Lorraine

The soft hum of the plane’s engines filled my ears, blending with the murmur of passengers engaged in quiet conversation. I shifted in my seat, glancing out the window at the clouds that stretched endlessly beneath us. The anticipation in my chest was unbearable. After a year of being apart, I was finally going to see my husband again. Hendrix and I had been married for two years, but the past twelve months had been spent in a long-distance haze—me in the U.S., dedicating my life to medicine, and him stationed in Mexico as a soldier. Our calls and video chats kept us tethered, but nothing compared to being in his arms.

I had kept this visit a secret. A surprise. A chance to reconnect, to feel like a wife again instead of just a voice on the other end of the line. Even better, I had secured a volunteer position at a local hospital for a week, an opportunity to do what I loved while being near him. Everything was perfect—until a sharp, anguished cry cut through the plane’s cabin.

"Please! My baby!" a woman’s voice gasped in pain, breaking through the peaceful lull of the flight.

I turned in my seat, my pulse quickening. A few rows ahead, a young woman clutched her stomach, her face twisted in agony. The panic in her eyes was raw, her hands trembling as she pleaded with the flight attendants.

"It hurts so much! Please, help me!" she sobbed, her voice strained.

Passengers murmured in concern, some craning their necks, others shifting uneasily. A flight attendant grabbed the intercom and called out the dreaded words:

"Is there a doctor on board?"

My body moved before my mind caught up. "I’m a doctor," I announced, already unbuckling my seatbelt. I ignored the frantic pounding of my heart as I hurried toward the woman. "I need space," I instructed firmly, kneeling beside her seat. "What’s your name?"

"Althea," she whimpered, sweat beading on her forehead. "I’m pregnant… I’m—please save my baby!"

My stomach clenched at her words. She wasn’t in labor, but the pain, the distress—there was a chance she was in the early stages of a miscarriage. I took a deep breath, pushing aside my emotions. Right now, I was a doctor first.

"Althea, I need you to take slow, deep breaths for me, okay?" I spoke in a calming tone, feeling for her pulse. "How far along are you?"

"Seventeen weeks," she choked out. "I—It just started hurting so badly out of nowhere."

I nodded, assessing her condition as quickly as I could with the limited resources available. "Flight attendants, I need water, cool compresses, and an oxygen mask just in case."

One of them rushed to comply while I gently palpated Althea’s abdomen. "I know you’re scared, but I need you to stay as calm as possible, okay? We’re going to land soon, and I’ll make sure you get immediate medical care."

"Thank you," she whispered, gripping my hand tightly. "Please… please call my husband when we land."

"Of course," I reassured her, my focus solely on keeping her stable.

The next few minutes felt like an eternity, but finally, the captain announced our descent. By the time we landed, paramedics were already waiting. I accompanied Althea onto the ambulance, my medical instincts refusing to let me leave her side. As we sped toward the hospital, she clutched my wrist weakly.

"My phone… call my husband," she begged.

I nodded and reached into her bag, pulling out her phone. My fingers hovered over the screen as I searched for the contact labeled "Husband."

The number flashed before me. My breath caught in my throat.

No.

I blinked, willing my eyes to be wrong, but they weren’t. The number was unmistakably familiar. I knew it by heart. I had dialed it countless times, left voicemails filled with love and longing, whispered it in the dark when I missed him most.

My husband’s number.

A cold wave of nausea rolled through me. My hand trembled as I pressed call. The dial tone rang once. Twice. Then—

"Baby? Why did you call?"

The air in my lungs turned to ice. It was Hendrix’s voice. The same deep timbre, the same affectionate undertone. For a moment, I was paralyzed, my mind scrambling for an explanation that made sense. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe—

"Sir," I forced out, my voice cracking. "Your wife is in the ambulance, experiencing severe pain. We’re taking her to the hospital now."

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Then, his voice—urgent, panicked. "I’m on my way."

The line went dead. I sat frozen, the phone still pressed against my ear. My husband. Althea’s husband.

Hendrix.

He couldn't even recognize my voice because I had a bad cold and my voice was still hoarse.

The hospital came into view, but my vision blurred with unshed tears. I clenched my jaw, pushing down the storm of emotions threatening to consume me. The moment we arrived, the medical team sprang into action, welcoming me with gratitude for volunteering. I immediately told them who I was—that I was the volunteer doctor who was supposed to arrive tomorrow.

"Dr. Lorraine, we could use your help immediately," one of the doctors informed me.

"Of course," I murmured, shoving everything aside. Right now, I was a doctor first. A heartbroken wife second.

I changed into PPE quickly, desperate for something—anything—to ground me. Then, I stepped into Althea’s room, my heart hammering.

And there he was.

Hendrix.

Sitting beside Althea’s bed, his hand clasping hers, his gaze filled with worry. The same hands that used to hold me. The same eyes that once looked at me with love.

Lorraine

I stood at the doorway, the full PPE gear shielding me like armor, though it did nothing to protect my heart. When Hendrix and Althea turned to look at me, I forced myself to maintain composure, keeping my voice steady as I greeted them. Hendrix didn’t even flinch, didn’t even seem to recognize me. The man who once traced every inch of my face with his fingers, who used to say he could recognize me in any crowd, now stared through me as if I were a stranger.

I swallowed the bitter lump in my throat and focused on my task. "I’ll be administering fluids now," I informed Althea clinically. My hands trembled slightly as I prepared the IV line, but I clenched my jaw and forced myself to be steady.

I shouldn’t have been surprised at how Hendrix looked at Althea—like she was the air he breathed. His fingers caressed her cheek tenderly, his eyes brimming with love and devotion. A sight that once belonged to me. Now, I was merely an intruder in a love story I never agreed to be part of.

Then, as if fate itself wanted to twist the knife deeper into my chest, Althea’s voice rang out. "When will you divorce your wife in the US? You never even let me see her photos or know her name."

I froze, my fingers pausing over the tubing. My breath caught in my throat, the air thickening, suffocating me.

Hendrix sighed as if burdened, but his next words shattered me entirely. "I will break up with her soon. But I have to frame her, say she engaged in dissipation of assets. That way, I will have everything—including our shared assets."

My world stopped. My vision blurred. My pulse pounded in my ears like war drums.

Althea let out a soft sigh, oblivious to the devastation her words were causing me. "But will it take long? What about our baby? I wanted to go to your house in the United States already."

Our house. The home I thought we built together with love, with dreams.

Hendrix smiled, rubbing gentle circles over Althea’s stomach, his voice soothing. "Don’t worry, love. I’ll handle everything. Soon, we’ll have the life we deserve."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to rip off this suffocating PPE suit and demand answers. But what would that do? The truth was laid bare before me. My husband, my Hendrix, the man I had loved with every fiber of my being, had never been mine to begin with.

My legs moved before I could think. I turned on my heel and walked out of that hospital room, each step like a blade slicing into my soul. My breath came in short, ragged gasps. I ripped off my gloves, my mask, anything that felt like it was caging me.

Then, standing in the empty hallway, I broke.

Tears streamed down my face, hot and unrelenting. A sharp sob clawed its way out of my throat as my hands pressed against my chest, desperate to hold my heart together. But how could I? How could I ever mend something shattered beyond repair?

I leaned against the cold wall, gasping for air, hyperventilating as grief crashed over me in violent waves. Everything was a lie. Every "I love you," every "I miss you," every whispered promise over late-night calls—it had all been a carefully crafted illusion.

And I had been a fool.

The next morning, the hospital bustled with early discharge preparations. I had barely slept, the weight of betrayal pressing heavily on my chest. I wasn’t sure if I had the strength to face them again, but something inside me needed to witness it. To see if there was even an ounce of remorse in Hendrix’s eyes.

But there wasn’t.

From a distance, I watched him hover over Althea, adjusting her blanket, making sure she was comfortable. He smiled at her, his fingers ghosting over her swollen belly with such tenderness, such adoration, that it left me breathless.

How could he have ever looked at me like that and lied? How could he have held me in his arms while secretly planning to discard me?

I reached for my phone, my fingers trembling as I dialed his number. It rang once, twice—

From across the hallway, I saw him glance at his phone, his expression tightening. He exhaled sharply before silencing the call and slipping the device back into his pocket.

"She’s calling again?" Althea asked, her voice laced with annoyance.

Hendrix let out an exaggerated sigh. "Yeah. She’s that dependent on me. So clingy it’s suffocating, even when we’re worlds apart."

The final blow landed straight in my chest.

I pressed a hand over my mouth, suppressing the sob that threatened to escape. The pain was unbearable, a deep, searing wound that no amount of time or distance could heal.

I had given him everything. My heart, my trust, my devotion. And yet, I was nothing more than a nuisance to him now. A loose end he needed to tie up.

Lorraine

The hospital hallways felt colder than usual as I walked toward Room 201. My footsteps echoed in the silence, each step feeling heavier than the last. I had spent the entire night replaying the events of yesterday—Hendrix’s words, his utter shamelessness, the way he held Althea as if she were his entire world. And now, I had to face them again.

“Dr. Lorraine Scott,” a colleague called as I passed the nurses’ station. “Your patient in Room 201 seems to be having some complications. The attending nurse has already reviewed her records.”

I swallowed hard. There was no avoiding this. “I’ll check on her now,” I said, my voice still hoarse from the cold I had been nursing.

Dressed in full PPE, I stepped into Althea’s room, my identity still hidden. Hendrix sat by her bedside, feeding her small bites of fruit. They looked like the picture of a perfect couple—him gazing at her with adoration, her smiling softly at him, her hands resting protectively over her stomach.

My stomach twisted, but I forced myself to push past my emotions.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice slightly muffled by the mask. “I need to go over your medical history before proceeding with any further treatment.”

Althea turned to me, her eyes filled with curiosity. “Of course, doctor,” she said, sitting up straighter.

I looked down at her chart. “It says here that you had a heart transplant in the past?”

She nodded. “Yes, about two years ago.”

I felt my breath hitch, but I remained professional. “Given your history, pregnancy can be extremely dangerous for you,” I explained carefully. “Patients who have undergone a heart transplant are at a significantly higher risk of complications, including organ rejection, increased strain on the cardiovascular system, and a higher likelihood of preeclampsia. You’ll need close monitoring, and there’s a possibility that carrying to full term may not be viable.”

Hendrix frowned, wrapping an arm around Althea protectively. “Are you saying she shouldn’t have this baby?”

“I’m saying that she needs to be prepared for any potential complications,” I clarified, keeping my voice neutral. “She’ll need a specialized treatment plan to ensure both her safety and the baby’s.”

Althea placed a hand on her stomach, her expression softening. “I don’t care what happens to me. I just want this baby to live.”

My throat tightened, but I nodded. “We’ll do everything we can.”

The conversation ended there, and I turned to leave. But just as I reached the door, their voices drifted to me, stopping me in my tracks.

“I’m just so grateful to still be alive,” Althea murmured. “Thank you, love, for saving my life.”

Hendrix sighed, his voice gentle and full of warmth. “I’d do anything for you. You know that.”

“I know,” she said sweetly. “You even sacrificed your wife’s mother just so I could get a heart donor. I can’t believe she actually signed a paper agreeing to donate her organs once she passed.”

My breath caught in my throat. My fingers dug into the doorframe as I strained to hear every word.

“She was old anyway,” Hendrix said nonchalantly. “She had a ninety percent chance of waking up, but I told the doctors to give up on her. Thank God I had the right to decide since I was married to her daughter. It was an easy choice.”

Everything inside me shattered. My legs nearly gave out, and I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing. My mother… she hadn’t died naturally. She had been murdered. Sacrificed for this woman lying in bed, smiling as if she hadn’t benefited from the death of someone I loved more than anything.

Tears blurred my vision, but my rage burned hotter than my grief. I wanted to scream, to storm inside and tear apart the man I had once loved. The man I had devoted my life to.

I staggered back, my entire body trembling. My mother had been my anchor, my safe haven. After her accident, I had prayed for her recovery every single night, holding onto that sliver of hope that she would wake up. And Hendrix—my own husband—had stolen that from me. He had looked the doctors in the eyes and told them to let her go, all for Althea.

I sucked in a shaky breath, my chest heaving. The betrayal was so deep it felt like I was drowning in it.

How long had I been blind to this man? How long had he been pretending to love me while planning my mother’s death behind my back?

My feet moved on their own, taking me away from that door, away from that room filled with their twisted love, away from the suffocating walls of the hospital. My ears rang, my vision swam, and I barely made it to the nearest stairwell before my knees gave out. I gasped for air, but it felt like my lungs had collapsed under the weight of what I had just heard.

The tears came then, unstoppable and violent. My sobs wracked through my body, each one filled with more agony than the last. I pressed my hand against my mouth, trying to stifle the sounds, but the pain was unbearable.

I had spent years loving a man who had never truly loved me. A man who had taken away the only family I had left.

I had lost my mother.

And now, I had lost myself.