Seven Months Pregnant, None of the Triplets Were Mine

I went back to the hospital alone the next morning.

Julian had already left before breakfast ended. Vanessa called him twice while he was at the table, and by the second call, he had stopped pretending to listen to me. Before leaving, he only reminded me not to go anywhere alone because the babies were too important now.

The babies.

That was all he saw when he looked at me.

At the hospital, the doctor closed the office door before he spoke. The report lay open on his desk, and the red-marked numbers on the page looked harsher in daylight.

“Mrs. Sterling, we still need further pathology to confirm the final diagnosis, but the indicators are not optimistic. The suspected malignancy is serious, and your pregnancy is making your condition more complicated.”

I looked at the report without touching it. “If I continue carrying the triplets, what happens?”

The doctor’s expression tightened. “Your body is already under severe strain. If treatment is delayed until full-term delivery, you may miss the best window.”

“How long do I have to decide?”

“Days,” he said. “Not months.”

The answer should have frightened me, but instead it made everything painfully clear.

The children were not mine. Julian knew they were not mine. Everyone around him knew. They had used my body, my love, and my desperation for a family, then waited for me to deliver three gifts to three other women.

Now even my illness refused to give them time.

The doctor softened his voice. “You should bring your husband next time. This is not something you should face alone.”

I almost laughed.

If Julian stood in this office, he would not ask whether I could survive. He would ask how long I could hold on.

“Can I make the medical decision myself?” I asked.

“Legally, yes. But given the pregnancy and your family status, it may become complicated if your husband objects.” He paused. “You should have legal support.”

“I understand.”

The doctor watched me for a moment, probably waiting for me to cry. I did not. I thanked him, took a copy of the report, and left through the side entrance.

By the time I returned to the mansion, Julian’s car was parked beneath the old magnolia tree.

At first, I thought he had come home early.

Then I saw the fogged windows.

The car moved once, slow and heavy, then again.

I stopped at the stairs.

Through the narrow gap in the rear window, Vanessa’s breathless laugh slipped into the cold air. It was soft, sticky, shameless. A second later, I heard Julian’s voice, low and hoarse in a way I had not heard from him in years.

I should have looked away.

Instead, I went upstairs and stood behind the second-floor curtain.

From that angle, I could see into the back seat.

Vanessa was sitting on Julian’s lap, her pale blouse half-unbuttoned, one strap slipping down her shoulder. Julian’s suit jacket had fallen to the floor of the car, his tie hung loose against his open collar, and his hands were locked around her waist, pulling her down against him in a rhythm that made the car shudder beneath the magnolia tree.

Her hair brushed his jaw. His mouth was on her neck.

The man who had barely touched me since I became pregnant was holding her as if he could not bear even an inch of distance between them.

Vanessa tilted her head back, smiling through uneven breaths. “She looked awful yesterday. Are you sure she can last until my baby is born?”

Julian’s hand tightened on her waist.

“She will.”

“What if the doctor keeps pushing for reduction?”

“I won’t allow it.”

Vanessa gave a pleased little laugh and bent closer, her lips almost touching his. “You really won’t let anything happen to him?”

“No.” Julian’s voice softened. “Your child will be born safely. I promised you.”

Then he kissed her.

Not carelessly. Not like a mistake made in a moment of weakness. He kissed her with patience, hunger, and familiarity, as if this had happened too many times to count.

Vanessa’s fingers slid into his hair. “And after he’s born?”

Julian answered against her mouth. “He’ll be yours.”

“And Amelia?”

There was a pause.

Then Julian said, “She’ll be taken care of.”

Vanessa laughed again, lower this time. “You make her sound like a servant retiring after finishing a job.”

Julian did not deny it.

The car moved again beneath the magnolia tree.

I let the curtain fall from my hand.

So that was why he had refused the doctor so firmly. Not because he loved the little ones as our children. Not because he could not bear to lose a single life connected to me.

He had been protecting Vanessa’s child.

Downstairs, my husband was making love to the woman whose baby he had placed inside my body. Upstairs, I stood with the doctor’s cancer report folded in my coat pocket, finally understanding that if I died, Julian would only care whether I lasted long enough to deliver.

I did not go downstairs. I did not knock on the car window. I did not throw the report in Julian’s face and ask if my life had ever meant anything to him.

That kind of scene belonged to a woman who still wanted an answer.

I no longer did.

I went back to the bedroom, locked the door, and took out the phone I had not used in months.

My brother, Luca Hart, had warned me before the wedding that Julian Sterling was not a man who loved without calculation. I had accused him of being cruel. I had said he did not understand Julian. I had cut him off for three years because I chose my husband over my family.

Now I finally understood who had loved me enough to tell the truth.

The call connected almost immediately.

Luca did not speak first.

I looked at the closed curtain, at the faint shadow of Julian’s car beyond it, and said only one sentence.

“Luca, I’ve decided. I’m coming home.”