It was late, and a storm was coming down in sheets. Ride‑shares had a two‑hundred‑plus queue.

I stood by the curb, the cold wind drilling straight into my bones.

The baby in my belly must've felt my anxiety—he kept kicking hard.

I finally managed to flag down a cab.

The driver noticed I was pregnant and kindly pulled right up to the curb so I wouldn't have to step far.

Supporting my lower back, I carefully reached for the door.

That was when a motorcycle suddenly shot out from the sidewalk, swerving to escape the rain.

"Watch out!" the driver yelled.

Instinctively, I jerked back.

My foot landed on the slick tactile paving.

With a sharp crack, I slammed onto the ground.

A wave of pain ripped through me.

Then warmth trickled down my thigh.

I looked down.

Amniotic fluid mixed with blood, soaking through my dress in seconds

"Miss! Miss, are you okay?!"

The cab driver freaked out and rushed over in the pouring rain to help me up.

My face drained of color. Cold sweat mixed with rainwater.

My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone.

I tried to dial 911, but my fingers were trembling so badly I couldn't even unlock the screen.

So out of pure instinct, I hit the top contact.

"Santino, please! Help me. Help our baby.!!!"

The phone rang once. Twice. Three times…

No answer.

I bit down hard, swallowing the pain, and dialed again.

This time, he picked up.

But before I could say anything, his irritated voice cut in, "Charlie, seriously? Again?" I told you, I'm dealing with Baylee. She just got rescued, she's terrified, and it took forever to calm her down. Can you not be so dramatic for once?"

He was comforting another woman to sleep.

And I was lying in the rain, bleeding out, barely hanging on.

My lips parted, voice shaking uncontrollably, "Santino… I fell… there's so much blood… please…"

I expected panic.

I expected him to rush over.

But there was a beat of silence.

Then a cold laugh.

"You fell? You're bleeding? Charlie, the things you'll do to trick me into coming home… unbelievable. Baylee was right. You're just controlling. First you accused me of things, now you're faking injuries. Cry wolf too many times and it stops working. Look outside, it's pouring. You? Falling in the rain? Aren't you at that restaurant having your fancy dinner? Cut the act. I'm not coming back tonight. Think about what you've done."

Beep—

Beep—

Beep—

He hung up.

When I called again, it went straight to voicemail. His phone was off.

My phone slipped from my hand, hitting a puddle.

The screen flickered once, then went dead.

Just like the last bit of hope I had for him.

Rain hammered my face, running into my mouth, salty and nauseating.

I couldn't tell if it was rain or tears.

The pain in my stomach tightened again and again.

But suddenly, I no longer felt pain.

Because in that moment, the love I had for Santino, and the child's hopeful little bond with his father, died by his hand.

Completely.

I no longer wished for him to come.

All I wanted was—

If I survived this, may our paths never cross again.

"Sir…"

I grabbed the cab driver's pant leg, mustering the last bit of strength, my eyes hollow and resolute.

"Call… 911 for me… And… call my lawyer… I'm not calling my husband… I'm calling my lawyer…"

The driver panicked, fumbling for his phone. "Okay—okay! Miss, hold on! The ambulance is on the way!"

I lay in the freezing rain, staring up at the pitch‑black sky.

"Santino, this time, we're done for good."

The lights in the operating room snapped on.

Doctors and nurses rushed around me in a blur.

"Massive hemorrhage! Fetal heartbeat is fading! We need to operate now! Where's the family? Did the family arrive?"

The doctor's voice was tight with urgency.

I grabbed his sleeve, my mind frighteningly clear.

"Doctor… I'll sign it myself."

I gritted my teeth, every word sharp.

"Save us both. But if you can't… save me then. I'm not dying tonight. And if I do, no one will walk away clean. I don't need a husband to sign anything. I can take responsibility for myself."

For a moment, the doctor was stunned by the look in my eyes.

In that moment, I wasn't Mrs. Douglas anymore.

I was Charlie Vance.

The surgery lasted four hours.

I walked right up to death's door and dragged myself back.

The baby came early—a little boy, barely four pounds. He was rushed straight into an incubator.

When I woke up, I didn't cry. I didn't ask to see my child.

I pulled out the IV from my hand and told the nurse to call my lawyer.

At two in the morning, the rain finally stopped.

That was when Santino finally remembered to come home.

He reeked of alcohol—the celebratory kind. He had comforted Baylee until she fell asleep, played the hero, and then rewarded himself with drinks.

He pushed open the villa door, mumbling, "Charlie, you've made your point… Enough already… I even brought you supper. Don't be mad…"

Click.

The lights came on.

His foot landed in a pool of something thick.

He looked down.

A long, dark red trail stretched from the doorway to the stairs.

Stark, shocking, impossible to ignore.

"What is this… wine?"

He frowned, still drunk, still clueless.

Then he saw it. The shredded black lace lingerie sitting on the coffee table.

And beside it were the divorce papers.

My name was already signed.

Bold. Sharp. Final.

Next to the papers was another dried smear of dark red.

My blood.

Half his drunken fog evaporated instantly.

A cold, unfamiliar panic tore through him.

"Charlie?"

"Baby?"

No response.

The villa echoed with nothing but his own voice.

His hands shook as he fumbled for his phone.

"The number you dialed is no longer in service…"

Disconnected.

I had canceled the line.

That was when panic finally hit him—real, bone-deep panic.

He called every hospital he could think of, half-crazed.

"Was a pregnant woman named Charlie Douglas admitted? Anyone? Please, anyone?"

He finally reached the right one.

The night-shift nurse replied, voice flat and cold, "Charlie Douglas? Oh, the one who almost bled out. She was discharged. Location unknown. She nearly died, mother and baby both. Are you her husband? Where were you?"

Clatter.

His phone slipped out of his hand and hit the floor.

Santino collapsed beside the dried blood on the tiles, clutching the torn scrap of black lace that still carried a faint trace of my blood.