Once upon a time, I used to feel proud when people called me Mrs. Westbrook. It made me feel secure, loved, and like I belonged somewhere.
Now?
Now, it felt like a cruel joke.
Ever since Hayes started making headlines with one woman after another, the whispers around me never stopped.
Some people pitied me.
Others… they mocked me.
“Mr. Westbrook’s going through women like a revolving door. Do you really think you’ll still be his wife for much longer? If I were you, I’d get pregnant while I still had the chance—might help you cash in when he finally divorces you.”
“Five years, and she hasn’t had a baby yet? Maybe she can’t have kids. No wonder she can’t keep him.”
What they didn’t know—what no one knew—was that I had been pregnant.
In our first year of marriage, I carried our child.
But then, there was that night.
Hayes had been entertaining a group of potential clients. Someone had deliberately gotten him drunk, humiliating him in front of them while he smiled through the pain, just to close the deal.
I had just come from a work event when I saw him—his face flushed, his posture stiff, his fists clenched under the table.
My heart broke for him. I wanted to take him away from that place, away from those people who saw him as nothing more than a tool to get what they wanted.
But then, they turned their attention to me.
“If Mrs. Westbrook drinks with us, we’ll sign the contract right now. Hell, we’ll even send you two home.”
I knew how much that deal meant to him. I knew how hard he’d worked for it.
So, I swallowed my pride.
I picked up the glass.
And I drank.
That night, Hayes closed the deal he’d worked so hard for.
And I lost our child.
After that, no matter how careful we tried to be, pregnancy never happened again.
Maybe it was punishment.
Maybe the universe decided I wasn’t meant to be a mother. Maybe it was for not protecting my baby when I had the chance.
As Hayes’s voice faded into the silence of the room, the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. Warm, heavy tears spilled down my cheeks, landing on my hand.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself cry.
Elise’s POV
After handling my mother’s funeral, I returned to work at the hospital like it was any other day. Grief clung to me like a second skin, but I kept moving, kept working—because, really, what else was there to do?