Seven Months Pregnant When I was Diagnosed with Cancer

“Drake, I’m agreeing to marry you now. Come and pick me up.”

There was a pause on the line, and then came his smooth, sarcastic voice. “Oh? What changed your mind? You swore you’d never marry me. Don’t tell me you finally woke up and realized your husband’s a bastard?”

I swallowed, my throat dry, the pain in my chest sharper than ever. “Yes,” I said. “I’m divorcing him.”

Drake chuckled, but there was no humor in it—only triumph. “Good. Settle whatever you have with him, and come back to me. I’m getting what’s mine now.” He paused. “I’ll pick you up in five days.”

And just like that, he hung up.

I stared at the screen for a long moment, hand trembling. A swirl of emotions clashed in my chest—grief, anger, guilt, and something dangerously close to relief. My fingers moved on their own as I dialed the next number: my lawyer.

“I want to file for divorce,” I told her, voice sharp with resolve.

There was a sigh on the other end. “Valerie, you know your family doesn’t allow divorce filings without proof of betrayal. It’s part of the old contract. We’ll need documented evidence of infidelity, abuse—something tangible.”

“I’ll get you the proof,” I said without hesitation. “Just don’t let my family know until everything’s final.”

“Understood. Be safe.”

I hung up. Alone in the hospital room, the silence pressed heavily against me. No one had visited. Not Harold. Not even my mother. They knew I was here… and still, nothing.

The next morning, as I scrolled through my phone, a fresh wound opened when I saw Taylor’s post. Rows of baby clothes. Plush animals. A caption with hearts and nursery emojis.

My heart pounded as I clicked the photo.

It was my room.

They had turned my room into a nursery without even telling me. Without asking me.

The air thickened. My vision blurred. My hands began to shake uncontrollably. The attacks were back—tightness in my chest, breath slipping out in gasps. I slammed the emergency button.

Doctors and nurses rushed in, voices buzzing around me like distant echoes. I heard one of them say I needed immediate treatment—that my body was rejecting the trauma, that it could become fatal. But then the words that dropped into my chest like a lead weight:

“We may need to terminate the baby.”

“No!” I cried, gripping the bed rail. “I don’t want to lose the baby. Please—please try to save us both.”

The doctor frowned. “We understand, but we’ll need your husband’s consent to proceed with high-risk alternatives.”

My heart plummeted. I didn’t want to call him, but I had no choice.

He answered on the third ring. “What?”

I couldn’t stop the desperation from leaking into my voice. “They said they need your decision. I—I don’t want to lose the baby.”

There was a pause. Then his voice turned cold, razor-sharp. “Make sure to save the baby. That’s my heir. I don’t care about Valerie. The baby—or I’ll sue the hospital.”

And then everything went dark.

I woke up to the sterile brightness of the hospital room. But something was different. My body felt… empty.

The nurse’s face was grave.

“No,” I whispered, already knowing. “No, no, no—”

But the baby was gone.

I cried silently, the pain so deep it cracked me open from the inside.

Then I heard shouting from outside.

“You should’ve saved the baby!” It was Harold. “Why is she alive?! That baby was mine!”

A doctor responded, calm but firm. “Someone came in claiming to be her husband and signed the consent to save Valerie. We also made a medical judgment—it was the only viable life to save.”

Harold’s voice grew sharper. “Who’s the guy? I’m her husband! You should’ve called me—”

“He said he was her husband,” the doctor replied. “He had clearance and matching credentials.”

The door slammed open.

Harold stormed in, face red with fury. “Who’s that guy? Are you cheating on me, Valerie?!”

My eyes widened in disbelief. “What? No! I have no idea who he was. Maybe a good Samaritan—someone who cared enough to—”

“If I find out you’re cheating,” he growled, pointing a finger at me, “I’ll kill you. You’re not leaving me.”

My voice cracked. “Why? Why still keep me? The baby’s gone. There’s nothing left.”

He stared at me, voice dropping into a terrifying calm. “I don’t care. You are mine.”

And then he left.

Two days later, I was ready for discharge. My heart was still bleeding, my soul ragged. The nurse wheeled me out—and there he was.

Harold. And Taylor.

They were standing by the car, chatting casually. I paused, just in time to hear Taylor’s venom-laced whisper, “She should’ve died.”

Harold shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ll take care of her during the anniversary party. Maybe throw her off the building. Perfect timing since our company merger’s that day.”

My blood ran cold.

They stopped talking when they saw me.

Taylor rushed over with fake concern, brushing my arm. “Valerie! I was so worried. We missed you so much.”

I said nothing. I climbed into the backseat.

During the ride, they didn’t bother hiding their flirting. Her giggles, his hand on her thigh. I sat in silence, clutching my phone like a lifeline.

I sent a text to Drake: Thank you for saving me. I’ll be ready to leave before our anniversary. Please come.

His reply came almost instantly: I’ll be there. This time, I’m not leaving without you.

Harold noticed the glow of my phone. “Who are you texting?”

I quickly deleted the messages. “No one.”

He snatched the phone from my hand, scrolling furiously before hurling it out the window. “Don’t you dare ignore me when I’m talking!”

I said nothing.

I didn’t care anymore. And in the next days, I was leaving—for good.