The Substitute Wife's Revenge

3

Rachel’s POV

Harsh white lights stung my eyes when next I opened them, the familiar smell of antiseptic hit my nose, filling my lungs with each shallow breath. I squinted against the glare of the overhead lights, tried to raise my arm to shield my eyes and found a canola hooked up to the back of my hand.

I stared at it blankly for a moment, puzzled, then the memories came flooding back. I remembered being in the rain, the biting cold…and the painful, soul crushing cramps before…nothingness.

The door opened and a doctor walked in, followed by a nurse holding a clipboard. The doctor’s expression was friendly as he came to stand beside my bed. “Hello, Mrs. Thorne. I’m Dr. Lucas. How are you feeling?”

“What happened?” I asked, as he leaned close to examine my eyes.

The doctor’s expression became solemn as he leaned back and looked at me. “You were rushed to the emergency room unconscious and bleeding heavily due to a miscarriage. I’m sorry, Mrs. Thorne but the fetus did not survive.”

The words didn’t strike all at once. They fell like slow, jagged stones, each one hitting a part of me I thought untouchable. My breath hitched, my lips parted, but no sound came out. My hands moved instinctively to my stomach, trembling as though I could will life back into the emptiness in my womb. Nothing. My baby, my tiny hope, my one untainted joy was gone.

I turned my head away from him, pressing my face into the stiff hospital pillow. Hot tears bled through my lashes, soaking into the linen. My shoulders shook with the force of my grief, but I smothered the sound as best I could. I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want sympathy. I only wanted the impossible.

I wanted my baby back.

The doctor murmured something about the importance of rest, about monitoring, about care, but I couldn’t take it in. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried my best to curl into myself, a dull ache in my stomach that mocked me for what I’d lost.

I’d lost my baby and deep down inside, I knew I was about to lose my husband too. How much more would be taken from me?

The doctor and nurse finally left, leaving me alone to my thoughts. I let the grief overwhelm me then, my sobs loud and echoing in the room. For a long time, I stayed curled on my side, tears drying into streaks on my cheeks. Every memory of the past few hours replayed mercilessly: Vincent’s rage, his cold voice, Camilla’s blood soaking the marble, the words ‘I will hold you responsible’. And now this. My womb empty, my body hollow, my heart shattered beyond repair.

Was Vincent aware I had been rushed to the hospital? Did he know about the baby? Surely someone must have told him what happened by now.

I sat up, fighting dizziness and fatigue. My body ached as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the hospital gown gaping around me. My steps were slow, unsteady, but some unseen pull drove me onward. I needed answers. Or maybe I just needed to see the truth with my own eyes.

I grabbed the first nurse I could find and asked if my husband had come to see me. Even before she opened her mouth to reply, I saw her answer in the pitiful expression on her face. Shame turned my face beet red.

Ignoring her pleas for me to get back in bed, I continued my search, my breathing hard and ragged from the effort of walking. I knew where to go…the VIP wards was on the fourth floor and if Camilla was a patient here, then that’s where she’d be. As I walked, I prayed silently, please…don’t let him be there with her…anywhere but in that room.

I got a few glances, a nurse or two approached me, but I waved them away and kept going. Finally, I arrived at the VIP ward, drenched with sweat and barely upright. The nurse on duty recognised me from previous visits with Vincent and directed me to Camilla’s room.

I approached the room. The door was slightly ajar and I could hear voices inside. My heart sank when I recognised Vincent’s voice and my heart squeezed painfully, it felt like a knife was lodged in my chest.

“…careless or not, it was her fault,” he said, each word like a blade. “ But don’t worry, I’ll make her come here and apologize to you.”

The knife twisted deeper at his words. I had done nothing wrong and yet…

“There’s really no need for that,” Camilla’s voice rose, softer, almost musical. “Rachel is already rather pathetic. Poor girl, imagine thinking she’s met the love of her life and not knowing you only married her to try to get over me. You married her because she looked like me… because she was a skier, like me. Isn’t that right?”

The air left my lungs. My fingers curled around the doorframe, nails biting into the paint.

And Vincent, my husband, the man who once swore he couldn’t breathe without me, said nothing. No denial. No protest. Only silence, a silence louder than any truth he could have spoken.

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.

Camilla’s sigh floated across the room, weak and delicate, yet drenched in satisfaction. “I’m feeling better now. Why don’t you go home and see her? You left her standing in the courtyard and it's been hours now.”

Vincent’s reply was immediate, merciless. “No. You’re very weak now, Camilla, and I have to stay and make sure you’re okay. As for Rachel, she needs more time to reflect on her actions. Let her remain there until she’s ready to admit she hurt you deliberately.”

Something inside me broke then, in a way that couldn’t be pieced back together. I staggered back, barely catching myself against the wall. My vision blurred, the corridor tilting as though I might faint again, but I forced myself to move, one shaky step after another, until I was hit with a surge of adrenaline and began to run. I ran all the way back to my room and collapsed in a heap on the bed.

A nurse followed me inside. “Mrs. Thorne! Where did you go? You shouldn’t be moving around in your state.”

“I want to be discharged. I want to be discharged now.” I ordered, my voice shaking badly. “I want to leave this place.”

She blinked, clearly taken aback. “But, the doctor recommended you stay overnight for -”

“No,” I cut her off, my voice trembling but iron at its core. “I can’t stay here. I won’t.”

She hesitated, torn between duty and compassion, but my eyes must have told her I wouldn’t relent. She sighed, murmuring something about paperwork and doctors, but I didn’t hear her. My heart was already outside those walls, fleeing, desperate.

When at last I stepped out of the hospital’s main doors, the evening air struck me, cool and heavy with the scent of rain. I breathed in deeply, trying to steady myself, but my chest still ached with every inhale.

My thoughts spiraled endlessly. So it was true. He had only ever loved her. I was nothing but a substitute, a shadow of Camilla. A stand-in to fill the emptiness when she had belonged to someone else.

Suddenly, I felt someone behind me and my senses prickled in alarm. I tried to turn around but suddenly, something covered my head and face, plunging my vision into darkness. At the same time, a foul, chemical odor filled my nostrils.