Chapter 1

The city buzzed outside, a relentless New York hum. Inside, the air in the exam room was sterile, quiet. My appointment. Our baby’s first real check-up. Ethan was supposed to be here. My phone vibrated. Ethan. “Sarah, something’s come up. Tiffany needs me.” His voice was rushed, a little too smooth. Tiffany Vance. His childhood friend. A pop star whose light had dimmed years ago. “Ethan, the doctor’s about to come in. This is important.” “I know, babe, but Tiff’s in a real bind. Financial stuff for her comeback single. It’s urgent.” I clutched my stomach. A knot of anxiety tightened. “Can’t it wait? Just an hour?” A sigh. Impatience crackled through the line. “You’re a big girl, Sarah. You can handle one doctor’s appointment by yourself. I trust you.” Click. He hung up. The words, so casual, so dismissive. I sat there, the paper crinkling under me. Alone. The doctor came in, all smiles and efficiency. I tried to match her brightness. After, the city streets were a nightmare. Gridlock. I needed to get home. A wave of dizziness hit me. I stumbled, my hand flying out to break my fall. Pain, sharp and sudden, shot through my abdomen. I looked down. Blood. Too much blood. My fingers fumbled with my phone, dialing Ethan. Voicemail. Again. Voicemail. Tears streamed down my face. “Ethan, please… I’m bleeding. I think… I think something’s wrong.” I tried him twenty, thirty times. Each call unanswered. Finally, he picked up, his voice sharp. “What is it now, Sarah? I’m in the middle of something.” “Ethan, I fell. There’s blood. I’m scared.” “Stop making a big deal out of nothing. You’re tough as nails. You’ll be fine.” His tone was cold, distant. “No, Ethan, it’s…” “Don’t be dramatic.” He hung up. The world went dark.

I woke up in a hospital bed. The smell of antiseptic burned my nostrils. A nurse offered a sad smile. The baby… gone. My phone lay on the bedside table. A notification glowed. Tiffany Vance had posted. A picture. Her, in a recording studio, leaning intimately against a man. His back was to the camera, but I knew that silhouette. Ethan. Her caption: “Music producer and his muse, sparks flying tonight! 😉 #StudioMagic #NewMusic” My breath hitched. Then, a comment below from one of Ethan’s industry buddies, a well-known A&R guy. “Ethan Cole finally locked down his ‘inspiration goddess’! That $500k for the single was worth every penny! Can’t wait to hear the hit! 🚀” Five hundred thousand dollars. For her. While our baby… A bitter laugh escaped me. So, she was the one. His muse. His inspiration. Not me. Never me.