My Husband Chose His Mistress Over Our Baby

Rowen showed up six hours later.

I was in a room on the fourth floor. White walls. White sheets. A machine beeping next to the bed. I stared at the ceiling and listened to the beep. It was steady. Regular. The only thing in the world that made sense.

The door opened. I turned my head.

Rowen stood in the doorway. His shirt was wrinkled. Buttoned wrong. One side of the collar stuck up higher than the other. His hair was messy. He looked tired.

He didn't look devastated.

He walked to the bed. He didn't sit. He stood at the foot and put his hands in his pockets.

'Hey,' he said quietly.

I didn't answer.

'How are you feeling?' he asked.

I stared at him. At the crooked buttons. At the faint smudge of lipstick on his collar. At the way he wouldn't meet my eyes.

'Where were you?' I whispered.

He shifted his weight. 'I told you. Cassandra cut her finger. It was bad. I had to take her to urgent care. They had to do stitches. It took forever.'

'Six hours,' I said.

'There was a wait,' he said. 'I came as soon as I could.'

I looked at the ceiling again. At the white tiles. At the fluorescent light that buzzed faintly in the corner.

'The baby's gone,' I said.

Silence.

'I know,' Rowen said finally. 'The nurse told me. I'm sorry.'

I closed my eyes.

'You need to get some perspective,' he said. His voice was firmer now. 'This isn't anyone's fault. These things happen. The doctor said it was just—bad luck. You can't blame yourself. And you can't blame me.'

I opened my eyes.

'I called you,' I said. 'I was bleeding on the bathroom floor and I called you. And you hung up.'

'I didn't hang up,' he said quickly. 'I told you to call 911. That was the right thing to do. They got you here faster than I could have. I made the right call.'

'You chose her,' I whispered.

'I chose to help someone who was hurt,' he said. 'Cassandra was in pain. She needed stitches. What was I supposed to do? Leave her there bleeding?'

'Yes,' I said.

He stared at me. Then he shook his head. 'You're not thinking straight. You're upset. I get it. But you need to calm down.'

I turned my face to the wall.

The door opened again.

Mrs. Daniels.

She wore a navy dress. Pearls. Her hair was perfect. She carried a small bouquet of white lilies wrapped in clear plastic. She walked to the windowsill and set them down without looking at me.

Then she turned. She folded her hands in front of her and looked at me the way you'd look at a child who'd made a mess.

'Scarlet,' she said quietly. 'How are you feeling?'

I didn't answer.

She sighed. A small, patient sound. 'This is very difficult,' she said. 'For everyone. But we need to be realistic about what happened here.'

I looked at her.

'You've always been a very anxious person,' she continued. 'Very emotional. Rowen has mentioned it to me many times. The stress you put on yourself—and on him—it's not healthy. Doctors will tell you that stress affects a pregnancy. It affects everything.'

I couldn't breathe.

'I'm not saying it's your fault,' she said gently. 'But you have to take responsibility for your own well-being. And for the environment you create. This constant drama—it takes a toll.'

Rowen shifted beside her. He didn't say anything.

'Rowen is a good man,' Mrs. Daniels said. 'He's been very patient. Very understanding. But he deserves to be happy. He deserves to find peace. And if you can't give him that—'

She stopped. She looked at me with something that might have been pity.

'Well,' she said softly. 'Perhaps it's time to think about what's best for everyone.'

I stared at her. At the pearls. At the flowers she hadn't handed me. At the son standing silent beside her.

Then I looked at Rowen.

'I want a divorce,' I said.

Rowen laughed. A short, sharp sound. 'Come on,' he said. 'You don't mean that.'

'I want a divorce,' I said again.

Mrs. Daniels stepped forward. She reached out and patted my hand. Her fingers were cold.

'You're being dramatic, dear,' she said. 'You've been through a trauma. You're not thinking clearly. Get some rest. We'll talk about this when you're feeling better.'

She turned to Rowen. 'Let's let her sleep,' she said.

They walked to the door together. Rowen glanced back once. Then they were gone.

I lay in the white bed in the white room and listened to the machine beep.

I put my hand on my belly. It was soft now. Empty.

I thought about the ultrasound photo in my wallet. The one the nurse had pulled out for me when I asked. The tiny profile. The curve of a nose. The fist pressed to a cheek.

I thought about the bathroom floor. The cold tile. The blood.

I thought about Rowen's voice on the phone. *Call 911 or something.*

I thought about Cassandra's whimper in the background. *It hurts.*

I closed my eyes.

I didn't cry.

I was done crying.