He Chose Her Over Our Baby

Abigail King's POV:

Dane always told me not to worry about Chloe. He said she was just an old friend, nothing more. He said my anxiety was unfounded. He comforted me in so many ways, making me feel like my suspicions were all in my head. And yet here we were, fighting about her again.

"Abigail, you're making a mountain out of a molehill," Dane said coldly. "It was just a joke. Are you looking for an excuse to leave?" His eyes were icy, accusatory.

Our friends looked pale and uncomfortable, trying to step in. "Hey, everyone, calm down," Mark said, stepping forward. "It's just Chloe. That's ancient history, right?"

Sarah, ever the peacemaker, chimed in. "Yeah, Dane barely even sees her. They hardly talk."

But her words rang hollow. Months ago, I'd had a minor surgery, and I'd wanted Dane by my side.

He was supposed to be out of state for a legal deposition. He'd called me from his hotel room, his voice light and distant. "Honey, I'm so sorry. This deposition is taking longer than I expected. I won't make it back for your surgery. I'll call you as soon as I'm done." He'd sounded genuinely apologetic.

I understood. Work was important. I told him it was fine, that I'd be okay.

A coworker signed my surgical consent form. As I was wheeled into the OR, I felt a strange loneliness. When I woke up from anesthesia, the recovery room was bright and smelled of disinfectant. The bed beside me was empty. I swallowed the dryness in my throat, feeling a deep, hollow loneliness.

I pressed the nurse call button. My coworker came by later with flowers and stayed until visiting hours ended.

And now Sarah's innocent words echoed in my head on repeat: "Dane barely even sees her. They hardly talk."

"Oh, really?" Mark frowned. "I thought Dane said he went to a mountain wedding with Chloe a few months ago — her sister's wedding, wasn't it? That same weekend?"

Dane's head snapped toward Mark. "Mark! Shut up!" he snarled, his face flushing red, panic flashing in his eyes.

My eyes went wide. Then a bitter laugh escaped me.

Months ago. The mountains. Chloe's sister's wedding. That was the exact weekend of my surgery. He hadn't been out of state for any deposition. He'd been with Chloe. While I lay alone in a hospital bed, recovering from surgery by myself, he'd been at her side.

Something lodged in my throat. My body went heavy, as if I couldn't move. Exhaustion washed over me like a tide, and I couldn't speak. The pain was too deep, too sharp.

Dane's face went white. He pressed his lips together, desperate to explain. His mouth opened, then closed again.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

I turned and walked stiffly toward the door. My fingers trembled as I reached for the handle. I pulled it open.

Chloe Chavez stood on my doorstep.

Eight years. It had been eight whole years since I'd last seen her face. Her eyes were wide, glistening with tears, and they locked onto mine.

"Abigail," she whispered, her voice cracking. She looked fragile, desperate. "Please, don't be angry. This is all my fault. Dane was just trying to help me." She wrung her hands. "I needed him. I had no one else. I'm so sorry."

The initial shock faded, replaced by a deep, crushing disappointment.

My husband — the man who'd once promised me the world — had put this woman before me when I was at my most vulnerable. It was sickening.

Dane, my "knight in shining armor," had fallen for her act again. He could never resist a helpless, fragile woman. And now Chloe was in tears, looking pleadingly at Dane.

"It's okay, Chloe." Dane rushed over and put his arm around her shoulders. His gaze toward me turned hard and cold. "Don't worry about her. Abigail, you have no right to treat Chloe this way. She's been through enough."

My face went pale. This was like a scene from a terrible soap opera. My husband was comforting the woman who'd betrayed me, while I stood there as if I were invisible. It felt like a slow, agonizing death.

"Abigail, don't blame Chloe," Dane continued firmly. "Blame me. Direct all your anger at me. Just… don't hurt her."