a second opinion?"

I closed my eyes. "Where are you, Danny?"

"Still at the office. Luciana ordered dinner for us. This client situation is a mess."

Of course. Luciana. Always Luciana.

"I'm going to bed," I said.

"You've been distant lately," he accused, as if I were the one pulling away.

After we hung up, I opened my laptop and typed: *best divorce lawyers in the city*. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long moment before I pressed enter.

Three days later, I stood outside Danny's office building, my heart hammering against my ribs. I needed to see him, to look him in the eye one last time before I ended our marriage. Maybe some small part of me still hoped for a miracle—that he would see me, really see me, and remember what we once meant to each other.

The reception desk was empty when I arrived. Voices drifted from behind Danny's closed door—his deep baritone and a softer, feminine murmur. I hesitated, then turned the handle.

Time seemed to slow as the door swung open. Danny had Luciana pressed against his desk, his hands tangled in her blonde hair, her lipstick smeared across his mouth. Her blouse was unbuttoned, revealing the lace of her bra, and his shirt was half-open.

They broke apart at the sound of the door, Danny's eyes widening in shock when he saw me.

"Ashley—" he began, but something inside me snapped.

"How long?" I demanded, my voice stronger than it had been in years. "How long has this been going on?"