After My Dead Wife's Revenge, I Found New Love

The champagne flute slipped from my fingers, crystal shattering against marble as the world exploded around me.

One moment I was laughing at Donovan's joke about our future children, my hand resting on the gentle curve of my belly where our baby grew. The next, the Seattle waterfront venue erupted in a deafening roar of fire and debris. The blast wave hit me like a freight train, lifting me off my feet and hurling me backward into the concrete pillar with bone-crushing force.

Pain shot through my spine, my ribs, my skull. Something warm and wet trickled down my face—blood, I realized dimly as darkness crept in from the edges of my vision. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard screams, sirens, the crackle of flames consuming what had been our perfect anniversary celebration just seconds before.

"Donovan," I whispered, my voice barely audible even to myself. Where was my husband? The explosion had torn us apart, scattered guests like leaves in a hurricane. Smoke burned my lungs as I tried to call his name again, but only a rasp emerged.

Then came the cramping. Sharp, vicious pain that doubled me over against the rubble. No. Not now. Not our baby.

"Please," I begged whatever force controlled fate, pressing both hands to my stomach as warmth spread between my legs. "Please, not my baby."

But I could feel it happening—the life we'd created together slipping away in the chaos and smoke. Three years of marriage, months of planning for this little one, and now...

The paramedics found me there, curled around my dying child, Donovan nowhere to be seen.

---

The hospital room swam in and out of focus through a haze of morphine and grief. Machines beeped steadily around me, monitoring vitals that felt foreign to my broken body. My ribs were wrapped tight, my left arm in a cast, and every breath sent lightning through my chest.

But the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache where my baby used to be.

"Mrs. Wheeler?" A nurse appeared beside my bed, her voice gentle but clinical. "The doctor will be in shortly to discuss... the procedure."

The procedure. Such a sterile way to describe the removal of my child's remains. I closed my eyes, letting tears slip silently down my cheeks. Donovan should be here. Where was my husband when I needed him most?

"Any word on my husband?" I managed to ask, though speaking felt like swallowing glass.

The nurse's expression grew somber. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Wheeler. There's been no sign of Mr. Wheeler since the explosion. The search and rescue teams are still looking, but..."

But they wouldn't find him. Not alive. The thought hit me like another blast wave, stealing what little breath I had left. First my baby, now Donovan. How much loss could one person bear?

Sleep claimed me again, dragging me down into merciful darkness where the pain couldn't follow.

---

It was the voices that woke me.

Low, urgent