She Weaponized Our Baby

Vanessa sniffed and shook her head, firm. "No. My mom's right. No matter who I marry, he's responsible for my brother's future.

"If you really care about me and this baby, you'll transfer the house to Darren—no hesitation—so he can settle down. Then my parents can have their grandson sooner. That's my duty as his sister."

I'd known she used the money I gave her to support her family. I let it slide. Money was just money—as long as she was happy.

But this? I didn't expect her to follow her parents this far. She was even willing to put our child on the table.

That was when it hit—just how bad it really was.

Darren shot to his feet. Plates crashed as he grabbed my collar and shoved me straight to the door.

"Wade Watson, you've got seven days. Either you come transfer the house, or wait for my sister to abort the baby and divorce you. Either way, she can remarry. Hell, I'll find her some rich guy and cash in even more!"

The door slammed in my face.

Just like that, I was out.

I pulled out my phone and called Vanessa.

Blocked. Instantly.

Outside, it was freezing. Wind cut straight through me. I couldn't stop shaking—hands and feet numb.

I got home on autopilot. That night, the fever hit hard. Then the pain—appendicitis.

Right before surgery, a nurse asked for an emergency contact.

I hesitated... then gave Vanessa's number.

The call connected. The nurse explained everything.

Vanessa snapped. "Who the hell are you, teaming up with Wade for this pathetic stunt? Are you serious?

"I'm telling you right now—even if he drops dead, if he hasn't signed that house over to my brother, I'm not claiming his body!"

Her voice blasted through the speaker, sharp and vicious, filling the whole room.

In that moment, whatever hope I had left for Vanessa just... died.

Under the sympathetic looks around me, I swallowed the humiliation and the pain and gave them my boss's number instead—Helen Hart.

She was three years older, sharp, and seriously capable. Already a senior exec, known for being decisive and all business. You almost never saw her smile.

I didn't think she'd agree.

But the second she heard, she said she was coming—she'd handle everything as my emergency contact.

When I came out of surgery and saw the concern on her face, my eyes stung.

"Ms. Hart, thank you. If it weren't for you tonight..."

She sighed and waved me off. "Just focus on getting better. Don't think about anything else. I've covered your bills and meals for the next few days, and I hired two caregivers. If you need anything, call me."

Something twisted in my chest.

I gave everything to my wife, and she walked away without a second thought.

But my boss—someone I barely knew outside of work—showed up and took care of me like this.

***

Over the next few days, I sent the Suttons message after message. No replies.

Vanessa never showed. Never unblocked me.

Seven days—just like that.

I was handling my discharge alone when a caregiver called out, "Wade Watson? Something here from Vanessa Sutton!"

My chest tightened. Maybe she finally came to her senses. Maybe she sent some essentials.

"I'm here!"

The caregiver glanced at me, shoved a white foam box into my arms, and rushed off like I was bad luck.

A faint, metallic smell hit me.

I frowned and opened it.