Lost Love after Daughter's Death

The sterile smell of the hospital lingered on my clothes as I sat in my car, staring at the phone screen that displayed a balance of zero. Three years. Three years of working double shifts at the gallery, selling my paintings for whatever I could get, skipping meals so I could put every dollar toward Liv's surgery fund. One hundred and fifty thousand dollars—gone. My hands trembled as I called the bank again, hoping against hope that this was some terrible mistake. The automated voice confirmed what I already knew in my heart. The account had been emptied yesterday at 2:47 PM. Authorization code matched Tobias's information perfectly. I drove to his office in a daze, my vision blurring with tears I refused to let fall. The gleaming corporate tower where Dean Enterprises occupied three floors seemed to mock me, its glass windows reflecting the gray Seattle sky like cold, unfeeling eyes.

Chapters

Chapter 2

I jerked awake to the sound of Liv's monitor beeping frantically. Her breathing had become shallow, her small chest heaving with the effort to draw air. I didn't need the flashing red numbers on the screen to tell me her oxygen levels were dropping dangerously low.

"Baby, stay with me," I whispered, already reaching for my phone with one hand while pressing the nurse call button with the other. The clock read 3:17 AM—we'd made it through another night, but just barely.

Within minutes, our living room transformed into a flurry of urgent activity as the home health nurse called an ambulance. I held Liv's frail hand the entire ride to Seattle Children's Hospital, whispering promises I wasn't sure I could keep anymore.

"Is Daddy coming?" she asked through the oxygen mask, her voice so faint I had to lean close to hear it.

"I'll call him right now," I promised, stroking her paper-thin skin.

The call went straight to voicemail—again. I left message number six since yesterday, no longer bothering to hide the panic in my voice.

"Tobias, it's critical. We're at the hospital. Liv's condition has deteriorated significantly. The doctors are saying..." My voice broke. "They're saying without the surgery, we have days, maybe less. Please call me back. Your daughter needs you."

Dr. Martinez's face told me everything before she even spoke. We stood in the hallway outside Liv's room, the fluorescent lights casting shadows that deepened the lines of concern on her face.

"Mrs. Dean, Liv's heart is failing. The medication can only do so much at this point. Without the surgery..." She hesitated, her professional demeanor slipping for just a moment. "I'm so sorry. We should discuss comfort measures."

Comfort measures. The clinical term for letting my daughter die as painlessly as possible.

"There has to be something else we can do," I pleaded, my nails digging into my palms. "Payment plans, medical trials, anything."

"The surgery needs to happen immediately, and it requires specialists flying in from Boston. The hospital needs at least partial payment upfront." She placed a gentle hand on my arm. "I've already reached out to every program I know."

I nodded numbly, thanking her before returning to Liv's bedside. As I settled into the uncomfortable hospital chair, my phone buzzed with a notification. Not Tobias—but Celine's Instagram account that I'd hate-followed for months.

The image showed a sun-drenched private yacht deck. Celine lounged in a white bikini, champagne flute in hand, while Tobias—my husband, Liv's father—stood behind her with his arms wrapped around her waist, his lips pressed against her neck. The caption read: "Birthday celebrations continue! Day 2 in paradise with my love. #BahamasGetaway #BirthdayGirl #VintageCartier"

The timestamp showed it had been posted just twenty minutes ago.

With trembling fingers, I called his number again. Voicemail. Again.

"Tobias, I know you have your phone off. I've seen Celine's posts." I struggled to keep my voice steady. "While you're drinking champagne, your daughter is dying. The doctors say she has days left. Days, Tobias. She keeps asking for you."

I ended the call and looked at Liv, who had finally fallen into a fitful sleep, her chest rising and falling with painful irregularity. The smartwatch on her wrist—his Christmas gift—blinked with her dangerously elevated heart rate.

Over the next forty-eight hours, I left sixteen more messages. Each one more desperate than the last. Each one met with silence.

"Daddy promised he'd call today," Liv whispered on the second evening, her voice barely audible over the beeping machines. "He promised."

"I know, sweetheart." I smoothed her hair back from her forehead, trying to hide the tears that threatened to spill over. "Maybe tomorrow."

As night fell over Seattle, my phone buzzed again. For one wild moment, hope surged through me—but it was just another Instagram notification. Celine, resplendent in a flowing white dress, the controversial Cartier necklace glittering at her throat, stood on a moonlit beach. Tobias was raising a glass in a toast, his smile wider than any I'd seen directed at me in years.

The caption read: "Last night in paradise with the love of my life. Thank you for making this birthday unforgettable. #BlessedAndGrateful"

I turned off my phone and curled up beside Liv in her hospital bed, listening to her labored breathing in the darkness, wondering how much time we had left.

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After marrying Mack West, I would ask him the same question each year: "Will we ever break up?" In the first year, he laughed it off, "Don't be silly, we'll be together forever." In the second year, he simply said, "I love you." By the third year, he replied impatiently, "Alex is really picking up all your habits." In the fourth year, Mack presented me with divorce papers. I didn't resist. He asked, "Aren't you going to fight for the kid?" "No, he's a West." ============================== It was two in the morning, with the night outside thick and heavy. The room was wrapped in silence, and even the air seemed to hold its breath. Mack had just laid down, and we lay back-to-back, each ignoring the other's presence. I knew he wasn't asleep. "Mack, will we... ever break up?" He remained silent for a moment, as if deep in thought. Then, he sat up and handed me a document. "Sign this." It was the divorce agreement.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.1

Escaping Eric's False Love

9.1

To placate Kathryn, who was throwing her hundredth dramatic fit, Eric asked me to step down from my role as the bride. “She’s just young and a bit clueless. Could you do me a favor?” he pleaded. “Don’t worry, you’ll always be the real Mrs. Jimenez.” I clutched the edge of my wedding dress, hesitating before giving a silent nod. As I returned to the changing room, I overheard him jesting with his friends. “Savanna’s just like a loyal pet; she wouldn’t dare to oppose me.” “Are you really letting the girlfriend take center stage at your wedding? I bet you could tell her to give up her place on the marriage certificate too, and she’d go along with it.” Eric laughed smugly. “Definitely, want to wager on it?” He bet with his friend that after the wedding, he’d get a marriage certificate with Kathryn, and even if I were shattered, I’d quietly comply. I stood there for a while, then turned to leave without a word.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.6

Five Years into Marriage, His Mistress Brought Me His Child

8.6

A woman burst through, her desperate strength overwhelming the startled guards. She was nothing like the polished guests surrounding us. Her clothes were simple, worn—a faded cardigan over a plain dress that had seen better days. Her dark hair hung limp around a face etched with exhaustion and something deeper: desperation. But it was the child that made my breath catch. A small boy, maybe five years old, clung to her hand. His skin had that translucent pallor I'd seen in hospital charity visits—the look of serious illness. His eyes, too large for his thin face, swept the glittering crowd with a mixture of wonder and fear. The woman's gaze locked onto something behind me, and I felt William's hand tighten against my back. "William!" Her voice cracked like a whip across the suddenly silent room. "William Fitzgerald!" Every camera in the room swiveled toward us. William's face had drained of all color, his jaw slack. The confident Wall Street titan who commanded boardrooms and closed billion-dollar deals looked like he'd seen a ghost. "How could you?" The woman's voice rose, raw with anguish. "How could you just abandon us? He's dying, William. Your son is dying, and you won't even return my calls!" The words hit me like physical blows. Son? My husband William's son?

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.5

I Faked My Death to Escape Being His Wife

9.5

I smoothed the fabric of my white cocktail dress, a simple piece I'd chosen with care for tonight. Ten years of marriage. A decade that should have been marked by growth, by love, by the building of a life together. Instead, I stood alone in the elevator ascending to Le Ciel, one of Manhattan's most exclusive restaurants, my reflection in the mirrored walls revealing a woman I barely recognized anymore. Christian had arranged this dinner—a perfunctory gesture, I knew, but one that had kindled that dangerous thing called hope within me. Perhaps tonight would be different. Perhaps after ten years, he might finally see me. "Mrs. Sinclair, welcome." The maître d' greeted me with practiced deference. "Mr.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.9

Mr. Sterling, Your Ex-wife is a Famous CEO

8.9

Five years ago, Arabella Sterling vanished without a trace, disgraced, heartbroken, and branded her billionaire benefactor's dirty secret. What the world never knew was that she'd also been his wife. Or that the man she loved-and the son she gave everything for-chose another woman over her. Now, she's back as The Reformer, a world-renowned business strategist celebrated for resurrecting dying empires. Her newest client? The Sterling Group. Her ex-husband's empire. Adrian Sterling has spent years trying to atone for the lies that destroyed them both. But when Arabella walks into his boardroom, colder, sharper, untouchable...he realizes redemption may come at a cost he can't pay. Because this time, she's not here to save him. She's here to ruin him.

Billionaire Modern Romance

9.4

My Husband Saved His Mistress and Let Our Baby Die

9.4

The first thing I registered wasn’t pain. It was the white. Blinding, sterile, aggressive white. It saturated the ceiling tiles, the stiff sheets tucked too tightly around my legs, and the humming fluorescent tube overhead that flickered like a dying heartbeat. Then came the hollowness. A physical, gaping void in my lower abdomen that felt less like an injury and more like an eviction. I tried to sit up, but my body felt heavy, anchored by lead weights in my veins. A nurse materialized at my side—a woman with kind eyes and tired shoulders, smelling of antiseptic and cheap coffee. She adjusted the IV drip, her movements practiced and gentle, but she wouldn’t look me in the eye. "Mrs.

Billionaire Modern Romance

Lost Love after Daughter's Death

Chapter 2

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