My Child My Heart Your Lies

The delivery room was a vacuum of fluorescent lights and the sharp, cloying scent of antiseptic. Pitocin pulsed through my veins, an artificial rhythm that triggered waves of agony, pulling at my midsection like an anchor dragging through silt.

Wes leaned in then. He didnt offer a hand to hold or a word of comfort. Instead, a jagged, predatory smile ghosted across his lips. His voice was a low crawl, like a secret whispered in a graveyard.

I have something to show you, Cassie.

He pulled out his phone with agonizing slowness. The screen flickered to life, displaying a family portrait. There was Bridgetmy best friend, my maid of honorradiant and glowing, cradling an infant while two toddlers clung to her knees. Wes stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist with a proprietary warmth I hadn't felt in years.

These are my children with Bridget, he whispered, his eyes locked on mine as a contraction crested. Three kids in five years. Turns out shes a lot more fertile than you ever were.

I stared at the image. The sight of Bridget nestled in his embrace made the world tilt. The physical pain of the labor suddenly felt distant, muffled by a crushing, psychic numbness.

Being with a pregnant woman is... an experience, he continued, his thumb tracing the edge of the phone, his tone dripping with a sick, casual intimacy. Bridget is a natural. It felt like every time I looked at her, she was carrying again. You really don't compare.

A muffled sound came from the observation window. I forced my head to turn, my neck creaking. There was Bridget, standing on her tiptoes, waving a hand toward the glass. Her eyes were rimmed with red, her lips moving in a silent, mocking "Go, girl."

My stomach lurched. Wes leaned closer, his breath hot against my ear, a nauseating contrast to the clinical cold of the room. Half an hour before they wheeled you in here, she was still in my bed, he bragged, his voice thick with a twisted pride. I had to shower her off me just to make it to your bedside.

Then, as if flipping a switch, his face softened into a mask of feigned regret. He patted the back of my hand. I still care about you, Cassie. Thats why Im being honest.

Now, this baby... have it if you want. Dont if you dont. Its your call.

His words were a scalpel, precision-engineered to bypass my skin and slice straight through my soul. The numbness shattered. A fresh contraction ripped through me, more violent than the last, and I felt the hot sting of tears mingling with the sweat at my temples.

...

The searing, tearing pain between my legs was the only thing tethering me to reality.

This wasnt a fever dream.

Wes wasn't joking.

"Have you decided? The ball's in your court." He stood over me, looming like a mountain, his tone as casual as if he were asking what I wanted for dinner.

The blood in my veins turned to ice. Despite the agony in my abdomen, I reached out and gripped his sleeve, my knuckles white.

"Why..." I choked out, my voice trembling with a desperate, stubborn need for an answer. "Why tell me now?"

Wess thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away a bead of cold sweat. His gaze was a confusing cocktail of guilt and liberation.

"Keeping up the act for five years... its exhausting, Cassie. Were both tired."

"Bridget is your best friend. She didn't mind you keeping the title of Mrs. Porter. She never wanted to hurt you by telling you."

"But Im the one who felt it was wrong. Shes given me child after child, and keeping her and the kids in the shadows? Its not fair to them."

A sob escaped me, jagged and bitter. I laughed through the tears. "So what? You want me to just step aside?"

Seeing me break seemed to startle him for a second. He shook his head.

"Youre the wife who helped me build this empire from the dirt. That doesn't change. But going forward, I want a dual-family setup. Both of you. Equals."

"Just push the kid out first. Well figure the rest out later."

He shrugged my hand off.

"Wes! No! That's never happening!" I screamed.

The only response was the heavy thud of the door closing behind him.

A wave of absolute, bone-deep agony rolled over me. A sudden, hot gush of fluid followed. In the background, I heard the frantic, pitying shouts of the nurses.

"Mrs. Porter! Stay with us! You need to push!"

Mrs. Porter.

I twisted my lips into a grotesque, bloody smile.

The first time he called me that, he was blushing, unable to look me in the eye, telling me he knew hed marry me the moment he saw my face. The second time, he was on one knee, holding a ring that caught the light like a promise, swearing hed give me the stars.

And the third time, he used it to tell me he was sleeping with my best friend.

The world began to blur. The rhythmic screaming of the monitors blended with the shouting voices until it all became a dull roar in my ears.

When I finally drifted back to consciousness, my hand instinctively went to my stomach. It was flat. Empty.

"The baby... he didn't make it through the delivery. I'm so sorry for your loss."

The nurse kept her eyes on the floor, unable to look me in the eye.

It took a long time to find my voice. It sounded like it had been dragged over broken glass.

"Who signed... the consent forms?"

The nurse hesitated, then handed me the clipboard. There, in a shaky, distorted hand stained with a drop of blood, was my own name: Cassie Porter.

While my child and I were fighting for our lives, Wes must have been elsewhere, tangled in the sheets with someone else.

The door swung open, and Bridget rushed in. Seeing my puffy, bloodshot eyes, she lunged toward the bed. Her designer nails dug into my arm. "Cassie... oh god, you're young. You can have another one. Don't give up."

I slowly turned my head to look at her. "Youre enjoying this, aren't you?"

"My baby is gone, and youve managed to pop out three."

Her pupils constricted. "You know?"

When I didn't answer, her lips began to tremble in a practiced show of defense. "Wes and I... it was an accident, Cassie. You have to listen to me"

An accident?

What kind of accident results in three children in five years? What kind of accident makes a husband change his life insurance beneficiary from his wife to her?

I was the fool. I was the one who let her stomp all over my marriage while I smiled and thanked her for the company. The memory of her faux-concernthe hidden smirks behind my backignited a fire in my chest.

I grabbed the heavy glass water pitcher from the nightstand and hurled it at that beautiful, lying face.

The sound of shattering glass coincided with a mans sharp cry.

Wes had stepped in, throwing his arms around Bridget to shield her. When he turned back to me, blood was already beginning to seep from a cut on his forehead.

"Take your anger out on me!" he roared, his voice thick with protective fury. "Don't you dare touch her!"

His eyes, once so full of warmth for me, were now ice-cold.

"Bridget has always put you first! She never tried to take your place! She sacrificed everything for you."

"With a friend like her, Cassie, how the hell are you still so ungrateful?"

I stared at him, letting his words sink in. Ungrateful.

I thought about the night I pulled him from the wreckage of a car, dragging him to the hospital, giving half my blood volume in a transfusion that nearly killed me. I thought about six years of marriage without a child, while they were playing house in the dark.

And they had the nerve to say she put me first?

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, scrubbing away the last of the weakness. "Get out," I rasped. "Both of you. I never want to see you again."

"Cassie... just listen"

"GET OUT!"

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by my ragged, desperate breathing. Wes gave me one long, hard look before taking Bridgets hand and leading her out. As the door swung shut, I didn't miss the flash of a triumphant smile on Bridgets face.

I collapsed back into the pillows. My throat felt raw, a familiar itch returning. I had quit smoking six years ago for Wes. I needed it now.

The moment the nicotine hit my lungs, the door opened again. Wes walked in, a bandage on his head, carrying a takeout bag. He moved with practiced ease, opening containers and blowing on the soupthe picture of a devoted husband.

Months ago, this would have moved me to tears. Now, I only realized he had likely done this for Bridget three times over. He was an expert at the "new mother" routine.

He plucked the cigarette from my hand and took a drag himself, his expression softening for a fleeting second.

"Don't smoke. You're not well."

"Why her?" I asked.

"Six years ago, when the Porter family went bankrupt... she was the one who saw you pushed into the mud. She was the one who watched them tie you to the back of a car and drag you. Have you forgotten that?"

Wes didn't answer immediately. He stared at the wall, then shook his head.

"She was young. She was just playing."

"She wasn't the only one hurting me back then," he added quietly. "And besides... shes the one who saved me later."

According to him, he had recognized her the moment I introduced them. At first, he wanted revenge. He wanted to break her the way shed broken him.

But then he saw her after her own family's ruinworking at a dive bar, being harassed by old men, struggling to survive. He felt a sudden, twisted kinship with her. He couldn't stand to see her suffer, and her "quiet strength" won him over.

They reconciled in secret and ended up in bed. Meanwhile, Ithe woman who had actually protected his dignity and his lifewas relegated to the role of the oblivious wife.

"Is she really that good in bed?" I asked, my voice a hollow husk. "Is that why you can't let go?"

Wes was silent. He blew out a cloud of smoke and sighed.

"I have her name tattooed on me, Cassie. In places youll never see. When things get... intense, its her name Im thinking of. Its a rush."

"The wife who built the business with you is great, sure. But after a while, it gets stale. You should understand that."

I closed my eyes. It felt like being carved up by a dull blade.

Six years ago, I fell for him because he reminded me of my first love. When we met again and he was failing, I used my parents' retirement fund and their house to back his first investment. When he was threatened by thugs for his business plans, I was the one who stood in front of the knives so he could escape and make the meeting.

I gave him everything for six years. And all I got back was "stale."

"I didn't mean for it to become this," Wes said, his voice drifting into a memory. "Until I found out... she was the one who dragged me to the hospital. The one who saved my life. Thats when I decided Id give her everything. The house, the money, the kids..."

"At first, she felt guilty because of you. She said no. I had to keep her locked in my penthouse for weeks until she finally gave in."

He chuckled, a sound of pure, selfish satisfaction.

I smiled, a thin, bitter line. I had never told him it was me who saved him because I didn't want him to feel indebted to me. I wanted him to love me for me. I had paved the way for Bridget to steal my history.

I took a deep breath and handed him the papers I had prepared.

He was busy texting Bridget and didn't even look up. "Whats this?"

"Transfer papers. I want a different hospital."

He looked at me then, surprised by my composure. He took the pen from his pocket and signed them with a flourish.

"Cassie, look. You're getting older, and you just lost the baby. I know you're not stupid enough to actually divorce me."

"When you get out, Bridget will take care of you. I hope by then, youve come to your senses."

He tossed the signed agreement onto the bed. Before he walked out, he gave me one last look of condescending pity.

"You should learn how to be a more gracious wife, Cassie."

The door clicked shut. The wind from the hallway ruffled the edge of the paper.

Soon, I wouldn't be his wife at all.

A week later, I checked myself out.

The lobby was crowded. Bridget was there, leaning on Wess arm. When she saw me, she hurried over, trying to take my hand.

"Cassie! Are you going home today?"

I sidestepped her. My eyes drifted to her stomach. "What? Pregnant again?"

She stiffened, sharing a look with Wes, then pulled me aside.

"Hes... a little aggressive," she whispered, her voice a mock-confession. "He won't leave me alone, even now."

She feigned a gasp, tapping her cheek. "Oh, Im terrible! Why am I telling you this? I know its been ages since hes touched you."

She stood there, beaming, waiting for me to crumble.

She had every reason to smile. I had been the ultimate mark. For years, she told me she was sickly and needed rest. I gave her my guest house, hired her the best doctors, and bought her the finest supplements. All while she was sleeping in my bed and birthing my husband's children in my own home.

When she was a wealthy socialite, I ignored her cruelty. When her father went broke and she was selling drinks, I spent my meager savings to help her meet her quotas.

And when I was the one lying in a hospital bed after giving blood to save Wes, she had called me an idiot. "Why would you risk your life for a broke loser?" shed asked.

Now, that "loser" was a mogul, and she had used my identity to claim him.

Wes coughed awkwardly, sensing the tension. "My parents don't know about... the loss yet. Why don't you take Bridgets youngest home with you? Itll make them happy to see a baby."

I stared at him, stunned. He had triggered my premature labor. He had effectively killed my child, and now he had the audacity to ask me to parade his mistresss child in front of my parents?

I didn't argue. You can't reason with a monster.

At 6:00 PM, I arrived at my parents' house.

I was rehearsing how to tell them about the pregnancy and the tragedy. My mother has a weak heart; I had kept so much from her.

Suddenly, the front door swung open. A shower of confetti exploded, and my parents appeared, beaming with joy. They pushed me toward Wes, who was already standing inside.

They pointed toward Bridget, who was sitting on the sofa. "You young people and your romance," my mother laughed. "Celebrating your anniversary like this..."

I couldn't hear them. My eyes were locked on the infant in Bridgets arms.

The baby was about a month old. He was wearing my baby's shoes. My baby's clothes. My baby's hand-knitted cap. Around his neck hung the silver locket I had bought for my child.

One half was around my neck. The other half was supposed to be in my babys... urn.

Cold realization washed over me. Wes gripped my shoulder, his fingers digging in like a warning.

"I learned a few recipes from your dad," Wes said. "Lets sit down and have a family dinner."

My father was busy learning how to mix formula. My mother was cooing at the infant. Bridget sat next to Wes, their posture sickeningly domestic.

My throat felt like it had been sliced. I couldn't speak.

What could I say? That the baby wasn't a guest, but the evidence of a five-year betrayal? That they were flaunting their affair in my parents' living room? They had used my dead childs belongings to dress a bastard. They knew I wouldn't speak up because of my mothers heart condition.

My fingernails bit into my palms until I drew blood.

I turned and vomited all over Wess expensive suit.

"Cassie! Whats wrong with you?" my mother cried, rushing over. Then she stopped, her face lighting up with a sudden, wild hope. "Are you... are you expecting?"

I had been. Now I was empty.

My mother, overwhelmed with joy, reached out and took Bridgets baby, holding him out to me. "Here, hold him! Its good luck. Maybe itll mean a positive test tomorrow."

I didn't move. But Bridget did.

She took the baby back and leaned in close to my ear. "Youre so pathetic, Cassie. Your baby is dead. Now you have to settle for holding mine."

She fingered the silver locket around the baby's neck and gave me a poisonous smile.

"I forgot to tell you. This locket belonged to your kid. And the heart beating in my babys chest? That came from yours, too."

"I was worried about rejection at first. But Wes said... using a siblings heart was the only way to be sure."

The world turned black. My legs gave out.

When my vision cleared, my hands were locked around Bridgets throat. I wanted her dead. I wanted the world to end.

"Cassie! Stop it! What are you doing?"

"Cassie, youve lost your mind!"

The lights were blinding. Shadows swirled. Wess face, contorted with rage, loomed over me. He slapped meonce, twicebut I wouldn't let go.

My mother was pulling at my fingers, tears streaming down her face. "Honey, please! Bridget has had it hard too, you can't treat her like this!"

My father was pleading, "Shes your best friend, Cassie. Don't do this."

The image of my babys pale, lifeless face flashed in my mind, replaced by Bridgets mocking sneer.

I let go of her throat and swung, my palm connecting with her face with a crack that echoed through the room.

Before I could land another blow, a heavy boot slammed into my chest, throwing me backward.

Pain exploded in my ribs. Everything turned red.

I couldn't hear anything over the ringing in my ears. I could only see the shoes. Wes was wearing the red-soled loafers I had searched all over the city to find for himhis wedding shoes. The shoes that had stood beside me while he made his vows.

Now he was using them to trample over me in my own home.

I gasped for air, clutching my chest. "Why... why did you take my babys heart?"

A flicker of guilt crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, righteous anger.

"She saved my life once. I saved her childs life in return. Don't you think that's fair?"

Fair.

Who was going to make it fair for my child?

I crawled forward, my blood-stained hand clutching his pant leg. I looked up into his confused, arrogant eyes.

"Has it ever occurred to you..." I whispered, every word a jagged shard of glass. "...that you have the wrong woman?"

"The person who saved youthe person who gave you her blood, who carried you for miles in the blistering heat to get you to a hospitalit wasn't Bridget. It was me."