Mistaken Identity: Dream and Love Consumed by Fire

"We need to end this," I muttered. "The child is gone already. You love someone else, so let's get a divorce and move on."

Damian barely registered my words, hurrying Harriet toward the emergency wing.

"We'll talk later," he said over his shoulder. "My secretary will drive you home."

A wave of despair crashed over me. I let out a bitter laugh, my hand drifting to my abdomen, where my child had once been.

"Your dad's heart belongs to another," I murmured to the void. "Good thing you never knew. I'll bear this pain alone."

He didn't acknowledge the loss of our child or my request for divorce. Harriet had consumed his every thought.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped out of the hospital.

The secretary's car waited curbside. He opened the door with a polite nod. "Madam, Mr. Patton sent me to take you home. Please, get in."

I slid into the backseat, my eyes catching on a delicate box of pastries.

"You've craved these since the pregnancy started, so Mr. Patton made a special trip this afternoon to buy them for you," he said enthusiastically. "Miss Patton's sudden illness delayed him."

I looked away and closed my eyes, not responding.

Weeks ago, such gestures would've melted me. Now it was just a cruel reminder of Damian's deceit.

Sensing my bad mood, the secretary added, "Mr. Patton cares deeply for you, Madam. Last night, when you didn't come home, he sent teams searching the city for you."

"Alright," I interrupted, my voice flat. "Just give me a moment of peace."

The secretary shut his mouth, squirming in the driver's seat.

At the villa, I printed the divorce agreement, packed for tomorrow's flight, and sat in the living room, waiting for Damian to return.

But as dawn broke, he still hadn't come back.

The front door creaked open, but it wasn't him.

...

Harriet sauntered in, a smug smirk twisting her lips. "Up all night waiting? Too bad, he spent it with me. I faked a little flare-up, and he was glued to me. Proves I'm the one he truly values."

I arched an eyebrow. "And your point?"

Gone was the fragile act she played for Damian. Her eyes glinted with malice as she stepped closer. "You're nothing to him. Get the hint and leave! I know you saved him, ruining your hand and piano dreams. Your parents killed themselves over the debts from your treatments. So what? Damian believes me."

My vision swam with anger, my right hand trembling uncontrollably. It turned out she knew everything.

My music teacher once called me a prodigy, destined for Carnegie Hall. Saving Damian burned my hand, damaging the tendons irreversibly.

I couldn't play the piano without shaking. My parents sold everything for my treatments, to no avail.

I had to abandon my dream.

With mounting debts weighing on him, my dad succumbed to illness. Unable to handle the grief, my mom took her life to join him.

In the dead of night, when my hand throbbed, those memories haunted me.

That was my deepest scar. I hadn't shared it with anyone, yet Harriet knew the whole truth.

"You know I saved him," I said, my face pale, "and you're still trying to steal him?"

Her smirk was venomous. "So what? He's mine now, and you've got no proof. Honestly, your parents were idiots, believing your hand could heal. Wasted everything on you. They deserved it."