When My Husband Chose His Mistress

The day I walked in on them—half-undressed, mouths on each other in my marital bed—I nearly lost my mind.

I slapped Fay across the face twice, hard, then took a photo of her with her chest spilling out of her clothes and posted it everywhere.

Elijah's eyes were bloodshot when he dropped to his knees in front of me, swearing he'd been drunk, that he'd mistaken her for me.

He threw her out right in front of me and swore he'd never see her again.

I never saw it coming.

He kept saying he'd get justice for me and for Karen. Instead, behind my back, he and Fay had a child together.

I never left his side—not once in ten years—and what I got back was his dead-blank face, telling me he'd hand over my life and my baby's as atonement to Fay.

I bit through the flesh inside my mouth until I could taste nothing but copper, and forced my voice out.

"Elijah Gilbert, how could you? How could you do this to me!"

No answer.

He was in too much of a hurry to even glance at me before he walked away.

The blood beneath me kept spreading.

The pain was dissolving the edges of my consciousness.

But for my baby, I clenched my teeth, hauled myself upright, and stumbled toward the hospital.

By the time I reached the ER entrance, everything below my waist was drenched, warm and heavy with blood.

After a quick examination, they rushed me toward the operating room on a gurney.

But just outside the doors, a hand shot out and stopped us.

I lifted my head with the last of my strength and met Elijah's cold stare.

"Eleanor, didn't I tell you to go home and wait?"

"Playing fragile now? Can't take a little pain? When you had Fay beaten until she miscarried, did you think about whether she could take it?"

"I'm warning you—Fay hasn't delivered yet. Until that baby is out, you hold it in. I don't care if it kills you."

His face was nothing but impatience. I didn't have the strength left to argue.

The doctor tried desperately to push past him.

"Her water's broken and she's losing blood fast—if we don't operate right now, we lose them both!"

Elijah kicked the gurney over. It crashed sideways, and he stood there with a vicious smile.

"How much did Eleanor pay you to put on this show?"

"There's nothing she wouldn't pull to make sure her kid comes out before my wife's."

"It's just her water breaking. Waiting a little longer won't kill her. Quit the theatrics."

I lay facedown on the floor, wanting to laugh and unable to, wanting to cry and unable to do that either.

Ten years I'd walked through life and death beside this man, and my suffering meant nothing to him—just another act I was putting on.

The pain seared through my scalp, and I couldn't hold it in anymore. I clutched my stomach and screamed.

Even the doctor's face changed.

"Sir, this woman's condition is critical. If she's not treated and something happens, her family will hold this hospital accountable!"

The doctor bent down to help me up, but Elijah cut in again, his voice flat and cold.

"Family? She has no family."

"Eleanor is my mistress. She found out today is my wife's due date and showed up like this on purpose, trying to compete for attention."

"And if she costs my wife her delivery, I'll shut this place down myself."

The hands holding me let go. I hit the floor hard.

Blood pooled beneath me. I lay on the freezing tile, barely conscious, every organ trembling with pain.

A faint smile settled on Elijah's lips.

He bent to my ear, and his voice turned soft—the kind of soft that makes your skin crawl.

"Hurts, doesn't it? Good. Burn it in. Maybe then you'll stop throwing your weight around as Elijah Gilbert's wife and making Fay's life hell."

"Shh, Ellie. Be good now. Stop fighting it. The better you behave, the less you have to suffer."

"Just hold on a little longer. The moment Fay's baby is out, I'll send you straight into surgery."