Donna. My stepsister. My best friend. The woman who held my hand when I found out I was pregnant.
“She’s expecting a widow, not a husband with a vegetable for a wife,” George continued. “Fix this. Put her back under. Overdose her. I don’t care.”
“The medication…” the doctor hesitated. “It’s dangerous.”
“I. Don’t. Care.”
My world shattered. The man I loved… he didn’t just want me gone. He was erasing me.
“And the… other matter?” George asked, his tone bored.
“The pregnancy?” The doctor sighed.
I strained to listen, my internal scream rising. My baby. Please, not my baby.
“Terminated on impact,” the doctor said flatly. “The trauma was catastrophic. We had to perform an emergency hysterectomy. She lost the child, Mr. Caldwell. And she will never carry another.”
Dead.
My baby was dead.
And I was barren.
The grief hit me harder than the chandelier ever could. I wanted to wail, to tear the room apart, but I was paralyzed.
“Perfect,” George laughed. A cold, cruel sound. “I never wanted that brat anyway. It was just a prop to get the grandfather’s trust fund. With the kid dead and her barren, she’s useless.”
He checked his watch.