Rise of the Betrayed wife

Isla's POV:

The fluorescent lights above me buzzed faintly as I stared at Dr. Morrison's mouth, watching his lips move but not really hearing the words.

"...congratulations, Mrs. Hartley...six weeks along...the baby is healthy..."

Six weeks.

The words finally broke through the fog in my mind, settling in my chest like something both heavy and weightless at the same time.

I blinked slowly, my hands gripping the edge of the plastic chair. My palms were sweating. The room felt too bright, too small, and suddenly too real.

Pregnant. I was pregnant.

After three years of trying. Three years of negative tests and doctor appointments and Declan's mother calling me barren at every family dinner. Three years of feeling broken and incomplete.

My hand moved to my stomach, which was flat and unchanged, but somehow different now.

Dr. Morrison kept talking, saying something about prenatal vitamins and follow-up appointments and avoiding stress.

I nodded. I didn't know what I was agreeing to. I just needed a moment to process this. To understand that after all this time, I was finally going to be a mother.

Maybe this would change things. Maybe Declan would finally look at me the way he used to, before the wedding, before the disappointment set in. Maybe his mother would stop with the cruel comments. Maybe we could be a real family.

When Dr. Morrison finally finished, I stood up on shaky legs and signed a quick "thank you." He gave me a warm smile and handed me a folder of information before opening the door for me.

The hospital hallway stretched out before me, endless and sterile. My vision blurred at the edges, but this time it was definitely tears.

Happy tears, I told myself. These were supposed to be happy tears.

I walked forward, one foot in front of the other, clutching the pregnancy results against my chest like a shield. How was I supposed to go home and tell Declan? Should I make it special? Should I just show him the paper?

My mind spun with possibilities, with hope I hadn't let myself feel in so long.

My foot caught on something-maybe the edge of a floor mat, maybe nothing-and I stumbled forward.

Strong hands caught me by the waist before I could hit the ground.

My head snapped up.

Dark, intense eyes stared down at me, framed by a face that could've been carved from stone. The man holding me was tall, dressed in an expensive black coat, and he smelled faintly of cedar and something else I couldn't place.

For a moment, we just looked at each other.

His grip on my waist was firm but not rough. It was steady and secure, like he had no intention of letting me fall.

Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone before I could read it.

This man looked so out of this world.

Is he an actor? A model? I can't tell.

"Are you alright?" His voice was deep and controlled. His brow furrowed out of concern.

I nodded quickly, suddenly aware of how close we were, of the warmth of his hands through my thin sweater, and the papers still pressed against my chest.

A small voice broke the moment.

"Daddy, is she okay?"

I glanced down. A little girl, no older than six, stood beside him clutching a stuffed rabbit, with bottle of water. She had the same dark eyes as the man, wide with concern.

He released me carefully, as if making sure I could stand on my own before letting go completely.

"I apologize," he said, stepping back. His tone was polite but distant. "I wasn't paying attention." He looked into my eyes.

I shook my head and signed "it's okay," even though I knew he probably didn't understand. Most people didn't. Most people didn't care about sign language or about mute people.

He watched my hands for a beat longer than necessary, then gave a short nod.

Did he understand me?

I turned and walked away before he could say anything else, my heart still pounding in my chest.

But I wasn't sure if it was from almost falling or from the way he'd looked at me.

It didn't matter. I had bigger things to think about now. I had a husband to tell. A future to plan.

I had a baby to protect.

---

The house was quiet when I got home, which was unusual.

I stood in the entryway for a moment, listening. Usually, I could hear the television in the living room or the clatter of dishes in the kitchen. Declan loved making it well known that he was around. He'd litter, play games, music, or do anything, just to make his presence visible.

But today, there was nothing.

The television was off. The sitting room was littered. No clattering in the kitchen.

Maybe this was a sign. Maybe today really was special.

I slipped off my shoes and set my bag down on the small table by the door, but I kept the pregnancy results clutched in my hand. My hands were still trembling, but now it was from excitement mixed with nervousness.

Maybe everyone was out. Maybe it would just be Declan and me, and I could tell him privately, the way I'd imagined.

I climbed the stairs slowly, each step feeling lighter than the last. The second floor hallway was dim, the curtains drawn. I walked past the guest room, past the bathroom, and toward the bedroom at the end of the hall, into our bedroom.

The door was cracked open, and I paused.

There were voices inside. They were low and hushed. A man's voice and a woman's.

My chest tightened.

That didn't sound like the television.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself, the papers crinkling slightly in my grip.

I pushed the door open slowly, my hand shaking on the doorknob.

What I saw shattered everything.

Isla's POV:

My husband, Declan, was on the bed, but he wasn't alone.

My stepsister, Sienna, was straddling him, her blonde hair cascading over her bare shoulders, her hands tangled in his hair, her mouth on his.

His hands gripped her waist, pulling her closer like he couldn't get enough.

The pregnancy results slipped from my fingers, fluttering to the floor.

They didn't notice me at first.

I stood there, frozen in the doorway, my mind struggling to process what I was seeing. My hand moved instinctively to my stomach, to the tiny life growing inside me that I'd been so excited to tell him about.

This couldn't be real.

This couldn't be happening.

Declan's eyes flicked up and met mine.

He didn't scramble. He didn't push her off. He didn't even look guilty. He just stared at me, like I was the one intruding.

Sienna turned her head slowly, following his gaze. When she saw me standing there, a smile spread across her face. That wasn't the look of embarrassment, not shame. Amusement.

"Oh," she said with false sweetness. "You're home early, Isla."

I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My chest felt tight, like someone had wrapped their hands around my lungs and squeezed.

The baby. I was carrying his baby, and he was here with her.

Declan shifted Sienna off his lap with an irritated sigh, like I'd interrupted something inconvenient. He didn't bother fixing his unbuttoned shirt. He didn't bother looking apologetic.

"Don't just stand there," he said coldly. "Close the door."

My hands shook at my sides.

Sienna laughed, soft and mocking. She stood up from the bed, adjusting her dress like this was nothing. Like I was nothing.

"What?" she said, tilting her head. "Did you really think he loved you? Did you think he actually wanted to touch you?"

The words hit me like physical blows.

"She can't even moan," Sienna continued, her smile widening. "She's mute and damaged. What kind of man wants a wife who can't even make a sound?" She looked back at Declan. "Tell her, darling. Tell her how much you've suffered."

Declan stood, buttoning his shirt with slow, deliberate movements.

"I've been enduring you for years, Isla," he said flatly. "Even before we got married. Do you know how tedious it is? How boring?"

My vision blurred from the sheer impossibility of what I was hearing.

My husband didn't even feel remorseful. Is this what has been going on behind my back?

"Why?" Sienna laughed again. "Why did he marry the barren mute?" She stepped closer to me, her eyes glittering. "Because I told him to, Isla. I told him to marry you, and wait for father to die, and then we get everything. The company. The properties. The inheritance. All of it."

My knees felt weak. I was on the verge of collapsing. I couldn't believe my ears and eyes. Could this be real? Or a dream?

"You were always just a placeholder," Declan said, his voice devoid of emotion. "A means to an end."

My hand moved to my pocket, fumbling for my phone. I needed proof. I needed evidence. I needed to show my father what they'd done, what they were planning.

The pregnancy results still lay on the floor between us, face-up. Sienna's eyes landed on them, and her expression changed instantly.

"What is that?" She bent down, snatching up the paper. Her eyes scanned it quickly, and her face twisted with rage. "You're pregnant?"

I tried to grab the paper back, but she jerked it away.

"You're trying to trap him!" she shrieked. "You think a baby will make him love you? You think this changes anything?"

She crumpled the paper in her fist.

I pulled out my phone with shaking hands, pointing it at them. I needed to record this. I needed someone to know the truth.

Sienna's eyes narrowed the moment she saw the phone.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I held it up higher, my finger hovering over the record button.

Declan's expression darkened. "Put the phone down, Isla."

I shook my head. Not this time. I wasn't backing down. Not when I had a child to protect.

Sienna moved fast, faster than I expected.

She lunged at me, her fingers clawing for the phone.

"Give it to me!" she hissed.

I jerked back, trying to keep it out of her reach, but she grabbed my wrist and yanked hard.

I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Just my hands moving frantically, desperately, trying to push her away.

"You stupid mute bitch," she snarled, her face contorted with fury. "You think anyone's going to believe you? You think anyone cares about you or that bastard baby?"

Declan didn't help. He just watched, with his arms crossed, like this was beneath him.

Sienna's nails dug into my skin as she twisted my arm. Pain shot up to my shoulder, but I held on tighter to the phone.

"Let go!" she screamed, as she shoved me hard, and I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the edge of the rug.

Everything slowed down, and my back hit the glass coffee table.

The sound of shattering glass filled the room.

Pain exploded across my skull, sharp and blinding. Warmth spread beneath my head, sticky and wet. I could smell the fain scent of blod. Too much blood. I tried to move, I tried to push myself up, but my body wouldn't respond.

Sienna stood over me, breathing hard, my phone now in her hand.

Declan finally moved. He stepped closer, looking down at me with wide eyes. For a moment, I thought I saw fear.

"Sienna," he said, his voice shaking. "What did you do?"

"What she deserved," Sienna said coldly. She crouched down beside me, and to my horror, she smiled.

Her hand reached out, gently petting my hair like I was a child.

"Oh, Isla," she whispered. "You could have just let it go. You could have pretended you didn't see anything. Then you would have still been alive."

My vision was fading. The room was getting darker. My hand moved weakly and slowly to my stomach. The baby. Our baby.

"Come on, Declan," Sienna said, standing up. She grabbed his arm. "Let's go. She's already gone."

"But.." Declan stared at me, frozen.

"It was an accident," Sienna said firmly, dragging him toward the door. "She fell. That's all. We'll find a way to cover it up. She's mute after all."

I watched them leave through blurring vision. The door closed, and I was alone now.

The cold was spreading through me now, starting in my fingers and toes and crawling inward toward my heart.

I'm sorry, I thought, my hand still resting on my stomach. I'm so sorry, little one.

The darkness swallowed me whole.

Isla's POV:

I woke up with a jolt, gasping for air like I'd been drowning. My eyes flew open, and bright lights burned into my vision, white ceiling, beeping machines, and the sharp smell of disinfectant in the air.

I was in a hospital.

My hands flew to my head, expecting to feel the sticky warmth of blood, and the sharp sting of shattered glass embedded in my skull, but there was nothing. No wounds, and no pain. How was that possible?

I sat up too quickly, and the room spun around me. My heart was beating fast against my ribs so hard I thought it might break through. I looked down at my hands, turning them over slowly. They were clean. No blood, and no scratches from fighting with Sienna.

What was happening?

I threw off the thin hospital blanket and swung my legs over the side of the bed. An IV was attached to my arm, and I ripped it out without thinking, ignoring the sharp sting that followed.

"Mrs. Hartley!" A nurse's voice called from somewhere behind me. "Mrs. Hartley, you need to stay in bed!"

I didn't listen. Well, couldn't. I needed to see, and to know what exactly was going on.

I stumbled toward the small bathroom attached to the room, my legs shaky from fright and. The nurse called after me again, but I ignored her, pushing open the bathroom door and flipping on the light.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror as I got in, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. My face stared back at me. It was whole, and unmarked, with no bruises and no cuts. My dark hair fell around my shoulders, clean and neat, not matted with blood. I turned my head slowly, checking the back of my skull with trembling fingers.

Nothing. No wound. No scar. Nothing.

But I died. I knew I died. I felt the glass shatter beneath me. I felt the cold creeping through my body. I felt myself slipping away. So how was I standing here?

"Mrs. Hartley, please!" The nurse appeared in the doorway, her face creased with concern. "You need to get back in bed. You sprained your ankle, and had a concussion. The doctor wants to monitor you."

Sprained my ankle? The words hit me like a punch to the gut. Concussion?

Wait a minute. I ran my fingers through my hair, biting my lower lips, thinking.

I knew those words. I'd heard them before. My mind raced, scrambling to make sense of it. When had I sprained my ankle? When had I been in the hospital for something so minor?

And then it hit me....a year ago.

Over a year ago, I'd fallen down the stairs at home. Margot had left her shopping bags on the steps, and I'd tripped over them in the dark. I'd spent one night in the hospital for observation because I'd hit my head on the railing. That was March. March fifteenth.

No. No, that couldn't be right.

I pushed past the nurse, stumbling back into the hospital room. My eyes scanned frantically until I found what I was looking for-a small calendar on the wall near the door.

March 15th. The year stared back at me, clear and undeniable.

How the hell is today March fifteenth? This should be April 12th. I'm sure of it.

My knees went weak, and I grabbed the edge of the bed to steady myself.

"Mrs. Hartley, what's wrong?" The nurse moved toward me, her hands outstretched. "Please, let me help you back into bed."

I spun around and grabbed her by the sleeve of her scrubs, my fingers clutching the fabric desperately. Her eyes widened in surprise. I signed frantically, my hands shaking. *What date is it? What is today's date?*

She blinked, clearly not understanding sign language.

I shook her slightly, my grip tightening, and signed again, slower this time, more deliberate. *The date. Tell me the date.*

"M-March fifteenth," she stammered, looking confused and a little frightened. "It's March fifteenth. Are you okay? Do you need me to call the doctor?"

*What year* I signed again.

"2025" She responded, looking confused.

2025? No way!. I let go of her and stepped back, shaking my head.

This couldn't be real. This didn't make sense. People didn't just go back in time. That wasn't how the world worked. That wasn't possible. But the calendar didn't lie. The nurse didn't lie. My unmarked face in the mirror didn't lie.

Somehow, impossibly, I was alive, and I was a year in the past.

I sank down onto the edge of the hospital bed, my mind reeling. If this was real-if I really had gone back-then Sienna and Declan hadn't betrayed me yet. Not publicly, anyway. The affair had probably already started, but I hadn't caught them. I hadn't died.

And the baby. My hand moved instinctively to my stomach.

I wasn't pregnant yet. I could prevent it. I could make sure I was never alone with Declan during that family gathering. I could protect myself.

But more than that, I could make them pay.

The memories flooded back, sharp and vivid. Sienna's mocking smile. Declan's cold indifference. The way she'd crumpled the pregnancy results in her fist. The way she'd shoved me. The sound of glass shattering. Her hand petting my hair as I died.

*You could have just let it go.*

My jaw tightened. My hands curled into fists on my lap.

Pain shot through my head, sudden and sharp. I pressed my palm against my temple, wincing. The memories were too much, too heavy, and were crashing over me like waves, each one pulling me under. Declan's voice echoed in my mind. *I've been enduring you for years.* Sienna's laughter. *He's always loved me.* The cold spreading through my body as I bled out on the floor.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to breathe through the pain, through the rage building in my chest. They thought I was weak. They thought I was nothing.

They had no idea what was coming.

The door to the hospital room opened. I looked up, my vision still slightly blurred from the headache.

Declan walked in, holding a bouquet of flowers.