Chapter 3
When I finally came to, the first thing I heard was the beeping of monitors. The sharp smell of disinfectant filled my nose.
I struggled to open my eyes, finding I was in a hospital bed, but the room was unfamiliar.
My thoughts moved slowly as the memories came back.
I tried to reach for my belly, but my hands wouldn't move.
They were tied to the bed.
Just then, a nurse appeared. "You're in the ICU. Your hands are secured because of the IV lines. Once the doctor checks on you, we'll untie them."
She met my gaze, reading my unspoken fear. "I'm sorry," she said. "We lost the baby. The crash caused an early labor, and he wasn't able to survive it."
The nurse kept explaining, but her words turned static. I couldn't hear anything.
I lay there in complete silence, motionless. Numb. Empty.
That afternoon, I'd felt him kicking inside me, full of life.
But now...
My baby was gone.
My world collapsed. A bottomless darkness swallowed everything.
After 12 hours in the ICU, they moved me to a regular ward.
The crash left me with a hairline fracture in my shin, cracked ribs, and cuts on my face. If it wasn't for my thick winter clothes, it would've been much worse.
My phone showed over 20 missed calls from Andrew's mom. Not a single one from Andrew.
He'd texted, though.
[Jane, enough of this attitude. Why did you stand my parents up? They waited forever. Where are your manners?]
Half an hour later: [What do you want from me? My mom won't stop calling and you're not answering. I told you I'd come back when I'm done here. Can you stop the drama?]
An hour after that: [Jane, this is the last time I'm asking—just get home. Do you realize what time it is? My parents have been waiting up until midnight.]
Then more messages, each one accusing me of being petty and unreasonable.
Not one asked if I'd found a ride home.
Not one asked where I'd been or why I'd gone silent.
I closed my eyes, holding back tears.
It was over. Time to end this.
If I hadn't fallen for his lies, if I'd been stronger, maybe my baby would still be alive.
After a week in the hospital, I checked out and went home.
Before I left, the nurse reminded me gently, "Even though you lost the baby early, your body went through trauma. You need to rest and recover for at least a month."
While I was hospitalized, Andrew called three times. I let each one go to voicemail.
He didn't call again.
But scrolling through social media, I saw he'd posted a photo of Cassie and her baby: [Mom and daughter are both doing great.]
Anyone who didn't know better would think they were his wife and child.
I blocked him without hesitation. I wasn't going to see another one of those sickening posts.
As soon as I left the hospital, I took a cab straight to a law firm to file for divorce.
After handling the paperwork, I headed home.
But the moment I opened the door, I froze.
The sound of a crying baby pierced me—a raw reminder of my loss that brought tears to my eyes.
For a second, I thought I was imagining it—grief and exhaustion playing tricks on my mind.
But when I stepped inside, there was a baby bassinet in the living room.
A tiny baby lay in the cradle, face bright red, mouth wide open, screaming.
I stood there, stunned.
The cradle looked familiar.
Wait—wasn't this the one I'd bought last month? I'd picked it up early for my baby.
Whose baby was this?
Why was someone else's baby in the cradle I bought for my own child?
Before I could process it, Andrew called out from the other room.
"Coming, coming, little boss. Your milk's almost ready..."
He emerged from the master bedroom in a wrinkled shirt, holding a half-full bottle.
He looked exhausted—unshaven, dark circles under his eyes. Clearly hadn't slept in days.
When he saw me, he paused, then his face hardened with irritation.
"Oh, so you finally decided to come home? I thought you'd forgotten you had a family and run off with another guy!"
He brushed past me, walked to the cradle, and expertly fed the baby.
That torturous crying finally stopped.
"Whose baby is this? Why is there a baby in our house?" I snapped.
"Shhh! You'll scare her..." Andrew muttered, eyes locked on the baby.
That soft look on his face—like he was gazing at his own child.
"Who's making all that noise? It's annoying!"
I turned to see Cassie stepping out of our master bedroom in comfortable pajamas.
"Oh... Jane, you're back," she said, looking at me like I was the intruder and she owned the place.