Marry Ex's Billionaire Uncle, After Divorce

(Aurora's POV) "Mrs. Everett, I'm very sorry. We couldn't save the baby." The words floated above me, disembodied and distant, like they belonged to someone else's nightmare. I lay motionless on the hospital bed, my body still numb from the anesthesia. The doctor's voice droned on, explaining procedures and recovery timelines, but I couldn't focus. The words "couldn't save" echoed in my skull, bouncing off the walls of my consciousness like a ricocheting bullet. Each repetition carved a deeper wound. I stared at the white ceiling tiles above me-counting them, one by one, because if I stopped counting, I'd have to face what had just happened. One, two, three... My vision blurred. Four, five... Were those tears or was the ceiling actually melting? Six, seven... I blinked hard. The tiles came back into focus, but the ache in my chest only intensified. It wasn't until this moment-lying here, empty and broken-that the truth crashed over me like a tidal wave I'd been too blind to see coming. Jasper had never loved me. Not me. Never me. His heart had always belonged to Sienna. His late brother's widow. The woman I'd foolishly thought I could compete with, that I could somehow eclipse through sheer devotion and patience. God, I'd been so stupid. Today was supposed to be my first prenatal checkup. The appointment I'd circled on the calendar in red marker three weeks ago, the one I'd reminded him about every single day. Jasper had looked me directly in the eyes last night, his hand briefly touching mine across the dinner table-a gesture so rare it had made my heart flutter stupidly, pathetically-and he'd promised. "I'll be there tomorrow, Aurora. I won't miss it." I'd believed him. Again. How many times could one person be this naive? I'd sat in the hospital lobby that morning, my phone clutched in my trembling hand like a lifeline. The waiting room had been filled with other expectant mothers, their faces glowing with anticipation, their partners sitting protectively beside them. I'd watched them, feeling a sick, twisting envy in my gut that I hated myself for. I'd called Jasper fourteen times. I counted each one. The first call, I'd been hopeful. Maybe he was just running late. By the fifth call, my palms were sweating. Traffic, I told myself. There must be terrible traffic. By the tenth call, my hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. The other couples in the waiting room had started glancing at me with pity in their eyes-that awful, knowing look that said they understood exactly what was happening. By the fourteenth call, I'd stopped hoping. I just kept dialing because I didn't know what else to do. No answer. Not once. Then I'd heard the commotion in the corridor-urgent voices, the screech of rubber wheels on linoleum. I'd looked up just in time to see the emergency gurney hurtling toward me, pushed by frantic orderlies. I didn't have time to move. The impact had sent me flying backward. My body hit the cold tile floor with a sickening c***k that I felt through every bone. The phone skittered from my hand, sliding across the polished floor and coming to rest several feet away, its screen still glowing with Jasper's unanswered call. Pain. Immediate, white-hot, all-consuming pain exploded through my abdomen. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced-a tearing sensation, as if something vital inside me was being ripped apart. I'd tried to scream, but the air had been knocked from my lungs. All that came out was a strangled gasp. I lay there, crumpled on the floor, one hand instinctively clutching my stomach. My vision swam. The fluorescent lights above me blurred into halos. Somewhere far away, someone was shouting for help. I tried to reach for my phone, but my arm wouldn't obey. Through the haze of pain, my phone screen suddenly illuminated. The FaceTime call connected. For one delirious moment, relief flooded through me. He'd called back. Finally, he'd called back. Maybe he was worried. Maybe he'd realized something was wrong. But then I heard the laughter. Not his laughter-hers. Rosalind's high-pitched, delighted giggle. "Daddy! Mama Sienna! Look at the snowman!" The background noise resolved itself into the unmistakable sounds of a ski resort: the crunch of snow, distant music, the cheerful chatter of other vacationers. Through my phone screen, I could see pristine white slopes stretching behind them, bathed in golden afternoon sunlight. They were in Aspen. Building a snowman. All three of them. My daughter. My husband. And her. The betrayal hit me harder than the gurney had. It hollowed me out from the inside, leaving nothing but a gaping wound where my heart used to be. "What is it, Aurora?" Jasper's voice cut through the phone, sharp with irritation. I could see his face now on the screen-handsome, cold, annoyed at being interrupted. "What's so urgent?" I tried to speak. I tried to tell him that I was hurt, that I was bleeding, that something was terribly, catastrophically wrong. My lips moved, forming words that my voice couldn't produce. All that escaped was a pitiful, broken moan. Then I heard another voice. Soft, feminine, dripping with false sweetness. "Is that Aurora calling?" Sienna's voice was like honey laced with poison. I couldn't see her face, but I could imagine her perfectly-delicate features arranged in an expression of practiced concern, her hand probably resting on Jasper's arm in that proprietary way she had. "Mom's so annoying." Rosalind's voice came through clearly, petulant and dismissive. My own daughter. My flesh and blood. "Daddy, hang up! I want to take a picture with Mama Sienna!" Mama Sienna. The words stabbed through me like broken glass. My daughter-the child I'd carried for nine months, the baby I'd nursed through every midnight crying fit, the little girl I'd read bedtime stories to every single night-was calling another woman Mama. When had that happened? When had I lost her too? Jasper didn't even look at the screen. He was watching Rosalind and Sienna, smiling at them with a warmth he never showed me. "Whatever it is can wait until I get back," he said dismissively, his tone making it clear that I was nothing more than an inconvenient interruption to his perfect family vacation. The call ended. The pain in my abdomen suddenly intensified, becoming unbearable. My vision tunneled, darkness creeping in from the edges. The last thing I saw before unconsciousness claimed me was the phone screen, dark and silent. Then nothing. --- "Are you all right, Mrs. Everett?" The doctor, seeing that I didn't respond, leaned in to examine me. "I'm fine, I'm okay-please continue speaking." I closed my eyes wearily. "I'm very sorry, ma'am," he said. "The fall caused a miscarriage. We did everything we could." We did everything we could.Standard medical protocol. I didn't cry. I physically couldn't. It was as if all my tears had frozen inside me, turning to ice in my veins. The grief was too big, too overwhelming to express through something as simple as crying. The room was empty except for the doctor and a nurse hovering near the door. No family. No husband. No daughter. I didn't call my mother. The thought crossed my mind briefly, but I dismissed it just as quickly. I knew exactly what Martha would say. She'd find a way to make this my fault. "What did you do wrong, Aurora? Wives don't lose their husbands' attention for no reason. You must have failed him somehow. You should have tried harder. Been prettier. More accommodating. Less needy." I could hear her voice so clearly in my head that it was as if she was actually standing in the room. Years of her criticism had etched her words into my psyche, a constant voice of doubt and self-blame. The doctor cleared his throat, pulling me back to the present. "You'll need significant rest and recovery," he said, his tone gentler now. "I must warn you-another pregnancy may be very difficult after this. The damage to your uterus was... extensive." After he left, the tears finally came. They poured out of me in silent, shaking sobs that wracked my entire body. I pressed my face into the thin hospital pillow, muffling the sounds, because even now-even in my darkest moment-I couldn't allow myself to be too loud, too much, too inconvenient. This baby had been Rosalind's idea. She'd begged for a little brother or sister, her eyes wide and earnest. "Please, Mommy? Please? I promise I'll help take care of them!" And Jasper had agreed, saying it would "complete the family." Complete the family. What a cruel joke that had turned out to be. --- I discharged myself three days later. Three days I'd spent in that hospital room, alone except for the nurses who came in at regular intervals to check my vitals. No visitors. No flowers. No get-well cards. Just me and the stark white walls and the relentless beeping of machines. No one came to pick me up. Of course they didn't. I signed the discharge papers alone, my hand shaking slightly as I scrawled my signature. I paid the bills alone, watching my savings account dip dangerously low. I called an Uber alone, standing outside the hospital entrance with my small overnight bag, watching happy families come and go. As I waited for my ride, I made myself a promise. Standing there in the cold January air, my body still aching, my heart still broken, I swore to myself: I would never let myself become this pathetic again. Never again would I wait by the phone for a man who wouldn't call. Never again would I believe promises that meant nothing. Never again would I mistake indifference for love. The Uber was halfway to the Everett estate when my phone buzzed. A video had been posted to the Everett family iMessage group.