BROKEN HEART: A Contract Marriage With Mr Stone

💐 Dedication

For my girls out there —

the ones who’ve loved too deeply, trusted too soon, and stayed too long.

You deserved better.

And you still do.

AURORA POV

“I’m afraid… there’s no heartbeat. She should rest, and I’ll prescribe drugs to help her get stronger.” The doctor’s words hit first, hollow and sharp, cutting through the haze

For a moment, my mind floated somewhere far away, a numb fog that swallowed the walls, the beeping machines, even Amy’s worried face. The room existed, but it wasn’t mine anymore.

I pressed the phone tighter to my ear, the plastic hard against my palm. Her voice. Darren's mother, cold, cutting, and precise slithered through, slicing through my drifting thoughts: “You’ll never do anything right. You’ll never be enough.”

My hands shook uncontrollably, chest tight, stomach twisting into knots. Every words dug deeper than the last, anger colliding with grief until I felt hollow inside.

“You should be ashamed of yourself—you’ve been married to Darren for how many years now?” His mother’s voice snapped through the haze like a whip. My throat went dry. My chest throbbed. My heart pounded in a rhythm that didn’t belong to me.

Two miscarriages. Two. And still, not a single word of comfort, a single apology, a single acknowledgment of the pain I’d endured. Only judgment. Only blame. Only the relentless weight of expectations that were never mine to carry.

I shook my head faintly, whispering to myself: Calm down, Aurora. Everything will be fine.

After the insult and shenanigans ended, the phone clicked dead. Silence. But it wasn’t peace—it was the echo of her voice lingering like a shadow across my chest. I exhaled shakily, collapsing back into the hospital bed. My body ached, every limb heavy, muscles knotted with exhaustion and despair.

And then it hit me: I hadn’t seen Darren since Amy had rushed me out of our house. Not once. Not after being discarded, pushed, abandoned in my grief. My best friend, Amy, had stayed by my side— concern and worry written all over her face when she arrived.

“You’re awake!” she murmured softly, her voice cutting through the fog of pain.

I blinked at her, trying to focus, trying to remember how to be human.

“Yeah… thank you for bringing me here, Amy.” My voice was raw, hoarse, a shadow of itself.

She eased herself onto the edge of the bed, taking my hands in hers. “Don’t worry, baby girl. I’ll be with you through everything. You’re not alone.”

Tears burned the backs of my eyes. I pressed my palms to hers, clutching them as if holding on could anchor me in this crumbling world.

“I… I’m not okay,” I admitted finally, my voice trembling. My fingers clutched the empty blanket as sobs tore through my throat.

Amy sighed, a soft, heavy sound, then hugged me without a word. I didn’t resist. I let myself collapse into her, shaking, crying, releasing the grief that had been building for weeks, months,