“Mrs. Caldwell,” he said quietly, “I’m very sorry… but due to severe stress and complications, the baby couldn’t be saved.”
The words didn’t fully register at first.
My mind went blank.
My baby.
Gone.
And everything else… still falling apart around me. Soon, the truth about everything would explode anyway. What was I even supposed to do after this?
Then the tears came—but slowly, silently, like I had no strength left even to cry properly.
The door suddenly burst open.
Regina stormed in, her heels sharp against the floor, her face tight with anger instead of concern.
“Do you understand what you’ve done?” she hissed. “Do you realize the damage this is causing? The headlines, the scandal—and now this? Another crisis on top of everything!”
I looked at her blankly. “I just lost my child,” I whispered weakly.
Not even Damien came.
Not even once.
Regina scoffed, folding her arms. “And who’s responsible for that? If you weren’t so emotional, so desperate to act like the victim all the time—”
“Stop!” I screamed, my voice breaking as I pushed myself up slightly. “Just stop already! I’m done with all of you!”
Before she could respond, another voice cut through the room.
Camille.
She leaned casually by the doorway, lips curved in a cold smile.
“This is all your fault,” she said flatly. “My sister is losing her mind because of you. You destroyed her family, you ruined Ethan’s life, and yet you still stand there pretending to be the victim? It’s disgusting.”
Their voices overlapped after that—Regina and Camille, both attacking me from different sides, words sharp enough to suffocate me. I could barely think through the noise.
Then—
Damien walked in.
His face was unreadable. Not soft. Not angry in the usual way. Just tired… and empty.
“Enough,” he said sharply, silencing both of them instantly.
His eyes landed on me.
“You’re going to fix this,” he said coldly. “Go back to work. Do the broadcast tonight. Deny everything. Lie if you have to—that’s what you’re good at, right? Or better yet, say Ethan is our son. Do whatever it takes. If you don’t, your career is finished.”
I stared at him.
Something inside me cracked all over again.
He waited for a reply.
I had none.
After a long silence, I simply gave a small, broken nod.
That evening, I sat under the harsh studio lights. The red recording dot stared back at me like an unblinking eye. My script sat untouched beside me. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.