Chapter 1
Yolanda Fennimore woke up in the middle of the night from a sharp, twisting pain.
She had never felt anything like it before. It felt like someone was slowly grinding a dull knife into her lower abdomen, over and over again.
The rhythm was steady, but the pain was so intense that she curled up tightly on instinct.
Her hand reached out without thinking, searching the space beside her on the bed.
It was cold. No one was there. Mortimer Fennimore had not come home again.
Her phone screen lit up. It was 1:47 a.m.
She bit down on her lip, pulled the blanket up, and curled into herself, hoping the pain would fade on its own.
She didn't want to go to the hospital. She didn't want to call Mortimer. She didn't want anyone thinking she was overreacting.
In the four years since she married into the Fennimore family, the most important thing she had learned was to never bother anyone.
But this time was different.
She felt something warm rush out of her body. It felt like blood. Her heart dropped.
She fumbled for the bedside lamp and switched it on. The moment the light came on, the sight hit her hard. Blood had already soaked into the blanket, spreading across the white sheets like a blooming red rose.
She was pregnant.
The timing of this child had been wrong from the start. If anything, it felt almost absurd.
Three months ago, Mortimer had come home drunk for once. When he held her, he called out another woman's name—Pansy Mallin.
She had heard it clearly. But she had not pushed him away.
She had thought that if they had a child, maybe he would look at her a little more.
She knew how pitiful that sounded, but she felt like she had no other choice. She loved Mortimer. Ever since she first saw him at a Fennimore family party when she was sixteen, she had loved him.
Her fingers trembled as she picked up her phone and dialed his number. It rang three times before someone answered.
Before she could even speak, a woman's frightened voice came through the line. "Mortimer, I fell. It hurts so much—"
Then Mortimer spoke, his voice rushed and panicked in a way she had never heard before. "Pansy, don't move. I'm coming right now."
The call ended.
*****
Yolanda held the phone in her hand, listening to the flat and empty busy tone. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye and slid into her hair.
Slowly, she got out of bed. Blood ran down her legs. With every step she took, a small red mark bloomed on the floor behind her.
She changed into a dark coat, grabbed her bag, called a car, and went to the hospital by herself.
By the time she arrived, her pants were completely soaked through with blood.
The nurse at the emergency room saw her and went pale. She rushed over with a wheelchair and pushed Yolanda inside while shouting, "Pregnant patient with heavy bleeding! Call OB-GYN now!"
Yolanda lay back in the wheelchair as the ceiling lights passed over her one by one. Her vision started to blur.
She placed a hand over her swollen belly and kept repeating in her mind, over and over again, 'Baby, you have to be okay. Please be okay. I can't lose you.'
What she didn't know was that, on another floor of the same hospital, Mortimer was carrying Pansy into the emergency room.
Pansy had fallen down the stairs and broken her leg. She was crying so hard that she could barely breathe.
Mortimer gently set her down on the hospital bed and held her hand. His voice was soft and almost unrecognizable. "Pansy, don't be scared. I'm here. I'm right here."
He stayed with Pansy through every step. He followed her through all the tests, waited for the X-rays, watched as the cast was put on, and handled all the admission paperwork. He didn't leave her side for even a second.
By the time everything was done, an hour had passed.
He stepped out into the hallway, pulled out his phone, and saw a missed call from Yolanda at 1:51 a.m.
He paused for a moment. But he didn't call back.
He walked to the window at the end of the hall and lit a cigarette. Smoke drifted up into the night, softening the lines of his face.
He thought about Yolanda, the woman he had been married to for four years.
He didn't love her. He had never loved her. He had married her because of the engagement agreement between the Fennimore family and the Shelton family.
He had married her because his grandfather, lying on his deathbed, had held his hand and told him he must. And he could not refuse a dying man's last request.
He had thought that, given time, he might learn to accept her.
Yolanda was pretty enough, and she had a gentle personality. She never caused trouble. She never cried. She never made demands or clung to him.
She was like a delicate ornament, quietly placed in the corner he had chosen for her.
But then Pansy came back. Everything he thought was gone came rushing back. Those feelings grew wild and fast, filling up every part of him until there was no room left for anyone else.
It wasn't that he felt nothing for Yolanda. It was just that whatever guilt he had was too small. It could be pushed aside by anything—a phone call, a meeting, a drink, or even just a single smile from Pansy.
He finished his cigarette, turned around, and went back to Pansy's room. He never returned Yolanda's call.