After My Miscarriage, the Don Lost Everything

When I woke again, I was lying in the top-floor private suite.

My abdomen was horrifyingly flat. For eight months, there had been a life in there, keeping me company. Now there was nothing.

The nurses outside my door were whispering. Every word drifted through, sharp and clear.

"I had no idea Mr. Vincent was actually the Don of the Jones Family. When he pulled rank yesterday and ordered every surgeon in the hospital away from the Donna's maternity ward, I froze. Aren't they supposed to be a devoted couple—five years and still in love? The Donna was out there fighting the European Medical Association with a belly that big, dragging this hospital to the top of Europe all by herself—"

"You didn't see him come racing in with Clara in his arms. All she'd done was break her water. He dragged every surgical chief and anesthesiologist in the building up to the maternity ward for a consult. He pulled the Donna's team out of her maternity ward. He made her miss the window. And not only did she lose the baby, she—"

"Stop. Don't say it. He didn't sleep for forty-eight hours. Stood outside Clara's delivery suite and didn't move. There's going to be a reshuffle at the top of this hospital soon. The Donna runs the whole group. If he's going to openly side with Clara like this, who's ever going to stand with the Donna again—"

I closed my eyes, turned my face to the wall, and let the tears soak silently into the pillow.

My hand went to my stomach. My chest felt like it had been seized by a bloody fist. Every breath came with a stabbing ache.

The nurse on rounds noticed I was awake and hurried off to fetch the attending.

He came and stood at the bedside, head lowered, his voice careful with guilt.

"Donna, the delay was too long. The baby asphyxiated in utero. The hemorrhage caused severe damage to your fallopian tubes and extensive pelvic adhesions. Going forward, the probability of natural conception is… essentially zero."

I had known already. Lying on that operating table, as consciousness slipped away, I had known.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I simply looked up at him, my voice rough but steady.

"And Clara? She and the child are fine?"

"Yes. Ms. Clara's baby was large, so the delivery was long. Mr. Vincent stayed outside the whole time. Once mother and child were safe, he finally ordered us in to operate on you…"

"I understand."

I cut him off.

"I want the complete original medical records for Clara—every prenatal visit through delivery. I also want the full log of Vincent's orders transferring my medical staff yesterday, along with any call recordings. On my desk within the hour."

He blinked, stunned, but didn't dare ask questions. He nodded quickly and backed out.

The room went quiet again.

I picked up the phone from the bedside table and unlocked it. The first thing I saw was a post Clara had just published.

The photo: Vincent holding her hand, bending down to kiss her forehead. The background was the penthouse VIP maternity suite I had designed myself.

The caption:

"The one who isn't loved is the third party. Now my love and I have our child, and his wife is just a free, all-purpose maid he hired. She runs his company to make him money. She handles his family and his social obligations. And whenever I'm not feeling well, she's the one who lets him come to her to take care of his needs. I don't have to suffer pregnancy. I don't have to deal with his tedious social circle. I don't have to worry about him catching anything from sleeping around. This life is the dream."

The comments were split. Half called her shameless for being the other woman. Half praised her for being so ruthlessly direct.

She had personally replied to one of the attacks. Every word she'd written went into my already shredded heart like a knife.

"He stopped wanting his wife a long time ago. She could strip naked in front of him and he wouldn't get hard. Every time he had to sleep with her, he'd need to do a naked video call with me first just to get in the mood. He told her he'd fired me and cut contact—he actually bought me an apartment in the same complex. We've been together every day. A whole year."

So that was it.

The obscenity I'd walked in on a year ago hadn't been an accident. It was just their ordinary routine.

Five years of my life. Five years of giving him everything. It had all been groundwork for their happy ending.

The medical empire I'd built with my own hands. The seat of Don I'd helped him secure. The love I'd bet everything on. From beginning to end, all of it had been a con.

He knew who Clara was.

He knew Clara's mother was the woman who had killed my mother.

He knew Clara was my stepmother's daughter. The one person in this world I hated most.

He chose her anyway.

He killed our child with his own hands for her. He stripped me of motherhood for her.

If love had already rotted through, why hold on to some pathetic delusion?