Chapter 3
1454words
Savannah had been in a car accident.
"No…" Silas's eyes flooded with blood, and like a wild animal, he spun and bolted toward the door.
I stood directly in his path.
Still reeling from the revelation of his "necessary evil" and concerned for the innocent life within me, I instinctively reached for his arm. "What about our child?"
"Silas…"
"Get out of my way!"
He didn't even see me. His mind was consumed with the "fragile" woman who had stormed out "because of him."
With the brute strength of a man used to getting his way, he "accidentally," "unintentionally" shoved me violently aside.
I never saw it coming.
The force sent me flying, my body slamming against the sharp edge of the marble console table.
CRACK!
The corner caught me exactly where it would do the most damage—my lower back and side.
White-hot, tearing pain exploded from deep within my abdomen, blinding me to everything else.
I screamed, crumpling to the floor in a ball of agony.
The pain cut deeper than Savannah's lies or Silas's hatred ever could.
"Fiona?"
Silas had already reached the elevator when my scream made him turn back.
He saw me crumpled on the floor.
He saw my fetal position, my face drained of all color from the excruciating pain.
"I—" Words failed me as I clutched my abdomen, where it felt like a thousand knives were twisting simultaneously.
With trembling fingers, I raised my hand.
My palm glistened wet and warm, bright crimson.
This was no illusion.
Silas's pupils contracted to pinpoints.
Realization dawned in his eyes.
For the first time, I saw raw, unfiltered fear cross his face.
"Dear God…"
Without further hesitation, he scooped me up and rushed into the elevator.
"Hold on, Fiona. Just hold on!"
He carried me out of the Carlyle Building into the harsh glare of ambulance lights that painted our faces ghostly white.
Savannah was already on a stretcher, her head immobilized, face covered in blood, clinging to life.
Silas went rigid. Holding me in his arms, he stood at the crossroads of hell.
"Sir!" A paramedic rushed over. "Are you related to the victim? We need to—"
"Two!" Silas's voice was a terrified rasp. "Two victims! My wife—she's pregnant and hemorrhaging!"
The paramedic's expression darkened as he glanced between Savannah on the stretcher and me bleeding in Silas's arms.
"Mr. Lancaster, this is the first ambulance on scene. We can only transport one critical patient at a time. The other will have to wait for the second ambulance—ETA five minutes."
Time stood still.
This was a choice. Brutal and unforgiving.
Despite the pain threatening to pull me under, I forced my eyes to stay on Silas's face.
I watched him.
His gaze darted between unconscious Savannah and me, then back again.
"She…" He pointed at Savannah, voice breaking. "Head injury, condition unknown. Take her first!"
He made his choice.
He chose the woman he believed was his true love, the one he "owed."
"Silas…" I whispered, my fingers releasing his shirt as if burned.
He couldn't meet my eyes.
He lowered me—his lawful wife—carefully onto the cold sidewalk littered with glass shards.
"Fiona, hold on!" he commanded with almost cruel detachment. "Five minutes! The next ambulance is coming!"
Without another glance, he jumped into Savannah's ambulance.
The ambulance screamed away, its lights fading around the corner.
He left me behind.
I lay on the freezing concrete, pain and blood loss stealing my last shred of warmth.
I had become the ultimate punchline in his revenge story.
I don't know how long I lay there—maybe minutes, maybe centuries.
Pain and humiliation washed over me. For another woman, he'd discarded me like roadside trash.
Finally, the second ambulance arrived.
"Jesus Christ—there's another victim here! Hurry!"
As they lifted me onto the stretcher, darkness swallowed me whole.
…………
Hospital.
The sterile corridors of New York Presbyterian Hospital became my white purgatory.
They placed me in obstetrics emergency. Savannah went to neurosurgery ICU.
I lay shivering uncontrollably. Despite the medication to prevent miscarriage, the bleeding wouldn't stop.
"Ma'am, you need to calm down," said an unfamiliar night-shift obstetrician with clinical detachment. "Early pregnancy bleeding combined with trauma—it's not good. All signs point to imminent miscarriage."
"Save my baby," I pleaded, fingers clawing the sheets. "Please… save my baby."
"We're doing everything we can," she replied grimly.
Silas finally appeared.
He'd changed out of his blood-stained jacket, wearing just a white shirt with his tie hanging loose. He looked like a caged animal.
"Fiona." He took my hand in his ice-cold grip.
"Silas…" I clutched back desperately. "The baby… our baby…"
"It'll be fine, everything will be fine," he repeated mechanically, his eyes constantly drifting toward the ICU wing.
He was lying.
Suddenly, the ICU doors burst open.
A doctor with a badge reading "Evans—Neurosurgery" rushed toward Silas, his expression a mix of excitement and gravity.
"Mr. Lancaster! Good news! Miss Savannah is awake!"
Silas dropped my hand instantly.
"How is she?" He rushed toward Dr. Evans with an urgency I'd never witnessed before.
"She's conscious, but…" Dr. Evans lowered his voice, though I could still hear every word in the silent corridor. "She suffered severe head trauma. CT shows blood clots pressing on neural pathways. She's experiencing amnesia."
"Amnesia?"
"Yes." Dr. Evans produced a scan, pointing at shadows I couldn't decipher. "Her memory is severely compromised. She doesn't remember the accident or her identity."
Silas swayed on his feet.
"However," Dr. Evans continued, "there's an unusual development. You're the only person she recognizes. She woke up quite distressed, grabbed my arm and asked, 'Where is my husband?'"
"Husband?"
"Yes," Dr. Evans's expression turned grave. "Mr. Lancaster, in her subconscious, she's fixated on you as her sole support—her husband. She's extremely fragile and emotionally unstable. In my professional opinion, we absolutely cannot contradict this belief!"
"What exactly are you suggesting?"
"We must play along," Dr. Evans said firmly. "At least until the blood clots resolve and her mental state stabilizes. You must act as her 'husband.' Otherwise, any contradiction could cause permanent memory loss or even complete psychological breakdown."
"Pretend to be… her husband?" Silas echoed, closing his eyes in anguish.
Guilt was written across his face.
He felt guilty about the woman who had manipulated him and caused me to nearly lose our child.
"Mr. Lancaster!"
Just then, my nurse burst from my room, her voice breaking: "Sir! Your wife's hemorrhaging won't stop! The fetal heartbeat is failing! We might… we might lose the baby!"
"We need to perform an emergency D&C immediately or the patient's life is at risk! We need your consent signature!"
Time stopped.
I lay on the hospital bed, door ajar.
I could see Silas Lancaster standing in the hallway.
He stood at another crossroads of hell.
From one direction came Savannah's frightened whimpers: "…Don't leave me… I'm scared… Where are you?"
From the other, a consent form stained with my blood, held by the desperate nurse.
It read: Terminate pregnancy.
One signature was all it required.
With one stroke of a pen, he could sacrifice his unborn child to save his "fragile" lover.
Silas trembled visibly.
He glanced back at me once.
His gaze traveled down the corridor to my ashen face. I saw pain, struggle, guilt in his eyes—and beneath it all, that cold indifference toward me, the "enemy's daughter."
He made his choice.
He didn't come to me.
He didn't take the pen.
He turned and strode toward the ICU.
Over his shoulder, he tossed words at my nurse who stood waiting with the form:
"Use whatever drugs necessary. Keep her alive."
The nurse stood stunned. "Sir, but the procedure—"
"I… Savannah needs me." Without looking back, his voice rasped like sandpaper. "Her condition is more critical. I need to stabilize her first."
He disappeared into the ICU.
He chose the husband role he "had to" play.
He abandoned me.
He abandoned our unborn child.
I watched his silhouette vanish behind the ICU door, catching Savannah's weak but triumphant whisper: "You came back to me."
I smiled.
Tears slid from the corners of my eyes, cold as winter rain.
The twisting agony in my abdomen suddenly vanished.
And with it went the last ember of love I'd ever felt for him.
"Nurse," I called to the woman standing frozen in shock.
She looked at me with pity in her eyes.
"Give me the pen." I held out my hand.
"Ma'am, but—"
"Give it to me."
With trembling fingers, I signed the consent form myself.
Fiona Windsor.
No longer Fiona Lancaster.
Silas, your "necessary evil" has succeeded.
You won.
You killed your child, and with it… the woman who loved you.
