My Husband Gave Our Baby’s Heart to His Mistress

At the engagement party, my childhood friend and fiancé, in a misguided attempt to comfort my sister's melancholy, slipped the ring meant for me onto her finger. Determined, I called off the engagement and married my college sweetheart, who truly cherished me. Our life together was blissful and tender.

That was until our newborn tragically passed away, and I uncovered that he had used our child's heart to save my sister's daughter. His cherished diary, brimming with years of secret admiration, revealed my sister's name on every page. Suddenly, I realized he never genuinely loved me. His affection was merely an act, exchanging my joy for my sister's lifelong contentment.

Awakened by this betrayal, a divorce agreement marked the start of my separation from Ridge Thomas.

---

I traced the lines of my daughter's face on the gravestone, tears flowing freely. Ridge sighed deeply, gently wiping my tears with a hint of hidden impatience cloaked in his somber voice.

"The accident was my fault for not taking better care of Myla. I carry guilt too," he said. "But grieving here won't bring her back; Myla is gone."

Those words shattered what remained of my already fragile heart.

"Ridge, our daughter died! She was only three months old—how can you say such things? Doesn't your heart break?" I screamed in agony, watching Ridge’s gentle expression shift to cold indifference.

"Esme, I have a career too. Should I give it all up for a child?" His voice rose, as if I were being unreasonable.

I stared at Ridge in disbelief, struggling to comprehend these words. We had waited six years for this child. The joy I felt when I discovered I was pregnant was still vivid, as if it happened just yesterday. How could he say this now?

Sensing his mistake, Ridge cleared his throat.

"Esme, we can have other children. Please, don't be so upset," he tried to comfort me, but I stepped away.

"Ridge, I need time to think."

Tears fell to the ground, and Ridge's hand paused midair. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but the sudden ringing of a phone interrupted him.

"Yes, I'll be there," he said, hanging up. Ridge glanced at me with frustration. "I have an emergency at work. I won't be back tonight. You should try to calm down."

As I watched him leave without a backward glance, the pain inside me erupted, overwhelming me. I collapsed against the gravestone, consumed by uncontrollable sobs.

Our relationship felt like a clichéd TV drama. He was the caring senior who had admired me from afar, while I was engaged to my childhood friend. After graduation, he confessed his love, but I turned him down, thinking we would never cross paths again. Until the engagement party, when my fiancé put the ring meant for me on my sister's finger. To preserve my pride, I defied all objections, canceling the wedding and fleeing the altar.

Ridge came into my life at this crucial moment, offering sincere love. Out of spite and desperation, we married the next day. Six years of marriage, and he never let me cook a meal. No matter how busy he was, one call could bring him to my side. This man, who claimed to love me deeply, let our eagerly awaited daughter slip away due to his work commitments.

I returned to find our daughter reduced to ashes.

I was wrong. I shouldn't have been so naive as to think Ridge was different from other men.

I was the one who let my daughter die.

As night fell over the cemetery, I stared at my silent phone screen, laughing bitterly. What was I hoping for? If Ridge couldn't prioritize our child over his work, why would he remember me?

Standing by the door, listening to the conversation inside, my heart twisted painfully.

"Don't worry, she'll never know that the baby's heart was given to Aadhya."