After the Miscarriage, I Stopped Being a Stepmother to Don's Heir

Leon Santoro's ex-wife and their daughter pushed me down the stairs. I lost the baby.

Leon came to see me in the hospital. He sat beside the bed, his expression as composed as always, and said, "She's a child. She didn't know what she was doing. I'm sorry you had to go through this. I apologize for Rosalie."

"That's it?" I asked. "Just an apology?"

He turned to look at me.

"What else do you want? Money? Stock?"

"I can't exactly make Rosalie pay with her life for what happened to your child."

Your child.

Not our child.

So he truly never cared about the baby I was carrying. He'd made a promise to his ex-wife Giselle: Rosalie would be his only child.

When I told him I was pregnant, he'd barely reacted. Just a shrug and a flat "I know," like I'd told him the weather.

Thinking about it now, I looked at him and asked quietly, "You're relieved, aren't you? Now that the baby's gone."

Leon frowned. "Less talking. More resting."

I twisted the blanket in my fists, pressing creases into the fabric.

"The day I told you I was pregnant, you wanted me to get rid of it, didn't you? You never said it out loud, but it was all over your face."

That same afternoon, Giselle had shown up at our door, furious. I could hear them arguing through the wall, her voice sharp enough to hurt.

"Leon Santoro, don't you forget what you promised me. Rosalie is your only child."

"She has an IQ of 148. You swore to her she'd be the heir. That's the only reason I stopped trying for more. And now you're going to make Scarlett keep it? Get rid of it. Now."

Leon's voice came back slow and even, like cold water.

"The reason I divorced you is because you keep forgetting your place."

"I'll say it one more time: don't tell me what to do. I make my own decisions."

Silence.

Then Giselle's crying leaked through the crack under the door, steady and relentless, draining away every bit of joy I'd felt about the life growing inside me.

"Even if you don't care about me," she sobbed, "think about Rosalie. The doctors said her high IQ comes with high sensitivity. Another child doesn't just take away her father, it threatens her. Everything she's been groomed to be, the future heir of the entire East Coast operation, that's gone the moment you have another kid."

Knock. Knock. Knock.

When Leon thought, he tapped the table with his index finger. That night, the knocking sounded different, restless and almost angry.

The next morning, I quietly ironed his coat and saw him to the door. As he left, I said, "Watch yourself out there. Dodge the bullets. You're going to be a father."

He smiled faintly. "I already am a father."

Right. He already was — Rosalie was his only child.

My legs went weak. I grabbed the doorframe to steady myself.