Saving My Husband with Our Unborn Child

Five months after Arthur died in the line of duty, my stepmother-in-law, Martha, dragged me into a private clinic in Seattle and tried to force me to end my pregnancy.

The consent form had barely come off the printer when a tiny, milk-sweet voice exploded inside my head—

Mommy, run! Daddy isn't dead! They've got him locked up in a veterans' rehab center outside the city, and they're brainwashing him!

Last time, you believed that wicked grandma. I never got born, and when Daddy found out the truth, he lost his mind!

I tore the form in half right there and stormed off to the rehab center, belly first.

I had just reached the door of the assessment room when I heard a woman's voice inside—the counselor—holding Arthur's hand and murmuring, "Captain, let go of the past. We can start over."

I lifted my foot and kicked that solid-wood door as hard as I could.

Chapter One

Bang!

The door flew open and slammed into the wall with a crack like a gunshot.

I marched in, belly leading the way, and glared at the man and woman still clutching each other's hands. "Arthur," I said through my teeth, "let. Go. Of her."

They sprang apart as if they'd been burned.

Then I got a proper look at him—the hospital gown, the frame wasted down to almost nothing—and my heart clenched so hard my whole body started to shake.

But the image of that counselor holding his hand flashed back, and fury burned straight through whatever good sense I had left.

Ignoring the dull ache low in my belly, I closed in on him step by step, my voice trembling. "I've been looking for you for five whole months. I've cried until there were no tears left. And this is where I find you? Hiding out here, flirting with another woman?"

Arthur turned his head. The moment he saw me, he froze as if he'd been struck by lightning.

He stumbled back. His elbow caught the glass on the table, and it shattered across the floor.

Those deep-set eyes locked onto me. First came a blaze of disbelieving joy—but then his gaze slid slowly downward, landed on the unmistakable curve of my belly, and every drop of color drained from his face.

He braced both hands on the table, the veins standing out across his knuckles, and with what looked like every ounce of strength he had, he forced a few hoarse, broken syllables out of his ruined vocal cords:

"Whose... baby... is that?"

Four words, sharp as a poisoned blade, sunk right into my heart.

I was carrying his child. I'd spent five months searching for him. And the first thing he said to me was to accuse me of cheating?

I'm SO mad! Daddy's a big dummy—that horrible lady scrambled his brain!

My son's little voice was shouting in my head again.

Don't cry, Mommy! It's not Daddy's fault! It's that counselor, Eileen—she's the one messing with him!

Daddy thinks he's been missing for almost two years! Eileen told him you took a big payout from the Federal Emergency Response Corps, got rid of the baby, and married somebody else!

The hurt inside me turned to ice in an instant. I whipped my head around and drove my gaze like a knife into the woman beside him.

Eileen had already regained her footing.

She stepped forward and placed herself between me and Arthur, putting on her most superior professional face. "Ma'am, I need you to leave immediately. Captain Arthur is suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder. Your shouting could be a dangerously triggering stimulus."

Then she turned to take his arm, her voice so soft it practically dripped. "Captain, deep breaths. Don't look at her. Your memory is still unstable—what you're seeing isn't real. Let me handle this."

She was acting like the lady of the house, and it turned my stomach.

"Not real? A triggering stimulus?"

I was so angry I laughed. I stepped around the broken glass and got right in her face. "Counselor Eileen, open your eyes and take a good look. I am his lawful wife, registered at City Hall. The baby I'm carrying is Arthur's own flesh and blood."

Panic flickered behind her eyes, but she smoothed it over at once with a look of saintly pity. She sighed. "Ms. Jane, the center's records are quite clear. Captain Arthur's wife signed a waiver ending the search long ago, took the money, and started a new family. If you're here to make a scene, it's obviously about money. Leave now, or I'm calling security."

Liar liar! That old witch is lying!

My son's thoughts homed in like radar:

Get her, Mommy! There's a blue folder on her desk, and she put HER OWN NAME as Daddy's emergency contact! She used her project-lead access to secretly change his marital status! She has no shame!

That was all I needed. I didn't waste another word on her. I stepped right past her and snatched the dark blue file off her desk.

"What are you doing? That's classified!" Eileen's face went white, and she lunged to grab it back.

I swung the heavy binder backhand and smacked her across the face with it.

Thwack!

The plastic cover left an angry red welt across her expensively moisturized cheek. Papers spilled out and fluttered all over the floor.

"I took the money and remarried? I'm making a scene for money?"

I pointed at the forms on the floor and raised my voice, making sure everyone in the hallway could hear. "Then why don't you explain to everyone why my husband's clinical file lists you, Eileen, as his emergency contact? And what gives you the right to put 'fiancée' in the relationship box?"