My Long Lost Sister Was My Husband's Mistress

"Weston, are you sure this won't endanger Denise's life?"

Inside the ambulance, Vivian looked at my pale, bloodless face and finally broke the silence.

"Relax, Mom," Weston replied calmly, his tone disturbingly cold. "I've handled her miscarriages before, haven't I? I know what I'm doing."

He said it like he was discussing a business transaction, not a life.

"Besides," he continued indifferently, "Patricia is also the daughter you raised for eighteen years. You can't be this biased. She's dying, yet all you worry about is Denise?"

Vivian frowned, glancing at me on the stretcher before lowering her voice.

"Biased? Do you even know why I brought Denise back in the first place?" she said, her tone tinged with panic. "It's because Patricia has a rare blood disease, and only Denise's blood type matches hers!"

"I worked so hard to find and bring her home," she went on, "not to make up for lost years—but to make her Patricia's walking blood bank!"

She grew more agitated as she spoke. "If something happens to Denise now, what will we do about Patricia?"

"Enough," Weston cut her off sharply. "Even if that's true, you shouldn't have forced me to marry her."

"That's because... because—" Vivian faltered, a flicker of something complicated flashing through her eyes. Whatever she wanted to say, she swallowed it back down.

In the end, she only left two cold warnings.

"I don't care what happens between you and Patricia. First, Denise must live. Second, she must never learn the truth."

Weston's lips curved into a faint, mocking smile. "And what if she does? What can she possibly do—leave me?"

Under An's mother's furious glare, Weston finally nodded, saying nothing more.

Neither of them noticed the slight tremor of my eyelashes on the stretcher, or the single tear that silently slid down my cheek.

Even when I once learned that Vivian had gifted Patricia a luxury villa and an unlimited black card, I merely smiled faintly. After all, she had raised Patricia for eighteen years—how could she not love her?

And since I returned to the Holmes family, Vivian had done everything to "improve" our relationship.

I had foolishly believed she wanted to make up for the motherly affection I'd missed. But it turned out she only wanted to keep her other daughter alive.

The monthly blood donations, even during pregnancy, weren't out of kindness or care. They were sacrifices—for Patricia.

Denise, you are truly foolish.

I mocked myself silently

For abandoning the foster father who gave me unconditional love...For returning to a mother who only saw me as a tool...For cherishing a husband who never cherished me...For loving a man so deeply that even my child had to suffer for it.

Overnight, I lost my baby, my husband, and my mother.

The wound in my heart was torn open once again. If felt as if salt had been ruthlessly rubbed into it—pain so sharp I could barely breathe.

As I drifted into uneasy sleep, I saw a vision.

A little boy stood at the gate of heaven, waving at me with a bright, innocent smile.

"Mom, I'm leaving," he said softly. "Don't worry. I'm just going to find my brothers and sisters."

His small voice trembled with warmth. "Mom, don't cry, okay? You have to be happy."

Before I could reach him, he turned and climbed the radiant stairway where several children waited with open arms.

"No! Baby! Don't go!" I screamed, running after him—but the light disappeared, and I fell into darkness.

"Don't!"

I jolted awake with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat, only to find myself lying in a hospital bed.

"Denise, it's alright," Weston's hoarse voice murmured beside me. "We'll have another child."

His red eyes and trembling hands only made the emptiness inside me grow deeper.

My trembling hand touched my belly.

Once round and full of life—now utterly flat.

"My child...my baby…"

Disbelief, pain, and despair surged through me all at once.

"Ah—!"

My scream tore through the sterile ward.

"Denise, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry…"

An's mother held my hand tightly, her face full of guilt and false tears.

But her apology only deepened the knife in my heart.

The memory of their conversation in the ambulance echoed in my ears—and I knew none of it was remorse.

"Get out! Both of you!" I screamed, grabbing anything within reach and hurling it at them.

Weston shielded An's mother, his voice soft and gentle. "Denise, please, don't be like this. You still have us."

"Go away! Go away!"

Seeing that I refused to listen, they finally left—leaving behind nothing but the sound of my broken sobs echoing through the empty ward.