My Husband Forced Me to Save His Mistress's Baby

The shift change happened at six a.m. I had been watching the pattern for three days. The night guard left. The morning guard arrived seven minutes later. Seven minutes when the hallway was empty.

I pushed myself out of bed. My legs shook. The pain in my abdomen was a living thing now, sharp and constant. I pressed one hand against the wall and moved toward the door.

The hallway was silent. Cream walls. Fluorescent lights. I walked slowly, one foot in front of the other. My hospital gown whispered against my legs. I didn't have shoes. The floor was cold.

Barrett's office was on the surgical floor. Three levels down. I took the stairs because the elevator would log my movement. Each step sent fire through my belly. I gripped the railing. I kept moving.

The surgical floor smelled like disinfectant and coffee. I heard voices in the distance. Nurses. Residents. I stayed close to the wall and moved toward the corner office at the end of the hall.

The door was open.

Barrett sat at his desk, a stack of files spread in front of him. He wore his white coat. His reading glasses. He was marking something with a red pen.

I stepped inside.

He looked up. His expression didn't change. He just stared at me like I was a patient who had wandered into the wrong room.

'Lilah,' he said slowly. 'What are you doing here?'

I opened my mouth. Nothing came out at first. My throat was too tight.

'I need you to see me,' I whispered.

He set down his pen. 'You should be in your suite.'

'Barrett, please.' My legs gave out. I didn't mean to fall. But suddenly I was on my knees on the cold tile, one hand pressed to my stomach. The pain was so sharp I couldn't breathe. 'Please. Just look at me.'

He stood. He didn't come around the desk. He just stood there, his hands resting on the files.

'I've loved you for ten years,' I said. The words came fast now. Desperate. 'I took five knives for you. I married you. I stayed. I never asked you for anything. Doesn't that matter? Doesn't any of it matter?'

'You're being hysterical,' he said quietly.

'I'm dying,' I choked out. 'Can't you see that? I'm dying and you don't care.'

'The procedure is medically necessary.' His voice was flat. Clinical. 'Kenia's baby requires—'

'There is no baby!' I screamed it. I didn't know I was going to. But it ripped out of me, raw and jagged. 'She's lying to you! I heard her on the phone. She mentioned another man. She's playing you. Barrett, please. Just check. Just ask her. Just—'

'Enough.'

He pressed a button on his desk phone. 'Security to my office. Now.'

I stared at him. My vision blurred. 'You won't even consider it.'

'I expect your full cooperation for the remaining sessions,' he said. He sat back down. He picked up his pen. 'This conversation is over.'

Two guards appeared in the doorway. They lifted me by my arms. I didn't fight. I just hung there between them, my bare feet dragging across the tile.

As they led me back down the hallway, we passed a window. The morning light was pale and cold. I caught my reflection in the glass.

A woman in a hospital gown. Gaunt. Hollow-eyed. Hair tangled. Wrists scarred. Face I didn't recognize.

I looked away.

---

Kenia came the next afternoon.

She didn't bring flowers this time. She just walked in and sat on the edge of my bed like we were old friends.

I didn't move. I lay on my side, facing the wall.

'I wanted to tell you something,' she said. Her voice was calm. Almost kind. 'Barrett met with his attorney yesterday.'

I closed my eyes.

'He's filing for divorce,' she continued. 'As soon as the harvesting is complete. He wants it finalized before the baby comes. So we can be married in time.'

I pressed my scarred wrist against my mouth.

'He's already picked a date,' she said. 'June. At his mother's estate in the Hamptons. Isn't that lovely?'

She reached out and patted my bandaged arm. Gently. Like I was a sick dog.

'Rest up,' she said softly. 'You've been so useful.'

She stood. She smoothed her skirt. She left.

I lay there. I stared at the wall. I felt nothing.

---

That evening, the night nurse came in with my medication. But she moved differently. Slower. She glanced toward the door, then back at me.

She set the tray down. She pulled something from her pocket. A folded piece of paper.

She pressed it into my hand. Her fingers were warm.

'From a friend,' she whispered.

Then she left.

I unfolded the paper with shaking hands.

The handwriting was neat. Steady. Familiar.

*I'm here. I'm watching. You are not alone.*

I read it three times.

Then I pressed it against my chest and closed my eyes and breathed.

For the first time in weeks, I felt something other than pain.

I felt a thread. Thin and fragile. But real.

I opened the only book in the room — a battered paperback someone had left on the shelf. I slid the note inside the spine and closed it.

I held the book against my heart.

And I waited.