My Husband Believed His Mistress After I Miscarried

The phone call came at seven in the morning.

I was awake. I hadn't really slept. The hospital bed was narrow and the pillow smelled like bleach. My head was bandaged. My ribs ached every time I breathed. The pain in my abdomen had dulled to something constant and hollow.

The nurse had checked on me twice during the night. She'd asked if I needed anything. I'd said no both times.

Now a woman in a gray suit stood in the doorway. Hospital administrator. She had a clipboard and a careful smile.

"Mrs. Holmes? We've reached your husband. He's on his way."

I looked at her. "Okay."

She waited, like she expected me to say something else. When I didn't, she nodded and left.

I turned my head toward the window. Miami sun poured through the blinds. Too bright. I closed my eyes.

Maximilian arrived four hours later.

I heard him before I saw him—his voice in the hallway, talking to someone. Asking questions. Then footsteps. The door opened.

He stopped just inside the room. Stared at me. His tie was loose. His hair looked like he'd been running his hands through it.

"Camille."

I didn't move. I just looked at him.

He crossed to the bed. Reached for my hand. I pulled it back. Tucked it under the blanket.

He froze. His hand hung in the air for a moment, then dropped.

"I'm so sorry," he said. His voice cracked. "I didn't—I didn't hear the phone. I was asleep. I swear I didn't know."

I watched his mouth move. Watched him try to arrange his face into something that looked like regret.

"Where were you?" I asked. My voice came out flat. Calm.

He blinked. "What?"

"When I called. Where were you."

He looked away. At the floor. At the machines beside the bed. Anywhere but at me.

"I was home," he said finally. "I was asleep. Camille, I'm sorry. If I'd known—"

"You were with her."

Silence.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. His jaw worked.

"It's not—" He stopped. Started again. "Addison was upset. She needed—"

"I needed you," I said. Still calm. Still flat. "I was bleeding in a car. I called you. She answered your phone and hung up."

His face went white. "That's not—Camille, you don't understand—"

"I lost the baby," I said.

He stopped breathing. Just stood there, frozen.

I looked at him. At the man I'd married nine times. At the face I'd memorized. At the stranger.

"Get out," I said quietly.

He didn't move.

"Camille—"

"Get out."

He left. The door clicked shut behind him.

I turned back to the window. The sun was still too bright. I didn't close my eyes this time. I just stared at it until it burned.

They discharged me the next afternoon. I signed the release forms. Took the prescription for painkillers. Walked out of the hospital in the same clothes I'd worn onto the plane.

Rachel was waiting in the pickup lane. She got out of the car when she saw me. Opened the passenger door. Didn't ask questions. Didn't touch me.

"Hotel or airport?" she said.

"Airport."

She drove. I looked out the window. Miami blurred past. Palm trees. Traffic. Sun.

My phone buzzed. I ignored it. It buzzed again. And again.

Rachel glanced at me. "You want me to turn that off?"

"No."

It kept buzzing. I pulled it out. Fifteen missed calls. All from Maximilian. Six voicemails. I didn't listen to them. I turned the phone face-down on my lap.

When we got to the airport, Rachel parked and turned off the engine.

"You need anything," she said. Not a question. A statement.

"I know."

She nodded. Waited until I was inside the terminal. Then she drove away.

I flew back to New York that evening. First class. Empty seat beside me. I ordered water. Didn't drink it. Just held the cup and watched condensation drip onto the tray table.

The plane landed at ten. I took a car to the penthouse. Let myself in. The lights were on. Maximilian was in the living room, pacing. He spun around when he heard the door.

"Camille—"

Addison was on the couch.

She looked small. Fragile. Her dress was torn at the shoulder. Her makeup was smeared. She had a blanket wrapped around her. She wasn't looking at me. She was staring at the floor, trembling.

I stopped. Set my bag down.

Maximilian stepped between us. His face was red. His hands were shaking.

"What did you do?" he said. His voice was low. Dangerous.

I looked past him. At Addison. At the performance.

"What are you talking about?"

"She was attacked," he said. "Drugged. Assaulted. She barely made it home."

I looked at him. "When."

"Last night." His voice cracked. "While you were in Miami. While you were—" He stopped. His jaw clenched. "She told me you hired someone. She told me you wanted her gone."

I didn't move. Didn't blink.

"You believe her," I said.

He stared at me. His chest heaved.

"Sign the papers," he said.

He pulled a folder from the coffee table. Threw it at me. It hit my chest. Papers scattered across the floor.

Divorce papers. The same ones from his office. Pre-signed with his name.

"You're a monster," he said. "Sign them."

I bent down. Picked up the papers. My ribs screamed. I ignored them.

I found a pen in my bag. Clicked it. Signed my name on every line. Slow. Steady. My handwriting didn't shake.

When I finished, I set the papers on the entry table. I looked at Maximilian. At his red face. At his clenched fists. At the man who wasn't there when I bled.

"You'll remember this moment for the rest of your life," I said.

I picked up my bag. Walked to the door.

Behind me, Addison lifted her head. I saw her reflection in the window. She wasn't trembling anymore. She was smiling.

I left. The door closed behind me. The lock clicked.

I stood in the hallway for a moment. The carpet was soft under my feet. The lights were dim. Somewhere down the hall, someone laughed.

I walked to the elevator. Pressed the button. Waited.

The doors opened. I stepped inside.

I didn't look back.