When My Husband Chose His Mistress

"But she called my baby a bastard and tried to smash him on the floor!"

Elijah's eyes cut through me, ice-cold.

"Eleanor, Fay just gave birth and dragged herself here to see you—and you go after her child? Are you out of your mind?"

"I was worried about you. I was ready to get you into that delivery room. Now? Don't bother."

"You're staying in this room until Fay decides she can stand the sight of you again."

Pain ripped through my belly like something was being ground apart inside me, and my whole body shook with it.

I drove my nails through my own palms just to keep from passing out.

"I didn't do it. She's framing me. She's the one who tried to kill my baby!"

Elijah's rage hit its peak. He kicked me, and I crashed to the floor.

"You're still lying?"

"You think Fay would hurt her own baby just to pin something on you?"

He wouldn't believe me. All I could see in his eyes was cruelty.

I couldn't stop myself from looking up, turning to my mother for help.

"Mom, you were in the room the whole time. You saw everything, didn't you?"

"I didn't drop the baby. It was Fay, she—"

Sophie cut me off, her voice ice-cold.

"Eleanor, what did I teach you growing up? You do something wrong, you own it."

"Fay came here with nothing but good intentions, and you repay her by hurting a child? What is wrong with you?"

My heart dropped straight through the floor.

My mother had always played favorites, but I never imagined she could be this heartless toward me.

Before I could say another word, a rush of warmth flooded between my legs.

Blood that had already stopped now surged out again, pooling fast, spreading red across the floor.

The cold indifference in Elijah's eyes shattered into panic.

He moved instinctively toward the nurse call button, but Fay caught his arm.

"Elijah, my mom has a bit of medical training. Why not let her take a look—see if Eleanor's really about to have this baby?"

Before I could refuse, my mother's cold hand pushed inside me.

After a rough, careless examination, she looked down at me with flat indifference.

"Eleanor, I know you hate Fay, but you don't get to fake an emergency just to steal his attention."

"You're not even dilated. You couldn't push that baby out if you wanted to."

I stared up at her, barely able to breathe, my voice a threadbare whisper.

"Why? Why would you do this to me?"

"I'm your daughter too. This child I'm carrying—your own grandchild."

She turned her face away. She couldn't look at me.

I reached out, trembling, and caught the hem of Elijah's shirt.

"I can't hold on much longer. Please. Call a doctor."

Something flickered in his eyes, and he was about to speak when Fay screamed behind him.

"Elijah, the baby stopped moving! Something's wrong!"

The hand that had been reaching for me pulled away. Elijah scooped Fay into his arms and ran out of the room without looking back.

I crawled toward the door on hands and knees, dragging a smear of blood behind me, and the edges of the world went black.

The last thing I saw was Elijah's back, already gone.

I lowered my eyes. Smiled. Tasted blood on my lips.

Elijah Gilbert—if you say I owe Fay Fox, then fine. Two lives ought to cover it.

……

Elijah carried the baby and sprinted all the way to the ER.

When the doctors confirmed it was only a surface wound, he finally let out a breath.

But the memory of my eyes—desperate, dying—hit him before he could push it away, and the panic flooded back.

He forced a smile and pushed Fay's hand off him.

"The baby's fine. I need to get back to Eleanor—that's my flesh and blood she's carrying."

He shoved past Fay's shrieking and ran for my room, frantic.

But the second he threw the door open, Elijah stopped dead—and his legs nearly gave out beneath him.

I lay still in a spreading pool of blood. Silent. Gone.

Between my legs, a pair of tiny pale hands jutted out, streaked with blood.