I Miscarried In Hospital, He Kissed His Mistress On Live TV

"I don't know you." I pulled the thin hospital blanket tighter against my chest.

"Julian Croft." He didn't offer a hand. He just watched me with flat, calculating eyes. "I represent a firm that specializes in crisis management. And right now, you are a crisis waiting to happen."

"Leave."

"Jude Lawson just humiliated you on national television. Serena Fox just sent you a photo from his hotel bed. You are a secret he plans to bury." Julian stepped closer to the bed. "I can give you the platform to destroy him."

"My baby just died." I glared at him. "I'm not playing your games."

Julian's expression didn't shift, but his voice dropped a fraction. "I know. And I am incredibly sorry for your loss. But grief turns to anger eventually."

"I said get out!" My voice cracked, raw and hollow.

Julian reached into his jacket. He set a matte black business card on the metal tray next to my bed.

"You have twenty-four hours before Serena Fox spins this entire narrative. Call me when you decide you want to fight back."

He turned and walked out.

Silence settled over the room, thick and suffocating.

Then, a sharp buzz vibrated against the linoleum floor.

My shattered phone.

I dragged myself to the edge of the mattress. Fire flared in my lower stomach. I gritted my teeth, sliding my bare feet onto the cold tiles, and scooped up the broken device.

The screen was a spiderweb of cracked glass. But through the jagged lines, a text message glowed brightly.

*Jude: Saw your 40 missed calls. Stop blowing up my phone. I’m out celebrating with the guys.*

I stared at the glowing letters. My thumb hovered over the screen.

Another text popped up instantly.

*Jude: The Serena kiss was just network PR. You know how this industry works. Stop being so dramatic. We’ll talk tomorrow when you calm down. Go to sleep.*

Dramatic.

A harsh, ugly laugh scraped its way up my throat. The sound echoed in the empty hospital room, sounding like a stranger.

My baby's heart had stopped beating. I was bleeding out on a sterile hospital mattress. I had just watched another woman claim the man I loved.

And he told me to go to sleep.

I pressed my thumb against the shattered glass. A sharp shard pierced my skin. A drop of dark red blood welled up, smearing across his name.

I didn't wipe it away. The physical sting grounded me.

I tapped the screen. *Contact Info.*

*Block Caller.*

A prompt popped up. *Are you sure you want to block Jude?*

"Yes," I whispered.

I opened Instagram. Searched his handle. *Block.*

Twitter. *Block.*

Snapchat. *Block.*

I erased every trace of Jude Lawson from my digital existence. Two years of secrets, deleted in less than two minutes.

Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway outside my room.

The door flew open, hitting the rubber wall stopper with a loud thud.

"Elowen!"

Mila stood in the doorway. Her hair was messy, her heavy winter jacket thrown hastily over a pajama shirt. She was panting, her eyes scanning the room until they locked onto me.

"Mila," I croaked.

She dropped her purse on the floor. Keys spilled out, clattering against the tiles, but she didn't look down. She rushed forward, kicking the door shut behind her.

"I saw the broadcast," Mila said, her voice shaking with rage. "I saw that bastard kiss Serena Fox on live TV. I drove here as fast as I could."

Mila grabbed my shoulders. Her grip was fierce, anchoring me to the bed. "Where is he? Tell me he’s not here. I swear to God, Elowen, I will break his throwing arm myself."

I looked at her familiar face. The mascara smudged under her eyes told me she had been crying for me on the drive over.

"He's not coming," I said.

"Good. He doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you." Mila studied my face. Her anger faltered, replaced by deep concern. "El, why are you in a hospital gown? Did you faint again? You said you were just feeling dizzy this morning."

I opened my mouth to answer. My throat locked.

I looked down at my flat stomach. My hands trembled as I pressed them against the thin cotton fabric.

Mila followed my gaze. Her eyes widened.

"No," she breathed, shaking her head slowly. "Elowen, please tell me..."

"There was no heartbeat," I mouthed.

The words made it real. The finality of it slammed into my chest, heavier than a freight train.

Mila didn't ask another question. She didn't offer empty platitudes.

She climbed onto the narrow hospital bed and pulled me into her arms.

I buried my face in her shoulder. My body shook violently.

No sound came out. I couldn't scream. I couldn't wail. The grief was too massive, choking off my vocal cords entirely. I just cried, hot tears soaking into Mila's shirt, my nails digging into her back as if she were the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth.

Mila stroked my hair. "I've got you," she murmured. "I've got you, El. Let it out."

We stayed like that for a long time. The hospital machines beeped steadily in the background, a cruel reminder that time was still moving forward.

Slowly, the tears stopped. The crushing weight in my chest didn't leave, but it hardened. It turned into something sharp. Something cold.

I pulled away from Mila.

I wiped my raw eyes with the back of my hand.

My gaze drifted to the metal tray next to the bed.

Julian Croft's matte black business card sat there, mocking me in the fluorescent light.

"Mila," I said, my voice eerily calm.

"What is it, sweetie? Do you need water?"

"Pass me that card."

Mila frowned, reaching over and handing it to me. "Who is Julian Croft?"

I stared at the silver embossed lettering.

"He's the man who is going to help me destroy Jude Lawson."