Unmasking a Marriage Lie

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, their sterile glow making everything look washed out and lifeless. I blinked, trying to focus my vision as consciousness slowly returned. White ceiling. White walls. The antiseptic smell of disinfectant burned my nostrils.

My hands instinctively moved to my stomach—flat now, empty. The memory crashed over me like a tidal wave: the cramping, the blood, the desperate rush to the hospital. My second child, gone at five months.

"Hannah." Chase's voice cut through the fog of pain medication. He stood at the foot of my bed, his tall frame silhouetted against the harsh lighting. Not beside me, not holding my hand. Just... observing.

I tried to speak, but my throat felt raw. "The baby..."

"Wasn't viable." His words were clinical, detached. He moved closer, checking the monitors with the efficiency of a technician rather than the tenderness of a husband. "Your vitals are stable. That's good."

Good? My heart was shattered. My body had failed again. How could anything be good?

"When can I go home?" I whispered.

"Soon." He glanced at his watch. "You're young, Hannah. We can try again in a few months."

Try again? As if making a baby was like trying on clothes, something to discard and replace when convenient.

"I need to attend to some urgent family business," Chase continued, already backing toward the door. "The nurse will check on you shortly."

Family business. Always family business. I watched him leave without a kiss, without even touching my hand. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with the beeping machines and my grief.

---

I shouldn't have left my room. The doctor had advised rest, but the medication made my head swim and my thoughts race. I needed air. Needed to move.

The hospital corridor stretched endlessly before me, fluorescent lights casting long shadows. My bare feet made no sound on the polished floor as I wandered, one hand trailing along the wall for support.

A familiar figure caught my eye—Chase, striding purposefully toward the pediatric wing. Something about his hurried pace triggered my curiosity. Why would he be going there?

I followed at a distance, my hospital gown fluttering around my knees. The pediatric VIP wing was restricted, but the nurse at the station was distracted by a phone call. I slipped past, ducking into an alcove when I heard voices.

"—not enough kidney tissue this time." Felicity's voice, sharp with irritation. "Charli's numbers are dropping again."

"The procedure went perfectly," Chase replied, his tone defensive. "It's not my fault if—"

"Not your fault?" Felicity hissed. "You promised me Hannah would provide everything Charli needs. That's why we kept her around."

My blood turned to ice.

"Hannah is fertile enough to provide more parts," Chase said, his voice dropping lower. "We just need to wait a few months."

Parts. They were talking about my baby. My dead child.

"Besides," Chase continued, "what choice do we have? Hannah thinks the miscarriages are accidents. She has no idea what