The Divorced Architect's Spectacular Comeback

Crista threw off the blanket and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Audrey immediately stepped in, her face etched with worry. "Crista, please," Audrey begged, holding her shoulders. "Get back in bed. Think about your recovering body."

Crista shook her head stubbornly. "Get me a wheelchair, Audrey," Crista commanded, her voice weak but firm. "I'm not lying here while he plays happy family."

Audrey hesitated, but seeing the burning determination in Crista's eyes, she quickly fetched a chair from the corner of the room. She carefully helped Crista into it, making sure the IV line wasn't tangled. Audrey pushed the chair out into the hallway, which was brightly lit, the smell of disinfectant stinging her nose. With every bump of the wheels, a sharp pulling pain tugged at Crista's lower abdomen. Cold sweat broke out on her forehead, her hands gripping the armrests tightly, but she signaled Audrey to keep moving.

They stopped in front of the heavy wooden door at the end of the hall. It was slightly ajar. The sound of laughter drifted out.

Crista peeked through the gap. The suite was filled with expensive floral arrangements. And there, sitting on the edge of the bed, was Conrad. He was holding a silver fruit knife, carefully peeling an apple for Else.

The scene was so warm, so intimate. It was a stark contrast to the cold, empty room she had just left. Crista felt a hand clamp around her heart, squeezing it until she couldn't breathe.

Audrey couldn't take it anymore. She reached past Crista and shoved the door open. It slammed against the wall with a loud bang.

The laughter inside stopped abruptly. Conrad paused, the knife hovering over the apple. He turned his head, his eyes narrowing as he saw them at the door.

Else saw Crista and immediately shrank back into the pillows, putting on her best frightened-rabbit act.

Conrad stood up, his tall frame moving to block Else from view. He glared at Crista. "What the hell are you doing here now?"

Crista pushed away Audrey's supporting hand. She leaned against the doorframe, straightening her spine. She took a deep breath and looked Conrad dead in the eye.

She opened her mouth to tell him about the baby they had lost. But before she could speak, Else suddenly clutched her chest, breaking into a violent, hacking cough. "It hurts," she whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes.

Conrad instantly turned his back on Crista. He poured a glass of warm water and held it to Else's lips, his movements incredibly gentle. He completely ignored his wife, who was standing in the doorway looking like she might collapse at any moment.

Crista watched his tender actions. It felt like a wad of cotton was stuffed down her throat. The words about their dead child died on her lips.

Conrad put the glass down and turned back. The warmth was gone, replaced by the familiar icy glare. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the divorce agreement. He threw it at Crista's feet.

"My patience is gone," he said, his voice like gravel. "If you don't sign this today, you'll leave this marriage with nothing."

Crista stared at the paper on the floor. The man standing in front of her suddenly felt like a stranger. The last bit of hope in her heart shattered into dust.

She let out a short, bitter laugh. Her eyes were full of mockery. "Tell me, Conrad. If I sign this, will you marry this lying piece of trash?"

Conrad's face darkened. He stepped forward, his hand shooting out to grip her chin, his fingers digging into her skin. "I told you to never insult Else."

Audrey lunged forward, slapping Conrad's hand away with all her strength. "You blind idiot!" she screamed. "You're being played!"

Conrad's eyes turned dangerous. He took a step toward Audrey, but Crista grabbed Audrey's arm, holding her back.

Crista looked at Conrad, her voice eerily calm. "I will never sign it," she said, enunciating every word. "I will drag this out. I will make your life a living hell."

Without waiting for his reaction, she turned and walked away. Her back was straight, her steps deliberate, but the sight of her retreating figure was utterly desolate.

Back in her own room, Crista locked the door. She slid down the wood until she hit the floor, and the dam broke. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

Audrey held her, crying along with her. "Why didn't you tell him?" she demanded. "Why didn't you tell him about the miscarriage?"

Crista wiped her face with her sleeve. When she looked up, her eyes were clear and hard. "Because he doesn't deserve to know. Not now. Not like this."

She pulled out her phone and dialed a number she hadn't called in years. It was a private investigator she had met during her brief stint in the architecture world, a man known for digging up the dirtiest secrets.

When the call connected, her voice was steady. "I need you to investigate Else Cherry. I want every move she's made in the last five years. Every bank statement. Every flight record. Everything."

She hung up the phone and placed a hand over her stomach. A fierce, protective fire burned in her eyes. She would tear off Else's mask, piece by piece, if it was the last thing she did.