Chapter 6

Before Liam could process my words, Chloe screamed. It was a theatrical, piercing sound. She leaped from the sofa, not like a woman in delicate condition, but like an athlete. She threw herself in front of me, her arms spread wide as if to shield me from some imaginary threat.

"Ava, watch out!" she cried, stumbling "accidentally" into the path of the falling floor lamp that my stumble had dislodged. The lamp wasn't going to hit me, but in her dramatic lunge, she made sure it hit her. It crashed against her side with a dull thud.

She collapsed to the floor, moaning in pain. "My stomach... Liam, the baby!"

Everything happened in a blur. Liam rushed to Chloe's side, his face pale with terror. He ignored me completely, his entire world narrowing to the whimpering woman on the floor. My own pain was a silent scream, drowned out by her performance. I was still doubled over, clutching my stomach, but it was as if I had become invisible.

"We have to get you to a hospital!" Liam yelled, scooping Chloe into his arms. He ran out of the cabin, leaving me behind with the broken glass and my escalating agony.

I managed to call for an ambulance myself before collapsing onto the floor. The pain was a relentless wave, and the floor felt cold against my cheek. I was losing consciousness when the paramedics burst in.

At the hospital, the chaos continued. I was in one emergency room, Liam was in another with Chloe. A nurse came to take my blood. Liam suddenly appeared in the doorway, his face a mask of fury.

"She needs a blood transfusion," he said, his voice raw. "She's a rare blood type. Rh-negative. The hospital is low on it." He looked at me, his eyes cold and hard. "You're the same type. The doctor saw it in your file. You have to give her blood."

It wasn't a request. It was a demand. He was asking me, the wife he had betrayed and abandoned, to save the woman who had destroyed our marriage.

"Liam, that's insane," I croaked, the pain in my abdomen still sharp. "I'm... I'm not well."

"Don't be selfish, Ava!" he spat. "My son's life is at stake! You owe me this. After all your failures, this is the one thing you can do for this family!"

The cruelty of his words was staggering. He saw my infertility not as a shared sorrow, but as my personal failure, a debt I now had to repay with my own blood. Before I could protest further, a nurse was prepping my arm. They were going to take it, whether I agreed or not.

As my blood flowed through the tube, I felt dizzy and weak. My own doctor rushed in, looking alarmed.

"What are you doing?" he demanded of the nurse. "This patient is showing signs of a threatened miscarriage! She can't be a donor!"

Liam, who was standing in the doorway, looked confused. "Miscarriage? What are you talking about? She can't get pregnant."

The doctor looked at him with disbelief. "Sir, your wife is seven weeks pregnant. But her condition is critical. We need to stop this transfusion now!"

The word hung in the air. Pregnant. A miracle I had given up on, a secret my body had been keeping. And now, my husband was draining the life from me to save his mistress.

Just then, a nurse from the other room rushed over. "Mr. Patterson, Chloe is awake. She's asking for you."

Liam didn't hesitate. He turned and left without a backward glance, his face full of relief. He left me in the sterile room, with the impossible news of a pregnancy I was now losing.

The doctor worked frantically, but it was too late. The pain in my stomach intensified into a final, wrenching cramp. I felt a devastating sense of loss, a hollowing out that was far worse than any physical pain. I had been carrying our child. Our miracle baby. And Liam had just sacrificed it for a lie.

I lay in the hospital bed, empty and numb. The child was gone. The love was gone. Everything was gone. When the nurse asked if she should contact my husband, I shook my head.

"I don't have a husband," I said.

Later that night, I asked for scissors. I sat up in bed and, piece by piece, I cut my long hair, the hair Liam had always said he loved. I watched the dark strands fall onto the white hospital sheets, each snip a severing of a tie, a cutting away of the woman I used to be. I was done. I was finally, irrevocably done.