Seraphina's POV

The pain doesn't fade.

It spreads.

It tears through me in sharp, burning waves that steal the air from my lungs and make my vision swim. I try to scream, but all that comes out is a broken sound, thin and useless, swallowed by the wide, silent bedroom.

My body hits the cold marble floor, hard.

I curl instinctively, both hands clutching my stomach, my mind screaming one thought over and over again.

Please. Not my baby. Please.

I feel something warm between my legs.

Too warm.

Panic crashes into me so fast it makes me dizzy. I shift, shaking, my fingers trembling as I reach down. When I pull my hand back up, it's smeared red.

Blood.

"No," I whisper. "No, no, no..."

My heart starts racing wildly, each beat loud and uneven in my ears. My breath comes out fast and shallow, like I'm drowning on dry land.

I try to push myself up.

My arms give out.

"Help!" I cry, my voice cracking. "Please-someone help me!"

The room spins. The walls tilt. I barely hear the sound of footsteps rushing in before hands grab me, voices shouting over each other.

"Call an ambulance!"

"Careful-she's bleeding!"

"Mrs. Ashford, can you hear me?"

I blink up at unfamiliar faces-staff, pale and alarmed, hovering above me. Someone presses a towel between my legs. Someone else keeps asking me questions I can't answer.

My chest burns.

"Julian," I gasp. "Call Julian..."

Darkness closes in around the edges of my vision.

The ambulance smells like metal and disinfectant.

The siren screams as loud as my heart feels like it's beating. I'm strapped down, lights flashing above me, hands poking and prodding, voices sharp and urgent.

"Blood pressure dropping."

"She's pregnant."

"How far along?"

"Early weeks."

I clutch the sheet with white-knuckled fingers, tears sliding down into my hair.

"My baby," I whisper. "Please... my baby."

A paramedic with tired eyes leans closer. "We're doing everything we can, okay? Just stay with me."

I nod, though fear claws at my throat.

We reach the hospital too fast and not fast enough at the same time.

They wheel me through bright hallways, my body jolting with every turn. Nurses and doctors blur past, their voices loud, rushed, detached.

"Name?"

"Seraphina Cole-Ashford."

"Age?"

"Twenty-six."

"Who's the husband?"

"Julian Ashford."

The moment that name leaves my lips, something changes.

I feel it before I see it.

The nurse pushing my bed slows.

Another nurse glances at the chart, then at me, then back at the chart.

Their urgency dulls.

The doors swing open, and I'm wheeled into a curtained area instead of an operating room.

"Wait," I gasp. "Why are we stopping?"

A nurse with tight lips avoids my eyes. "Just a moment, Mrs. Ashford."

"I'm bleeding," I say, my voice rising in panic. "I need a doctor."

"We're aware," she replies, not sounding concerned at all.

The pain intensifies, a sharp, tearing sensation that makes me cry out.

"Please," I beg. "Something's wrong."

Another nurse joins her. She's older, stern-looking, her mouth set in a straight line.

"Has anyone contacted Mrs. Ashford Senior?" the older nurse asks.

The younger one shakes her head. "Not yet."

"Do that," the older nurse says. "And don't move her until we hear back."

I stare at them, disbelief cutting through the pain.

"Hear back from who?" I ask. "What are you talking about?"

Neither of them answers me.

Blood soaks through the towel between my legs. I can feel it. Warm. Constant.

"Please," I whisper again. "I'm begging you."

The older nurse finally looks at me. Her eyes are cold. Professional. Empty.

"We've been instructed to wait."

"Instructed?" I repeat. "By who?"

She doesn't answer.

"I need help now!" I cry. "You can't just leave me like this!"

The younger nurse shifts uncomfortably. "Mrs. Ashford, try to stay calm."

"Calm?" I laugh hysterically, tears streaming down my face. "I'm losing my baby!"

The nurses step back.

They stand there.

Waiting.

Minutes pass.

Each one feels like an hour.

The pain becomes unbearable, sharp and deep, like something is being ripped out of me from the inside. I scream. I sob. I beg.

"Nurse!" I cry. "Please-please help me!"

No one moves.

I see them whispering near the nurses' station, glancing at me, then away.

I feel small.

Powerless.

Disposable.

My phone lies on the tray beside me. With shaking hands, I grab it and dial Julian.

It rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Voicemail.

I sob into the empty air.

"Julian," I whisper. "Please... I need you."

I hang up and try again.

No answer.

Blood pools beneath me now. I can feel the warmth spreading, soaking into the sheets.

"God," I whisper. "Please..."

A doctor finally appears, a tall man with tired eyes and a rushed expression. He glances at my chart, then at the nurses.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"She's bleeding heavily," the younger nurse says.

"And why hasn't she been prepped?" he snaps.

The older nurse stiffens. "We were told to wait."

"By who?"

She hesitates. "The Ashford family."

The doctor's jaw tightens.

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and something flickers in his eyes. Pity. Anger. Helplessness.

"Get her into the OR," he orders.

The older nurse shakes her head. "We can't."

The doctor stares at her. "Excuse me?"

"We were instructed-"

"I don't care who instructed you," he says sharply. "She's crashing."

The pain spikes suddenly, violently.

I scream.

The world blurs.

Hands finally rush toward me. Voices rise. Chaos erupts.

But it feels too late.

Something inside me gives way.

The pain fades abruptly, replaced by a terrifying emptiness.

My vision tunnels.

The sounds around me stretch and warp.

I hear a beeping noise, slow and uneven.

I feel cold.

So cold.

Someone is shouting my name.

Someone is pressing on my chest.

The beeping turns into a long, continuous sound.

Flatline alarm.

Seraphina's POV

The first thing I hear when my eyes flutter open is a quiet, almost apologetic voice.

"Mrs. Ashford... I'm very sorry."

I blink against the harsh white hospital lights, my head pounding, body aching in ways I can barely process. My stomach feels hollow. Empty.

"I... what?" My voice is hoarse, small, like I'm speaking through a fog. I try to sit up, but my arms feel heavy, uncooperative.

A man in a crisp white coat steps closer. Dr. Harris. I've seen him only briefly, but his weary eyes are etched with concern though concern can only take you so far.

"Mrs. Ashford," he says again, slowly, carefully, "I need you to understand"

I cut him off with a shaky laugh. "Understand what?" My hands tremble as I press them to my stomach. "Where is my baby?"

He looks down, swallowing. "The baby... didn't survive."

The words feel unreal. My stomach twists violently, my chest tightens, and my hands clutch the hospital sheets until my knuckles turn white.

"No," I whisper, and the word is so small it almost disappears. "It's not possible. I... I was fine. I felt it. I... I was alive."

Dr. Harris shifts, uncomfortable. "I know you are, but... the bleeding was severe. We did everything we could, but..."

"You did everything?!" I cry, voice cracking, tears already streaming down my face. "I was screaming! I was bleeding! I needed help! And you-"

"Please," he interrupts gently, "I know this is hard. I..."

"No!" I scream, cutting him off. "You waited!" My voice echoes, bouncing off the sterile walls. "You all waited!"

Dr. Harris flinches, as if my anger has struck him physically. "We... we were following instructions."

I stare at him, my vision blurring with tears. "Instructions? From whom?"

He doesn't answer immediately, only looks down, jaw tight. "From... the Ashford family."

I feel my stomach drop further, if that was even possible. My hands tighten around the sheets as if I could hold onto something, anything solid enough to stop the world from spinning.

"No," I whisper, my voice breaking. "No... they can't...Julian...he..."

"Mr. Ashford was notified," Dr. Harris says quietly. "He... he hasn't arrived yet."

The silence that follows is deafening. My chest feels like it's being crushed from all sides. My body shakes violently, my tears wetting my cheeks, my heart pounding in a rhythm that refuses to slow.

"Not yet," I repeat bitterly. "He knew, and he hasn't come. Not even to hold me. Not even to... to care."

Dr. Harris doesn't speak. He only looks at me with those sad, tired eyes, the kind of look that says he wishes he could change the world, but knows he can't.

I press my face into the pillow. "I needed him," I whisper. "I needed my baby... and I had neither."

The door opens, and a nurse enters, her name tag reading Nurse Elaine. She's young, her hair pulled into a tight bun, her face strained, like she's uncomfortable but too professional to show it.

"Mrs. Ashford," she says softly. "How are you feeling?"

I look at her, my hands still clutching the sheet. "How do you think I'm feeling?" I whisper bitterly. "My baby is gone."

She hesitates, her eyes flicking to Dr. Harris, then back to me. "I... I'm so sorry. We... we did what we could as quickly as possible."

"You did what you could?" I say, my voice rising in disbelief. "You watched me bleed. You waited because someone said so! And my husband... my husband hasn't even come!"

The nurse's lips press into a thin line. "He was informed."

"Informed," I repeat, my voice trembling with rage and grief. "Not here. Not asking. Not holding my hand. Just informed."

Dr. Harris places a tentative hand on my shoulder. "He's a busy man. He-"

I jerk away, tears spilling faster. "Busy? Busy while my baby dies? Busy while I'm lying here, alone?" My voice breaks completely. "I trusted him!"

He sighs and steps back, giving me space. "I wish there was more I could do for you. I truly do."

I can barely breathe. I press my hands to my face, trying to hide the tears. "There's nothing more you can do," I whisper. "Because it's too late. Too late!"

I slump back against the pillows, feeling hollow. I try to think of something to cling to. But the room smells of antiseptic, cold and clean, and the machines beep steadily as if nothing has happened at all.

Minutes pass. Hours? I don't know. Time has no meaning here. The emptiness in my chest is all-consuming.

I reach for my phone with shaking hands and dial Julian's number again. It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. Then voicemail.

"Julian," I whisper into the phone. My voice is tiny, breaking. "I lost the baby... our baby... Please... please come."

I drop the phone back onto the bed, feeling its weight like a stone on my chest. Silence answers me.

I close my eyes. I imagine a tiny crib, a blanket folded neatly, a lullaby that will never be sung. I imagine holding a tiny hand that doesn't exist, watching a small face that will never smile. My body shudders with grief.

The door opens again.

I look up automatically, hope flaring in my chest, thinking it's Julian at last.

But it isn't him.

It's her.

Margaret Ashford.

She steps into the room like she owns it. Her heels click softly against the polished floor, each sound deliberate. Her cream coat is immaculate, her pearl earrings catching the harsh hospital lights. Her silver hair is perfectly styled, not a strand out of place.

She stops at the foot of the bed and smiles.

A smile that makes my chest tighten even more cold, knowing, and merciless.

Seraphina's POV

The door swings open with a sharp snap, and the first words I hear slice through me like a blade.

"You killed my grandson!"

I freeze, my heart hammering against my ribcage. My head lifts slowly, my eyes meeting the glare of Margaret Ashford, her face twisted with fury, the pearls at her throat bouncing as she steps forward, each word deliberate, venomous.

"I...I didn't..." I stammer, my voice barely audible over the storm raging inside me. My hands tremble as I clutch the hospital blanket tighter, trying to anchor myself to something solid.

"You!" she screams, pointing a perfectly manicured finger at me. "You incompetent, foolish, reckless girl! You let this happen under your watch! My grandson is dead because of you!"

I shake my head violently, tears welling in my eyes. "It wasn't my fault! I...."

"Not your fault?" she cuts me off, her voice sharp, slicing the air like glass. "You were supposed to protect him! You were supposed to keep our family safe! And now?" She steps closer, the smell of her perfume sharp in my nostrils. "Now he's gone, and you-you are nothing!"

Her words hit me harder than any physical blow could. Nothing. That's what I am to them. Temporary. Disposable. Worthless.

"I loved him," I whisper, my voice breaking. "I loved my baby! I tried..."

"You tried?" Margaret laughs, a cruel, hollow sound. "Your trying means nothing! You've ruined everything. I should never have welcomed you into this family."

I want to scream, to argue, to make her see reason. But her eyes, cold and calculating, tell me it's useless. She doesn't see me. She sees weakness, a mistake, a tool she can discard.

"Julian!" she calls suddenly, her voice sharp and commanding. "Come here. Now!"

I hear footsteps rushing down the hallway. A moment later, Julian Ashford stands at the doorway. Handsome, polished, and all privilege, his eyes flick from me to his mother, trying to gauge the situation. He doesn't look at me with concern just caution, as if approaching a fragile object he doesn't want to break.

"Mom..." he says hesitantly.

"Do not mom me!" Margaret snaps. "Look at her! Look at what she's done!"

"She..." I start, desperate to explain, but Julian holds up a hand.

"She's my wife," he says softly, almost like he's reading from a script. "We should..."

"We should nothing!" Margaret hisses. "She killed my grandson, Julian! My grandson!"

I feel my chest tighten, my stomach twisting in anger and grief. "Your grandson?" I echo, my voice shaking. "Your grandson? You blame me for what you allowed? For what you ignored?"

Margaret smirks, the corner of her lips curling in triumph. "Do not pretend to understand anything, girl. You were never one of us. You never belonged. And now... now your presence is an insult!"

Julian glances at me again, his expression unreadable. "Rina... Seraphina... calm down," he murmurs.

"I am calm," I snap, glaring at him. "I'm calm enough to see the truth. You all wanted me gone, didn't you? You wanted to erase me. You didn't care about me, about my baby, about anything!"

Margaret leans closer, her face mere inches from mine. "You are correct about one thing. We didn't care about you... or your feelings. You are temporary, Seraphina. And now, it's time to make that permanent."

I stumble back slightly, my hands gripping the bed's railing. The air feels thick, suffocating. My chest aches, my heart races. The weight of their hatred presses down on me, and I realize just how alone I am in this room.

Julian opens his mouth, perhaps to defend me, but his hesitation freezes him. He looks torn, unsure, and that uncertainty only strengthens Margaret's dominance.

"You will sign the divorce papers," Margaret says suddenly, producing a crisp envelope from her designer handbag. She slaps it down on the tray beside me, the sound echoing like a gunshot. "And then you will leave. You will disappear. Permanently."

I stare at the papers, my hands shaking uncontrollably. The hospital room spins slightly. My stomach twists, and for a moment, all I can feel is the sharp sting of betrayal-of being blamed, cast aside, and discarded all at once.

"I... I can't," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

"You can," Margaret snaps. "And you will. Or I will ensure no one ever remembers you. No one will mourn you, and certainly no one will feel sorry for you. You are nothing, Seraphina Cole-Ashford. Nothing!"

I want to speak, to fight, to defend myself, but my body feels weak, my chest heavy with grief. The weight of their accusations is suffocating.

Julian stands frozen beside me, his hands tight at his sides. His gaze flickers between his mother and me, but he says nothing. He does nothing.

Margaret's smile widens, victorious, triumphant. "Sign them," she commands again, her voice like ice. "And leave. Be gone. Before I make sure the world knows what a disaster you truly are."

I look down at the papers, the black ink stark against the white envelope. My hands tremble violently. My baby is gone. My husband is silent. And my mother-in-law... my mother-in-law is smiling, as if this entire moment is a celebration of her victory over me.

The envelope lies there, heavy and final.

I can't move.

I can't speak.

I can barely breathe.

And yet, the room feels smaller, tighter, suffocating, as her smile lingers over me like a shadow.

The divorce papers sit between us, mocking me, daring me, condemning me.

And I know, deep in my bones, that signing them is not an option I can accept not if I want to survive what they've done.

But before I can react, before I can even lift my hands... Margaret leans closer, her smile unrelenting, and whispers, sharp and deliberate:

"Sign the papers, or lose everything. Forever."