The Mistress's Revenge, The Wife's Rebirth

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In the fifth year of my marriage to Andrew Sanchez, his kept woman, Yolanda Croft, and I fell pregnant at the same time.

A fortune-teller had read the charts and said that whichever son was born first would be the chosen heir of the Sanchez family.

But on the day I went into labor, the driver brought me to the hospital entrance, then locked the car doors and refused to let me out.

"Mrs. Sanchez, I'm sorry. Miss Croft's water broke too."

"Mr. Sanchez says you can't be taken in to deliver until she's finished first."

They took my phone.

They left me in that car, in agony, the whole night, until I passed out from the pain.

By the time the sky lightened, Yolanda and her baby were both safe and sound.

Only then did Andrew let them wheel me into the operating room.

But my child had been trapped too long, and died inside me.

And the infection was so severe that they had to remove my uterus entirely.

Seeing the ashen color of my face, Andrew, for once, was gentle as he coaxed me:

"I can't marry Yoli, and Mother doesn't like her. I'm afraid I'll die young, and she'll be left with nothing. She needs an heir to lean on."

"You're already Mrs. Sanchez, and this child is half yours anyway. There's no need for you to have another one and burden yourself with worry."

I couldn't help a bitter smile.

Sparing me the burden was the lie. Clearing the path for Yolanda was the truth.

That night, I knocked on the old Mrs. Sanchez's door.

"You once said that as long as I helped Andrew secure the president's seat, you'd grant me one thing."

"I want a divorce."

……

The ones who reached me before Andrew were the other kept women, arriving in a pack to sneer.

They looked at me, gloating.

"What's so special about being the real wife? Riding on that pregnancy to keep Mr. Sanchez all to herself, leaving the rest of us out in the cold, and look how it ended for her, empty-handed."

"Now she doesn't even have a womb anymore. It won't be many days before Mr. Sanchez divorces her. Little Yoli's the one with all the luck. Bar singer or not, a mother rises with her son."

Andrew had sealed off every word about the night before.

But everyone knew he'd walked away from a deal worth tens of millions just to be at Yolanda's side while she delivered, and left me tossed aside.

Which of us mattered more didn't need to be said.

So they took all their resentment at being neglected and dumped it on me, the Mrs. Sanchez who was one in name only.

When I heard those words, "kept Mr. Sanchez all to herself," I gave a small, self-mocking laugh.

Since the moment I got pregnant, Andrew hadn't seen a single one of them. Every day he came home to keep me company while I waited to give birth.

But no one knew he'd already quietly moved Yolanda into the house to care for her.

He never set foot in my room. Not once.

After all, he wanted to be with the woman he loved, but he was afraid she'd draw jealousy, that someone would tamper with her and hurt the baby.

And no one made a better shield than me.

While I sat there dazed, a familiar voice came from the doorway:

"Mrs. Sanchez just clawed her way back from death's door. Who let you in here to bother her?"

"Wretched little things, out!"

The kept women scattered in a panic.

Andrew came to the side of the bed, saw how pale I was, and sighed.

"Dora, don't take it to heart. Fate is set by heaven. It's just that you and that child weren't meant to be mother and son."

"Yoli was afraid you'd be heartbroken. She rushed straight here to see you, and she only just gave birth herself."

What a fine thing, fate set by heaven.

As if last night had nothing to do with him at all.

I lifted my eyes, my voice calm.

"It isn't that we weren't meant to be. It's that his father wouldn't let him be born, and smothered him."

Before he could speak, Yolanda started to sob.

"Ma'am, please don't blame Mr. Sanchez. It's all because my family isn't good enough, because I can't marry him. That's why he wanted me to have an heir, so he'd have someone to lean on one day."

"If you're truly furious, I can pay for your child with my own life. I only pity my son. Barely born, and already losing his mother…"

Andrew wiped her tears away, aching for her.

"Don't talk nonsense. We agreed we'd watch our son grow up together, help him find a wife and start a family."

When he turned back to me, his tone had cooled.

"Dora Henson, your own child wasn't strong enough to hang on. It couldn't even stay in your belly a little longer. Who is there to blame for that?"

"I already made you Mrs. Sanchez. Even though you can't have children now, I never planned to divorce you and marry someone else. I even thought I'd have Yoli's son call you godmother down the line, to make up for the child you lost."

"But instead of appreciating my good intentions, you throw this bitter, sneering attitude at me. Is this the grace a wife is supposed to have? Go and take a good, hard look at yourself!"

Appreciate his intentions. Again.

The first time I caught him in bed with another woman, he said he'd been drugged, that he hadn't meant it.

Keeping her as a mistress was only to do right by her, he said, and I should understand.

And so there was a second time, and a third…

Later he openly took Yolanda to every gala and hotel, until the gossip reporters camped outside the old house day after day.

The old Mrs. Sanchez blamed me for being useless.

And he nuzzled against my neck, wheedling, wearing me down.

"Don't you think Yoli looks a little like you did when you were young?"

"I honestly haven't felt my heart move like this in so long. Please understand, my dear wife. Help me deal with the reporters and Mother."

Andrew left with Yolanda.

As if afraid she might tire herself, he swept her up into his arms and carried her.

Yolanda shot me a glance and said, shyly:

"Mr. Sanchez, there are still reporters out there. It's so humiliating for Mrs. Sanchez. Put me down…"

Andrew's steps paused for a beat, and he let out a low laugh.

"Then let them take their pictures. I treat the woman I love well. What is anyone else's dignity worth?"

Faced with that deliberate little jab, I didn't cry, and I didn't make a scene.

I walked straight into the gossip reporters' cameras and went back to the Sanchez house.

I went to the old Mrs. Sanchez's room.

"You once promised my father that as long as he helped Andrew take the company, I could leave whenever I wanted a divorce."

"Now, please keep your word."