Love Lost, Justice Served

The world tilted as I staggered from the donation chair, my vision swimming with dark spots. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

"Mrs. Walker, you should rest longer," the nurse called after me, concern lacing her voice. "Your vitals aren't stable yet."

But I couldn't stay there. Not with my blood flowing into Kenna's veins. Not with Jaxon hovering over her like she was his everything while I carried his child inside me.

"I'm fine," I lied, bracing myself against the wall. The bathroom. I needed to get to the bathroom.

The first cramp hit as I locked the stall door behind me. Sharp, vicious, like a knife twisting deep in my abdomen. I doubled over, a cry escaping my lips before I could muffle it with my hand.

"No," I whispered, pressing my palm against my stomach. "Please, no."

Warm wetness trickled down my thighs. When I looked down, crimson bloomed across my cream-colored dress, spreading like spilled wine on expensive linen.

My baby. Our baby.

I slid to the floor, the cold tiles pressing against my skin as another wave of pain crashed through me. The fluorescent lights above blurred and swam as tears filled my eyes. I wanted to scream, to call for help, to beg someone—anyone—to save what was being lost. But who would come? The husband who had thrown me away? The doctors who had taken my blood without asking the one question that mattered?

The bathroom door swung open. "Mrs. Walker?" Dr. Chen's voice echoed against the tiled walls. "Are you in here?"

I couldn't answer. My throat closed around a sob as another cramp seized me, stronger than before.

"Oh my God." The stall door rattled as she tried the lock. "Samira, open the door! You're hemorrhaging!"

With trembling fingers, I reached up and flipped the lock. Dr. Chen burst in, her face paling as she took in the scene—me curled on the floor, blood pooling beneath me, tears streaming down my face.

"I'm pregnant," I whispered, though we both knew it was already too late. "I was pregnant."

She pressed a call button on her pager, barking orders into it before kneeling beside me. "Why didn't you tell us? We would never have taken blood from you in this condition."

"He didn't give me a chance," I said, each word a shard of glass in my throat. "He never gives me a chance."

The world faded in and out after that. Hands lifting me onto a gurney. Voices shouting medical terms I couldn't understand. The harsh glare of examination lights. Through it all, one thought circled my mind like a wounded animal: Jaxon wasn't here. He was with her.

Hours later—or maybe minutes, time had lost all meaning—I lay in a private room, empty inside in every way possible. The monitors beeped a steady rhythm that seemed to mock the heartbeat that would never exist. I stared at the ceiling, tears dried on my cheeks, too hollow even to cry anymore.

The door opened, and I turned my head, a tiny spark of hope flaring that it might be Jaxon. Instead, two figures stepped into the room, and the sight of them made my breath catch.

"Daddy?" My voice cracked on the word I hadn't spoken in three years. "Mom?"

Marcus Gibson's face was carved from stone, but his eyes—those eyes that had once intimidated oil barons and business rivals—were wet with tears. Beside him, my mother's elegant composure crumbled as she rushed to my bedside.

"Our baby girl," she whispered, gathering me in her arms as if I were made of glass. "What have they done to you?"

I broke then, shattered completely in the safety of my mother's embrace. Three years of pretending, of sacrifice, of love that had never been enough—all of it poured out in gut-wrenching sobs that seemed to tear from the very core of me.

"He made me give blood," I choked out. "For her. And our baby..."

"I know, sweetheart." My father's voice was deadly quiet as he placed his hand on my head. "Dr. Chen called us. She knew who you really were."

Through my tears, I saw Dr. Chen standing in the doorway, her expression grim but resolved. "I couldn't be complicit in this," she said. "What happened to you was medical malpractice at best, criminal negligence at worst."

"It's time to come home, Samira," my father said, and in his tone I heard not just love but a promise of retribution that made me shiver. "As far as Jaxon Walker is concerned, his wife died today from complications of a forced blood donation. The records will show it. The staff will confirm it."

"Death?" I whispered, the word strange on my tongue.

"A new beginning," my mother corrected, stroking my hair. "Away from those who never deserved you."

As they spoke, making arrangements in hushed tones with Dr. Chen, I closed my eyes. Samira Walker was dead. Perhaps she had been dying from the moment she signed those divorce papers. From the moment she realized the man she loved had never truly seen her at all.

Samira Gibson, however, was about to rise from these ashes.