Chapter 3: Love and Lawsuits

When Nathan’s first love was wheeled out, I was already close to shock. My Apple Watch buzzed with health alerts no one noticed.

My breath came fast, heart racing, world spinning, blood soaking the ER gurney.

A nurse spotted me and screamed. "Someone come quick! This pregnant woman’s hemorrhaging!"

I was rushed into surgery, fluorescent lights blurring above me. As they wheeled me past Nathan’s first love, he ran to her side, his Italian leather shoes squeaking.

"How is she?" he demanded, thick with concern.

"Stable, minor contusions," the doctor replied.

Nathan was already dialing. "Transfer her to St. Mary’s Private Hospital. Now."

Only after those calls did he ask, like it was nothing, "How’s the pregnant woman?"

"Not good. It’s serious—possible placental abruption."

He paused, then said coldly, "File a lawsuit. Say the pregnant woman staged the accident and traumatized my client. Demand compensation."

The OR doors hissed shut. I felt numb—absurd and heartbroken. Nathan, do you remember what you said in law school? "I’ll never be one of those lawyers who forgets their humanity for a win."

...

I don’t know why I woke up again. Maybe spite. Maybe the universe wanted to finish its joke.

The harsh white surgical lights glared down. Blurry figures moved with frantic precision.

"The pregnant woman is hemorrhaging!"

"Abdominal puncture—bloody ascites, possible uterine rupture!"

"Emergency laparotomy, now!"

"Get me two units of O-neg, stat!"

Bag after bag of fluids poured into me. My body turned to ice, like those foster care winters when the heat shut off.

The surgeon spun, shrieking, "Anesthesiologist! Why is the patient awake!"

I felt something precious slipping away. I knew it was my child. My Emma.

Before the darkness swallowed me, something wet traced down my cheek—not tears, just emptiness.

...

When I came to, the doctor’s eyes were gentle but heavy with bad news.

"I’m sorry. We couldn’t save the child. You had a uterine rupture, but we preserved your uterus. You may still have children."

My voice was raw. "If I’d been treated right away, could my baby have survived?"

The doctor’s silence was answer enough.

My heart ripped open. Tears came—finally. For Emma, for the yellow nursery, for the future lost on the table. My little girl who’d kicked at the Yankees game, my little angel who never saw Central Park in bloom.

All because of her father. Nathan Reeves—I’ll never forgive you.

Numb with pain, I called Mia.

After hearing everything, Mia exploded. I had to hold the phone away as she shouted, "I’m coming! I’m going to scratch that bastard’s eyes out!"

She softened, her therapist voice kicking in. "Wait for me, I’ll be right there."

When she arrived, she wrapped me in a hug, squeezing so tight I almost forgot the pain. She cried, careful not to let her tears fall on me, mascara running down her face.

"Where are that bastard Nathan and that bitch’s hospital room? I’m going to kill them!" She was rolling up her sleeves.

"These people are crazy! Not saving a hemorrhaging woman but saving the perpetrator? I’ll expose them!" She was already texting her journalist friends.

"Nathan Reeves pressured them."

After nearly dying, my love for Nathan evaporated—like a curse broken.

A knock on the door. Two sharp raps.

Two smug lawyers entered, IDs out. Brooks Brothers suits, fresh haircuts, Nathan’s minions. They smelled like expensive aftershave and entitlement.

"We’re from Reeves Law Firm, representing Miss Fuller. This conversation will be recorded."

Mia leapt up, looking ready to take down the whole firm with her bare hands—even at five-foot-two.

"She hit Rachel and is suing us for fraud? Have you no shame!"

The older lawyer oozed Connecticut old money. "At the time, everyone crossed the crosswalk in order, but Miss Rachel stood in place for a full minute. If it wasn’t a setup, why’d she just stand there in the crosswalk for so long? Looks suspicious to me."

I stared at them, calm in the eye of the storm. "I saw a strange woman driving the BMW I bought my husband for his promotion, so I looked a little longer—is that so strange?"

Mia whipped out her phone. "You want to lawyer up? Fine. My brother’s a lawyer, and he’ll be back from England tomorrow. Let’s see you bully a pregnant woman then."

She stood protectively in front of me, vibrating with fury. "And you—my brother’s coming. You’ll answer for this."

When she raised her phone, the lawyers noticed her Rolls-Royce keys and became suddenly polite. "We’ll visit again another day."

"Snobs!" Mia yelled after them in three languages.

She turned to me, already plotting. "They’re transferring the patient to St. Mary’s?"

I nodded, exhausted.

She called her mom. "Check if a woman from a car accident was admitted. Yes, she hit Rachel—don’t let that idiot in!"

After hanging up, she grinned. "My mom’s coming. You’re transferring. Private room, park view, and the good jello."

...

St. Mary’s Hospital.

I didn’t expect Nathan to finally show up. He looked perfect, wedding ring flashing.

He saw me and hesitated—surprise, confusion, then irritation.

"Why are you here?"

He scowled. "Rachel, seriously? You’re blocking Sophia’s treatment because you’re mad at me?"

I lay there, bandaged, IV in my arm, too weak to move. The first thing he did was accuse me of abusing power.

I looked at him, memorizing his face in the afternoon light. My voice was calm, but my hands shook under the blanket. "Nathan Reeves, let’s get divorced."