Save Your Mistress Bury Your Son

Nine months pregnant, and I was bleeding out on a cold rooftop.

Frank, a disgruntled ex-employee who blamed my husband for his firing, held a serrated hunting knife to my throat. Hed already stabbed me a dozen times. My white maternity dress was a heavy, sodden mess of crimson.

My husband, Blake, was the captain of the citys elite Search and Rescue team. Right now, he was mobilizing every unit he hadnot to find me, but to stop his "eternal flame," Mia, from setting fire to her apartment in a "depressive episode."

In my past life, I had begged him to come. I had screamed into the phone, sobbing for the life of our unborn child. He had abandoned Mia to save me. We survived, but Mia had followed through, turning her apartment into an inferno and herself into ashes.

Blake never blamed me out loud. He played the part of the doting husband, even booking a luxury VIP birthing suite for me. But on the day I went into labor, he didn't bring flowers. He brought zip-ties.

He bound me to the delivery bed, his eyes wild with a cold, terrifying light.

"You and Frank planned that rooftop stunt together, didn't you? Those stabs were shallow. You were never going to die," he hissed, his voice trembling with years of suppressed rage. "Since you love being a victim so much, let me help you feel what Mia felt."

Then, he set the room on fire.

When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that rooftop. The air was biting, and the smell of my own blood was metallic and sharp.

This time, I decided to let him go to her.

The fifth time the knife sank into my side, the pain was a white-hot flash that blurred my vision. Franks grip was like iron, the blade pressing into the soft skin of my neck.

"Call Blake," he growled, his voice gravelly with desperation. "Now."

I hesitated, my face ghostly pale. My hand shook as I dialed the number.

"Blake," I gasped when he picked up. "Frank has me. Im on the roof of our building. Hes stabbed me five times. Please... you have to come."

There was a long silence on the other end. I expected panic. I expected the roar of sirens. Instead, I got a voice as cold as a tomb.

"Really, Joanna? Youre picking now to pull this? Mia is having a breakdown, shes threatening to light a match, and suddenly youre being stabbed?"

"Im not lying," I choked out. "Hes right here"

"I kept our new address a secret for a reason," Blake interrupted, his tone dripping with disdain. "How would Frank even find you? Next time you want to play actress to get my attention, try a lie that isn't so easy to see through."

The words bled through the speaker. Franks dark, wrinkled eyes filled with a fresh wave of hatred. His hand tightened, the blade drawing a thin line of red across my throat.

I wanted to scream, to break down, but I forced a haunting calm into my voice. "Im not trying to stop you from saving Mia. If you dont believe me, just send two of your guys. Just two. Let them check the roof."

"Enough!" Blake barked. "I dont have time for your games. Mias life is actually on the line."

I heard him turn away from the phone, speaking to his dispatcher. "Mark the 'rooftop stabbing' call as a hoax. Disregard any further reports from that location. We are redirected to the South Side fire threat."

The line went dead.

A suffocating despair washed over me. I knew Blake was cold, but I hadn't realized he was capable of this level of cruelty.

In my last life, I had called him dozens of times. I had pleaded for the babys sake. He had come, eventually, but he had spent the rest of his life mourning Mia and hating me for being the reason she died.

He had pampered me for months, a wolf in sheep's clothing, waiting for the moment I was most vulnerablein the delivery roomto exact his revenge. He told me Mia died alone and terrified, and it was only fair that I felt the same. He let our baby die in the smoke before the fire reached us.

The memory of that heat, that betrayal, burned hotter than the wounds in my gut.

Frank, seeing that Blake wasn't coming, lost the last shred of his sanity. He let out a guttural roar and drove the knife into me again. And again. And again.

Warmth spread down my legsblood and fluid pooling on the black gravel of the roof.

Just as the world began to fade, my mother-in-law, Martha, burst through the rooftop door. She saw the blood, and her knees buckled.

"Frank! Stop!" she screamed. "Were sorry! Well make it right! Please, shes nine months pregnant!"

Frank paused, the bloody knife trembling in his hand. He seemed to want to believe her.

Marthas hands shook as she pulled out her phone and called Blake. It went to speaker. The background was chaoticshouting, the crackle of fire, and the faint, high-pitched sobbing of a woman.

"Blake! Are you insane?" Martha screamed into the phone. "Joanna has been stabbed a dozen times! Shes dying! Get here now!"

I thought he might listen to his mother. I was wrong.

Blake let out a short, mocking laugh. "Mom, seriously? Youre in on the act too? I just checked the logs. Frank Russo is still in his hometown three states away. Tell Joanna to stop the theatrics. If shes 'dying,' tell her to call a priest. Actually, tell her Ive already looked into cemetery plots. I can arrange the funeral whenever shes ready to stop holding her breath."

The sheer malice in his voice left Martha speechless.

In the background, a soft, fragile voice drifted through the line. "Is Joanna upset again? Blake, don't be mad at her... its natural for her to be jealous. Maybe you should go... even though Im so scared... they say burning is the most painful way to go..."

Mia. That was Mias voice. The "fragile" girl who knew exactly which buttons to push.

"Ill send you the photos, Blake!" Martha hissed, her voice thick with rage.

There was a silence for a few seconds. He was looking at the pictures.

But his heart was a stone. "Wow. She really went all out this time. Where did she find the SFX makeup artist? And the guy playing Frank? Hes a dead ringer. Tell her she missed her calling in Hollywood. Im hanging up now. I have to take care of Mia."

The roof fell silent.

Something in Blakes dismissive tone snapped the last thread of Frank's restraint. He lunged at me, his eyes bloodshot and screaming, and began to bury the knife into my stomach.

One. Two. Three.

I felt the steel tear through my skin, a cold, sickening sensation followed by a pain so intense it transcended screaming. I tried to fight, but my limbs were lead.

Just as my vision began to tunnel into blackness, two police officers stormed the roof. A neighbor must have called it in. They tackled Frank, the handcuffs clicking shut over his bloody wrists.

But it was too late. The blood was a river now.

Before I drifted off, I heard Blakes voice again. Martha hadn't hung up. He was talking to Mia, his voice a low, tender caress.

"Mia, Ive wanted to leave her for years. She was just... convenient. She took care of my parents. She was a good vessel for a kid. But you? Youre my real wife. I could never love a woman who lies as much as she does. I only love you."

Every word was a fresh blade in my heart.

But as the darkness took me, I didn't feel sadness. I felt a cold, crystalline hatred.

When I opened my eyes, the sterile smell of bleach and hospital-grade floor cleaner hit me. Martha was sitting by my bed, her eyes red-rimmed. She grabbed my hand the moment she saw me stir.

"Joanna... honey, I am so sorry. The baby... they couldn't save him."

I looked down at my flat stomach. I felt a hollow ache that went deeper than the stitches in my skin. I pulled my hand away from hers.

"I want to be alone, Martha."

She sighed, her face etched with guilt, and slipped out of the room.

I reached for my phone, needing a distraction from the void in my chest. I scrolled through a local news feed and found a live-stream clip.

It was Blake. He was in Mias apartment. Gasoline had been splashed over the rug, but he didn't seem to care. He was on one knee, holding a massive diamond ring, looking up at Mia with eyes full of adoration.

"Im done with Joanna," he said to the camera, to the crowd of onlookers, to the world. "She staged a fake stabbing today just to keep me from saving the woman I love. If shes that unstable, I need all of you to witness this: I am divorcing her. Within three months, Mia and I will be married. Ill keep you all updated on our journey."

The crowd cheered.

Mia blushed, leaning into him, wearing a ring three times the size of the one hed given me. She didn't look like a woman who had been seconds away from suicide. She looked like a cat who had just caught the canary.

I put the phone down and tried to stand. I needed to find the doctor.

At the door, I heard Martha on her phone again. She was on speaker.

"I sent you the medical reports, Blake! The baby is dead. The hospital is asking about funeral arrangements for the infant. You need to get here."

Blakes voice came back, sharper than before. "Enough, Mom! She got admitted to a Tier-1 hospital for a 'theatric'? Is she not embarrassed? Where did she get a dead infant for a prop? Tell her if she wants to play dead so badly, she should just go through with it. I'll pay her parents the settlement."

Martha was shaking with fury. "Blake, I am your mother! You don't believe me?"

"I believe youve been brainwashed by her," he snapped. "Oh, and tell herwhen the 'baby' is registered, use the last name 'Fontaine.' Thats Mias name. Itll be a good lesson for Joanna about what happens when she cries wolf."

The line went dead.

I walked back to my bed in silence.

I didn't expect him to show up. But an hour later, the door kicked open. Blake marched in, looking refreshed, his eyes scanning me with pure mockery.

He grabbed my arm, pulling me upright. I winced as the stitches in my abdomen screamed.

"Nice touch with the pale makeup," he sneered. "Really sells the 'near-death' look."

I looked at him, my body trembling with a mixture of agony and pure, unadulterated loathing. "You are a monster, Blake. I told you I wasn't lying. Why couldn't you just look at the evidence? Why did you have to kill our son?"

"Still sticking to the script?" he laughed. "Look, well settle the legalities later. Right now, I have a problem. Mia is being harassed online because people think shes a homewrecker. I want you to post a video saying you hired those 'actors' on the roof and that you and I have been separated for a year. Do it, or Ill make sure you don't get a dime in the divorce."

"I didn't hire anyone," I whispered.

"God, youre pathetic!" He lunged forward, his hand clamping around my throat. I couldn't breathe. My face turned purple as he pinned me against the headboard. "I am tired of your lies, Joanna! If you want to pretend you lost a baby, let me give you a reason to bleed!"

He pulled back and swung a heavy fist into my stomachright where the surgical incisions were.

I gasped, a muffled cry escaping my lips as fresh blood began to soak through my hospital gown.

Blake froze. He looked at his hand, then at the very real, very dark blood spreading across the white sheets. He frowned, stepping forward to pull back my gown.

He saw the thick bandages, the surgical drains, and the undeniable hollowness of my womb.

The color drained from his face. "Wheres the baby? Joanna... where is he?"

"He's in the morgue, Blake," I choked out. "Because you decided he was a prop."