Chapter 1

1

The day I went into labor, my husband abandoned me to celebrate his first love's birthday.

My water broke in the middle of the night, and I called him over and over, desperate for help.

He didn't pick up until dawn.

"Aria is still sleeping. Stop being so dramatic and making a scene, okay?"

I touched my empty stomach and replied calmly, "Come and sign the divorce papers. No one will ever make a scene for you again."

......

I suffered a severe hemorrhage during delivery. The hospital issued a critical condition notice and needed a family member's signature for emergency surgery.

The nurse called Quentin Rhodes a dozen times, but he ruthlessly hung up every single one.

Finally, he answered the last call. I felt a flicker of hope and spoke urgently.

"Quentin, where are you? There's a complication with my blood clotting… the hospital needs a signature for an emergency procedure. I'm so scared."

I was drenched in sweat from the pain, my voice barely a whisper.

But Quentin's tone was filled with his usual impatience. He started berating me immediately.

"Elara Thorne, it's just giving birth. Why do you have to be so needy? Why do you always have to make everything about you?"

"You're already at the hospital. What are you complaining about? If you're hurting, find a doctor. Am I a surgeon?"

"You know today is Aria's birthday. She's still asleep. Do you want to wake her up? I'm begging you, stop acting like a crazy person."

Before the call cut off, I heard Aria Jensen's voice in the background.

"Quentin, why aren't you back in bed yet…"

Aria's flirtatious giggle echoed through the speaker, sounding exceptionally piercing in the quiet treatment room.

"If you can't handle it, call your parents to sign. Stop bothering me." He hung up without a second thought.

A wave of coldness swept through my body, and tears flowed uncontrollably.

Had he forgotten? To marry him, I had broken ties with my family years ago. My parents no longer recognized me as their daughter.

Who was left to sign for me?

As the sharp pain in my lower abdomen intensified, my heart turned to ice. In his eyes, the combined lives of me and our child weren't worth a single strand of Aria's hair.

The tearing pain made me gasp. "Doctor, give me the papers. I'll sign them myself!"

Under the effect of the anesthesia, I quickly drifted into darkness.

When I woke up, I was alone in a sterile hospital room. The nursery at home was painted a beautiful soft pink for the little princess I had dreamed of, but now… touching my flat, empty belly, I wept in silence.

I turned on my phone only to see a warning message from Quentin.

"Don't call me unless it's an emergency. Do you hear me?"

"We lost the baby..." I typed out the words and hit send.

A bright red exclamation mark immediately popped up. Quentin had blocked me.

Just as I was about to turn off the screen, a notification chimed.

It wasn't Quentin. It was a social media post from Aria. It was a photo of Quentin wearing an apron, cooking a gourmet meal in a cozy kitchen.

Aria's caption read: "He's been with me these last few days. In a relationship, the one who isn't loved is the real intruder."

Every word dripped with smugness and joy. It felt like a jagged blade stabbing into my heart, leaving it in ruins.

I had faced life and death alone in the hospital, and all I got in return was being blocked by my husband and seeing his mistress's gloating posts.

I couldn't bear to think about it anymore. I forced myself up to pack my things and went home.

Quentin wasn't there when I arrived. He didn't show up until late the third night.

The moment he walked in, he shook me awake. Seeing my pale face, he just pursed his lips.

"I'm starving. Get up and make me some pasta."

I didn't answer. I just pulled the blanket tighter and turned my back to him.

Quentin threw his briefcase onto the floor in annoyance. "What kind of mood are you throwing now? I'm so unlucky to have married a woman like you."

With that, he slammed the door and left.

A surge of bitterness rose in my chest, but I bit my lip and ignored it, sleeping until the sun was high.

In the past, I would have been up at 7 AM, ironing his shirts and preparing his breakfast.

Even during my pregnancy, I served him hand and foot. Yet the man who claimed he couldn't even boil water had been busy cooking for Aria.

Since that was the case, there was no reason for me to keep playing the devoted wife.