Chapter 3
1094 Words
Rachel’s pov
I blinked slowly, trying to remember where I was and why everything hurt. The beeping of monitors filled my ears, I looked down to see an IV line tugged at my hand when I tried to move.
"Mrs. Ashford." A doctor appeared in my field of vision, "You're awake. How are you feeling?"
How was I feeling?
Empty.
That's what I wanted to say. I felt empty, hollowed out, like someone had reached inside me and carved away everything that mattered.
"My baby," I whispered instead. My voice came out raspy, broken. "Is my baby—"
The expression on his face told me everything before he spoke.
"I'm so sorry," he said gently. "We did everything we could, but the miscarriage was already in progress when you arrived. The exposure to the cold coupled with the stress on your body... There was nothing we could do."
What?
Miscarriage.
My baby was gone.
I turned my face away from the doctor, toward the window. I couldn't cry as the terrible emptiness spread through my chest.
"You'll need to rest for a few days," the doctor continued. His voice seemed to come from very far away. "The bleeding has stopped, but your body has been through significant trauma. We'll keep you overnight for observation, and—"
"Where's my husband?" I asked with no emotions.
The doctor hesitated. "I believe Mr. Ashford is... He's in another room with Mrs. Wyatt Ashford."
Of course he was.
"I'd like to be alone," I said.
The doctor nodded, said something about calling a nurse if I needed anything, and left.
I stared at the ceiling for a long time. I don't know how long I lay there before I couldn't take it anymore.
My legs shook when I stood, and I had to grip the IV stand for support. A nurse had left a robe on the chair beside my bed and I wrapped it around myself with one hand while wheeling the IV stand with the other.
The hallway was quiet. Visiting hours were almost over, and most of the rooms had their doors closed. My bare feet were silent on the cold linoleum as I made my way down the corridor.
I knew where Camilla's room would be. The private wing at the top floor. Where the hospital kept its VIP patients, the ones who could afford suites instead of rooms.
The elevator ride up felt like it took forever.
When the doors opened, I stepped into a different world. The floors here were carpeted and the walls were painted in soft, soothing colors instead of institutional white. Even the air smelled different, less antiseptic, more like a luxury hotel.
Room 512. The door was slightly ajar.
I could hear their voices inside.
The voice inside of me kept telling me to go back to my room but the other part kept pulling me forward.
I stopped just outside the door, hidden in the shadows.
"Vincent, you need to calm down." Camilla said gently. "Rachel might have just been careless. These things happen."
"Careless?" He snapped, I heard something hit a surface, his fist on a table, maybe. "She pushed you down the stairs and caused your miscarriage. There's nothing careless about that."
My breath caught. Camilla had lost the baby too?
"Regardless of what happened," he continued, his voice hard as steel, "it was Rachel who did this to you. I'll have her come and apologize to you properly. She owes you that much."
"No, Vincent, don't." Camilla's voice took on a pleading quality. "Rachel is pathetic. You married her because she looked like me and she was a skier like me, isn't that right? She probably thought you actually loved her. Making her apologize would just be cruel."
Silence.
Vincent said nothing. He didn’t bother to deny it.
He'd married me because I looked like her. Because I reminded him of what he couldn't have.
I was a substitute. A poor copy of the original.
"I'm feeling better now," Camilla said softly. "You should go home and see Rachel. She must be worried about you."
"No." His response was immediate. "You're very weak now, and I have to stay and take care of you. As for Rachel, she needs to atone for her mistakes and reflect on herself."
I shattered inside.
Not my heart, that had broken already. The last fragile piece of hope I'd been clinging to, the part of me that had thought maybe, things could get better.
It was gone now.
I backed away from the door on shaking legs, my hand pressed against my mouth to keep any sound from escaping. The IV stand rattled slightly, and I froze, terrified they'd hear me.
But the conversation inside continued, Vincent's voice murmuring something I couldn't make out, followed by Camilla's soft laugh.
I walked back to the elevator in a daze. Got in and pressed the button.
When the doors opened on my floor, a nurse looked up from the station with concern.
"Mrs. Ashford! Where have you been?" She hurried over, taking in my pale face, my trembling hands. "You shouldn't be wandering around when you're so weak. You've just been through—"
"I want to be discharged." My voice came out stronger than I felt. "I want to be discharged now. I want to leave this place."
"Mrs. Ashford, you can't—the doctor said you need to stay overnight for—"
"I don't care what the doctor said." I was already moving past her, back toward my room. "I'm leaving."
She followed me, protesting, but I ignored her. I pulled the IV from my hand, ignoring the sharp sting and the small bloom of blood. I found my clean clothes in the small closet.
"Please, Mrs. Ashford, at least let me call Mr. Ashford—"
"Don't." I said sharply, "Don't call him. I'm leaving. That's final."
I dressed quickly. The nurse kept talking, kept trying to convince me to stay, but her words were just noise.
I signed the discharge papers against medical advice, scrawling my name across the forms without reading them. Then I walked out of the room, toward the elevators.
The nurse called after me one more time, but I didn't stop.
I was ten feet from freedom when something rough and heavy dropped over my head, scratching against my face, blocking out the light.
I tried to scream, but a hand clamped over the fabric, muffling the sound. Strong arms grabbed me from behind, lifting me off my feet.
- Writer
