Too Late For Regret, Mr. Vanderbilt

The sterile scent of rubbing alcohol was too familiar. For five years, I'd been pregnant with Ethan Vanderbilt's child, only to lose them, each time beneath the gaze of his wife.

This time, Olivia, his wife, stood over me, a cruel smile pasted on her face, a gleaming needle in her hand. Ethan watched from the doorway, just like always. After the screams and excruciating pain, I lost not only my baby but also my ability to ever have children again following a forced hysterectomy.

The news broke my father, who leaped to his death because he couldn't bear my torment. At his funeral, Olivia forced me to my knees, then kicked me relentlessly until my surgical wounds burst, leaving me bleeding uncontrollably. She even took photos of my battered body, laughing as she suggested I sell myself to pay for his burial. Then, she deliberately scattered his ashes into the mud.

How could Ethan, the man I once loved, stand by and watch me endure such depravity? Why was I trapped in this living hell, systematically tortured, robbed of my children, my body, and now my father, all based on some horrifying, unknown lie?

As Olivia rained blows upon my head in the pouring rain, her hateful laughter echoing, I fumbled for my phone. There was one person who knew the true story behind Olivia's venom, the real reason for her twisted revenge. With my last breath, I pressed record.

The sterile scent of rubbing alcohol filled the air of the makeshift operating room in the Vanderbilt's upstate New York villa.

This was my seventh time.

Seven times pregnant with Ethan Vanderbilt's child in five years.

Olivia Hayes, his wife, stood over me. Her smile was a thin, cruel line.

"Still fertile, Sarah?"

She held a long, gleaming needle.

My hands were tied to the cold metal table.

"Ethan," I whispered, a useless plea.

He was there, in the doorway, a silhouette against the dim light from the hall.

He watched. He always watched.

Olivia's face was close to mine. Her breath smelled of expensive perfume and something bitter.

"He loves me, you know. He believes everything I tell him."

She said I'd ruined her life years ago, spread rumors about her. Ethan believed it. That's why he kept me here. His revenge.

The needle pricked my skin.

I screamed.

Olivia laughed.

"This one won't make it either, whore."

Ethan turned his back. Walked away.

The pain was a fire consuming my belly. Then, a horrifying emptiness.

Later, a doctor Ethan kept on call told me.

"The fetus is gone, Ms. Jenkins."

His voice was flat, devoid of pity.

"And your uterus... it's severely damaged. We had to perform a hysterectomy."

No more children. Ever.

The words echoed in the sterile room.

My father. He was in a private nursing home, his care costing a fortune Ethan paid. My only connection to the outside world was through brief, monitored calls with him.

When they told him about me, about the hysterectomy, about how his illness was the chain that bound me here...

He couldn't bear it.

The nursing home called.

"Mr. Jenkins... he jumped from the roof."

My father. Gone.

Because of me. Because of them.

The grief was a physical weight, crushing my chest.

I had paid their price. My body, my babies, my father.

It was enough.

I had to leave.

My body ached from the surgery, a constant throb. My heart was a hollow drum.

I lay on the cheap bed in my room in the villa's servant quarters, staring at the ceiling.

The phone rang. Ethan's name flashed on the screen.

I hadn't told him about my father. He wouldn't care.

He hadn't answered when the hospital called for consent for the hysterectomy.

He hadn't answered when I'd tried to tell him about the baby.

Now he called.

"Sarah Jenkins, it's been a full day. Why aren't you back in the main house?" His voice was cold, impatient.

A sob escaped me.

"Ethan, our baby... it's gone. I can't... I can't have children anymore."

Maybe a sliver of the boy I once knew, the boy I loved before Vanderbilt money and Olivia's poison twisted him, would hear me.

Silence. Then, his voice, flat.

"Good. Saves Olivia the distress."

A sharp pain shot through my chest.

"Olivia's upset. She can't sleep. I'm giving you ten minutes. Get over here and calm her down."

He wasn't finished.

"And she wants cannoli. From Ferrara Bakery in Little Italy. Pick some up on your way."

I pressed my hand to my heart, struggling to breathe.

"Ethan, I'm not coming back. Not ever."

"Sarah Jenkins!" He spat my name. His voice dropped, low and dangerous. "Your father's care at that facility is three hundred thousand dollars in arrears. Think carefully before you defy me."

"It doesn't matter anymore," I whispered.

I hung up.

My father was dead. I was free of that chain.

But I was penniless. Trapped for five years, I had nothing.

How would I even bury him?