My Husband Chose His Mistress While I Was Dying

I tore the room apart.

I checked every single drawer in the dresser. I searched the walk-in closet, digging through old coat pockets and empty shoeboxes. There was nothing. No old phone. No tablet. Not even a stray charging cord.

I walked over to the tall window. Down below, the estate was locked down tight. Floodlights lit up the manicured lawn. Two private security guards paced the gravel near the main gate. There was no way out.

At the bottom of the nightstand drawer, I found a crumpled dry-cleaning receipt and an ink pen.

My fingers were shaking so hard I could barely grip the plastic. On the blank back of the paper, I pressed down and wrote:

*Marcus, please. Call Daniel Carr. Tell him Trevor has me locked in the bedroom.*

Around midnight, the guards traded shifts in the hall. I heard Cole’s heavy boots stomp down the stairs. A few seconds later, Marcus’s lighter, steady footsteps took his place outside my door.

I dropped to my knees on the carpet. I slid the white slip of paper through the narrow crack beneath the door.

The shadow under the frame stopped moving.

The paper slid out of sight.

Through the crack, I saw Marcus bend down. He picked it up. He unfolded it. For a long, suffocating minute, there was complete silence in the corridor. My heart hammered violently against my ribs.

Then came the soft rustle of fabric. He folded the note twice and slipped it into his inner jacket pocket.

A moment later, Marcus walked a few paces down the hall, stopping near the linen closet.

I pressed my ear flat against the cold wood of the door.

I heard the quiet beep of a phone dialing. Marcus’s voice came through, rough and barely above a whisper.

"It's Webb," he said.

A beat of silence.

"You gave me this number two years ago."

Another pause. Someone was speaking on the other end.

"She's locked in the master bedroom. Hicks cut off her phone, and she's hurt."

Marcus took a sharp breath. "You need to come."

He ended the call. The silence rushed back in.

***

By the fourth night, the numbness had reached my bones.

Nobody had come. The door stayed locked. The tray of food Marcus had brought earlier sat untouched on the side table, cold and gray.

My left shoulder throbbed with a sickening, heavy ache from Trevor’s shove. But the ache in my chest was far worse.

I sat on the edge of the mattress, staring at the blank wall.

Ten years.

I had plunged into black, freezing lake water to drag Trevor out when the ice gave way. My bare hands had frozen to his winter coat. My organs had shut down from hypothermia. I had lost the ability to carry a child before I even turned twenty.

And for the past twelve months, I had secretly endured doctor visits, hormone therapy, and agonizing treatments just to heal my body for him. Dr. Chen had cleared me. I was capable of conceiving. I had planned to tell him over dinner on our tenth anniversary.

He had canceled that dinner to take Sienna to an art show.

Now, he was in the kitchen below, making her soup. He was resting his hand on her stomach. He had taken my diamond necklace and fastened it around her neck.

He had taken everything I had. And now I was locked in a room like an unwanted stray.

There was no fight left in me. No tears. Just a quiet, crushing exhaustion.

I stood up on unsteady legs.

I walked to the sitting table and picked up the empty water glass. I let my fingers uncurl.

It hit the hardwood floor and shattered into bright, jagged pieces.

I knelt down in the dark. I picked up a long, sharp shard.

I didn't cry. I didn't hesitate. I pressed the edge hard against my left wrist, dragged it across, and let the pain wash over me.

***

The blood was thick and warm. It spilled over my fingers, soaking deep into the cream carpet.

I slumped back against the base of the bed. My breath came slow and shallow. The ceiling began to blur into dark shadows.

A few minutes later, the lock clicked.

Cole pushed the door open to check the room. He took two steps inside, his flashlight beam sweeping across the floor, before he stopped dead.

"Jesus," he choked out.

He scrambled for the radio clipped to his collar. "Hicks! Hicks, get up here! Now!"

Heavy, frantic footsteps pounded up the stairs. Trevor burst through the doorway, his chest heaving.

"What happened—"

Trevor froze. His face drained of all color. He stared at the dark red pool spreading across the floor. He stared at my limp hand, at the blood dripping from my fingers.

"Violet?" he stammered, his voice cracking.

I looked at him through heavy, half-closed eyes. I couldn't even lift my chin.

Then, soft footsteps padded down the hallway.

"Trev?" Sienna’s voice drifted in.

She stopped in the open doorway, clutching Trevor’s white shirt tightly over her chest. Her eyes went wide, filling with instant, delicate tears. She swayed slightly, leaning her weight against the doorframe.

"Trevor... the blood," she whimpered, her voice trembling and breathless. "I feel so faint... the baby... I can't look at it."

Trevor blinked.

He looked down at me on the floor.

Then he looked back at Sienna.

The horror in his eyes shifted. It hardened into something weak, cowardly, and cold. He took half a step backward, pulling his polished leather shoes away from the edge of the puddle.

"Cole," Trevor said. His tone was suddenly flat. Detached. "Handle it. Stay with her."

Cole stared at him in utter disbelief. "Sir? She’s losing too much blood. Should I call 911?"

Trevor didn't answer.

He turned his back on me. He wrapped an arm around Sienna’s trembling shoulders, guided her down the hall toward the living room, and pulled the bedroom door shut behind them.

The lock clicked.

The cold settled into my chest, and the darkness finally pulled me under.