The Wife He Left to Bleed

I had just lit the two anniversary candles when the doorbell rang—sharp and frantic.

The moment I pushed the door open, a gust of freezing, rain-lashed air hit my face. The biting cold was an instant trigger, dragging me straight back to the suffocating despair I'd felt bleeding out on a sterile operating table in my previous life.

Bryan Wilson strode inside, still wearing his hospital scrubs, his wet jacket draped over his arm. Without a glance at my heavily pregnant belly, he shoved past me. His tone, however, softened into velvet as he turned to the woman lingering on the threshold. "Watch your step."

Then, he dropped his voice into a harsh whisper aimed at me. "Scarlett, the heating at Victoria's apartment is broken. She's staying with us for a few days. Don't start one of your hysterical scenes."

His eyes didn't even register the flickering candlelight on the dining table. He had completely forgotten our anniversary.

Hearing the commotion, my mother-in-law, Margaret, hurried out from the living room.

The moment she spotted Victoria Ashworth, her face twisted into a mask of exaggerated sympathy. She immediately pivoted to me, laying the manipulative groundwork. "Scarlett, it's freezing out there. Be a gracious wife and show some hospitality. You know I've always..."

"I understand," I interrupted, cutting her performance short. Flashing an accommodating smile, I seamlessly finished her thought. "...Because in your heart, Victoria is like the daughter you never had, right?"

The vile cliché that had sickened me in my past life was now thrown right back in her face.

Margaret's feigned pity froze. The rest of her sentence died in her throat.

Bryan shot me a look of pure bewilderment before scoffing in disgust. "Glad to see you're finally learning to be reasonable."

Without another word, he wrapped a protective arm around Victoria and guided her straight into the dining room, leaving me stranded in the muddy entryway.

The dinner I had slaved over for hours was instantly repurposed into a welcome feast for his mistress. Margaret fussed over her, pouring tea like she was nursing her own flesh and blood. Bryan outdid her—grabbing the hearty bisque I had simmered all afternoon and expertly ladling it into Victoria's bowl.

But she barely took two sips before her face drained of color. Clamping a hand over her mouth, she choked back a dry heave.

Bryan's demeanor shattered. He dropped the ladle to rub circles on her back, whipping his head around to glare at me. "What the hell did you put in this? Is the seafood bad?"

"No, it's not the soup..." Victoria hurriedly tugged at his sleeve. Her red-rimmed eyes shifted to me, the perfect picture of agonizing embarrassment. "I'm so sorry, Scarlett... I'm pregnant. About two weeks late."

A suffocating silence slammed down on the dining room.

Bryan froze. Then, raw euphoria flared in his eyes. He gripped her hand like a lifeline. "Are you serious?"

Tears spilled down Victoria's cheeks, fragile and pathetic. "Scarlett, the night of the department mixer... we both had too much to drink. If this bothers you, I'll go to the clinic tomorrow and take care of it. I refuse to ruin Bryan's career over a mistake."

"Take care of it? Don't you dare!" Margaret lunged forward, physically shielding Victoria as she shot me a venomous glare. "That is my grandchild! Nobody is terminating my son's baby!"

Bryan tightened his grip on Victoria's shoulder, his gaze slicing into me like a scalpel. "I'm stepping up for her and the baby. Don't throw a tantrum and ruin everything I've worked for."

I didn't even blink. Staring blankly at my plate, I casually dropped one word: "Congratulations."

The sheer, dismissive apathy seemed to paralyze him. Bryan ground his teeth, pursuing the issue. "I said the child is mine. Did you hear me?"

I finally granted him a one-second glance. Picking up the glass of Merlot I had poured for Bryan, I raised it in a lazy, sarcastic toast.

But instead of bringing it to my lips, I extended my arm over the center of the table and simply tilted my wrist.

The dark wine spilled onto the pristine tablecloth, bleeding outward beneath the candlelight like a fresh wound.

Clack. I set the empty glass down hard.

Ignoring Bryan and Margaret's horrified stares, I calmly pulled my plate closer and went back to slicing my cold steak.

Bryan was stunned. He couldn't fathom why a woman confronted with her husband's pregnant mistress wasn't screaming the house down.

But I had seen through his game long ago. He didn't want a wife; he wanted a stepping stone. And the fetus currently growing in Victoria's womb was his golden ticket to the Hospital Director's inner circle.

In my past life, this exact moment had broken me.

I had overturned the dining table, pressed a steak knife to my wrist, and hysterically demanded they kick her out. Scared I'd actually kill myself and create a career-ending scandal, they mock-surrendered and made Victoria leave in the pouring rain.

None of us expected her blood sugar to crash outside the gates. She collapsed into a flooded ditch and froze to death. Everyone called it a tragic accident, but Bryan decided her blood was on my hands.

Months later, on the day I went into labor, my husband pulled strings to be my attending physician just to stall. He let me suffer through dozens of hours of agonizing contractions and severe hemorrhaging until my life force literally bled dry.

When, with hands slick with my own blood, I begged him to save our baby, he merely peeled off his soiled surgical gloves with chilling indifference.

"Heartbroken?" he had sneered. "Perfect. Take him down to hell to keep Victoria company."

...

"Scarlett, please don't be mad at Bryan..."

Victoria's fragile whimpering violently yanked me out of that blood-soaked nightmare.

I calmly scanned the three people standing before me, each harboring their own twisted agendas. There was no rage left in my chest. Just a cold, razor-sharp clarity.

This time around, I was taking my unborn child and getting as far away from these demons masquerading in human skin as possible. And the sooner, the better.