He Chose His Secretary Over Me While I Was Dying in Childbirthe

My husband, Ferris Farley, called me “Ms. Lambert” at work for six years. To avoid suspicion, he said.

I secured three patents for him, carried four international projects, and took the fall twice.

In front of the entire company, he said, “Fulfilling your role is your responsibility. That's what Ms. Lambert is here for.”

But eventually, even in private, he started treating me like a colleague.

I hemorrhaged during a difficult labor and called him ninety-nine times.

He sent back a single text.

“Ms. Lambert, weekends are my personal time. If it's an emergency, call 911. File it under workers' comp.”

Then the new intern showed up late six times in two weeks, and he just patted her on the head, voice soft and warm.

“Little Lydia overslept again?”

“Not bad, only two hours late this time. That deserves a reward. Ten thousand dollar encouragement bonus.”

At three in the morning, the intern accidentally pocket-dialed his number in her sleep.

He drove across half the city in the middle of the night, terrified something had happened to her.

The day the promotion list went up, Ferris Farley, a man who never posted anything on social media, shared an update.

“From intern to Creative Director. Little Lydia, you're amazing.”

Lydia Dickerson replied underneath：Thanks for believing in me, boss（heart emoji）

The next day, I placed my resignation letter and the pregnancy termination report on his desk, side by side.

He didn't look at either one. He signed, pushed them back toward me.

“Ms. Lambert, your reimbursement's approved.”

——

When I slid the resignation letter and the medical report across the desk, Ferris was on the phone.

He signed while laughing into the receiver, then pushed the papers back with a toss of his hand.

“Ms. Lambert, your reimbursement's approved.”

Lydia's laughter spilled through the speaker, bright and flirtatious.

“Boss, hurry up, the food's getting cold!”

Ferris dropped the pen and walked out without looking at me once.

I stood where I was, watching him go, and forced the corners of my mouth upward.

I pulled out my phone. Lydia had just posted on social media.

In the photo, Ferris stood beside her, the two of them pressed close together, a massive cake on the table between them.

A handsome man and a beautiful woman.

They looked like they belonged together.

Lydia's hand was deliberately draped at her neck, showing off a diamond necklace.

The caption read：“No birthday wishes this year. All of mine already came true.”

My phone buzzed. A message from Lydia.

“Ms. Lambert, it's my birthday today, so could you finish up the rest of my work? Thanks~”

Since joining the company, Lydia had been promoted three times.

After leaping from intern to Creative Director, she'd gotten more and more comfortable telling me what to do.

I'd brought it up with Ferris once. He barely glanced up before answering.

“Ms. Lambert, seniority doesn't earn promotions. Talent and client satisfaction do. The clients love Lydia.”

After that, I never said another word about it.

Now was no different.

I closed the chat and sat back down at my desk.

One last week. Wrap up the loose ends, and call it closure on six years.

I worked until ten that night. Then a dull ache crept through my abdomen.

I gripped the edge of the desk and tried to stand. My vision went black, and I hit the floor.

The office door swung open. Ferris walked in.

I reached toward him like he was a lifeline.

“Ferris……help me up.”

But he didn't see me crumpled in the corner. He walked straight to the executive office.

He pulled on his coat, spritzed cologne.

“Ms. Lambert, head home once you're done. I'm taking Lydia to see the fireworks down by the river.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and he was gone.

Another wave of pain tore through me. I pressed both hands against my lower stomach.

Outside the window, fireworks split the sky, flooding the night with light.