The Storm Begins with a Whisper

When Emma came to, she was in a hospital bed.

The doctor sighed and looked at her with pity in her eyes. "You're finally awake. You lost a dangerous amount of blood from the miscarriage. If you had gotten here any later, we wouldn't have been able to bring you back."

Emma learned from the doctor that she had survived because the housekeeper had found her unconscious the next day while delivering food.

"Your family is unbelievable. How could they treat you like this? Your husband, of all people, won't even pick up his phone. When he shows up here, I'm giving him a piece of my mind."

Emma interrupted the doctor, her fingers clutching the sheets, "You can't tell him I was pregnant."

Wesley wouldn't believe her anyway. His heart wasn't with her anymore, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

The doctor looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she just shook her head and left.

Wesley couldn't be bothered to visit Emma in the hospital, but he was all over Sandra's social media.

The first day was a close-up of a bowl of chicken soup. The caption read, "Ten years, and it's still my favorite."

The next day, Sandra posted a photo of a man asleep by her bedside. She wrote, "Woke up from a nightmare. There's nothing better than opening my eyes to this."

Emma suddenly remembered that whenever she got sick, Wesley would always make her chicken soup. When she was burning with fever, he would stay by the bed like that too, holding her hand and refusing to let go.

The realization dawned on her. All that care and attention was never for her. He was only loving her because she reminded him of Sandra.

On the day she was discharged, he finally called, "Something urgent with the company came up. I'm sending a chauffeur to pick you up."

She didn't argue or demand an explanation. She just replied flatly, "Alright."

When the call ended, she gently touched her belly.

At this point, Wesley was just a name in Emma's contacts that she was about to delete. She wasn't going to waste any more hope on him.

…

Emma came home to find Sandra in the living room, holding a palette and freely painting all over the wall. All her photos with Wesley were thrown on the floor, splattered with paint.

Seeing Emma, Sandra smirked. "You're back, Em. The wall was begging for a new look. I figured it needed a major upgrade. I hope you don't mind."

Emma glanced at the mess and replied indifferently, "Whatever."

This place hadn't felt like home for ages. It was clear she wasn't going to be the lady of the house much longer.

Just then, Wesley walked out of the kitchen with a plate of cut fruit. He noticed Emma going up the stairs and blocked her path. "Sandra is trying to be the bigger person here. Watch your attitude."

Emma's pale face showed nothing but weariness. "What do you want? Am I supposed to grovel at her feet and thank her for ruining the photos?"

Sandra quickly smoothed things over. "Don't be too hard on her, Wesley. Em doesn't mean it."

Wesley remarked, "If she didn't mean to, then why would she say something so horrible to you?"

He looked at Emma like she was a stranger. "You really let me down, Emma."

She was too drained to argue with him. She shouldered past him and went upstairs. She was still physically wrecked from the abortion.

She had only been lying down for a minute when the door was pushed open.

Sandra appeared in the doorway, her gentle look completely wiped away by outright scorn.

She snickered. "Does it bother you to see Wesley sticking up for me? I warned you that he was just playing games with you. I can't believe you were dumb enough to fall for it."

Emma rolled over. She didn't want to waste her breath and pulled the covers over her head.

But Sandra closed in on Emma, refusing to drop it. "Do you know what everyone is saying about you? Word is you spent four years in bed with your brother-in-law and ended up empty-handed. Even the escorts working in the night scene get paid.

"Stop fooling yourself, Emma. The Payne family doesn't need you. Wesley doesn't want you anymore. You and your mom are both nothing but baggage."

The mention of Helena was the last straw. Emma's head jerked up, and she glared daggers at Sandra. "Why are you so mad? Are you afraid that he actually fell for me over these four years?"

Sandra was momentarily taken aback, then snorted. Her eyes were filled with contempt. "Would he seriously fall for you? If he were truly in love with you, would I have the chance to put you down like this?"

Moments later, a loud bang echoed as the door shut. Emma clutched her sheets, feeling a deep chill settle in.

Luckily, she was getting out of here soon. She wouldn't have to deal with these awful people anymore.