The first thing I felt was nothing.
Not the sheets against my skin. Not the heaviness of my limbs. Not even the sting of my lungs that had fought to breathe water instead of air. My body was an empty vessel, still and unresponsive, but my mind—my mind hovered between darkness and awareness.
And in that haze, voices broke through.
“Sir, we can’t drain more blood,” the doctor’s tone was strained, panicked. “She drowned, her lungs were filled with water. Her body won’t hold. If we continue, she’ll die—especially knowing she’s also pregnant with your child.”
Pregnant? My heart jolted. No. That couldn’t be. I never even suspected. My cycle was always irregular, unreliable at best. And most of the time—Joseph and I used protection. Condoms, precautions, anything to avoid surprises. I never dared to hope… because we weren’t married yet.
But then came Joseph’s voice. Familiar. Sharp. Cold.
“I don’t care if she’s pregnant. And if she dies? So what?” His words cut deeper than the tubes piercing my skin. “She matches Hannah’s blood type. Hannah needs this more. Between them, I’ll always choose Hannah. Ysabel is nothing. Not even my wife. Do it now.”
The sound of the machines blurred, the edges of my consciousness collapsing. I wanted to scream, to fight, to demand why—but my body betrayed me. Darkness pulled me under.
When I woke again, agony consumed me. Every muscle throbbed, my veins hollowed as if someone had scraped life itself from inside me. Memories of what I heard replayed, twisted with doubt. Was it a dream? Was it real?
A nurse appeared at my bedside, offering a strained smile. “Miss Ysabel, you need to rest. You lost a lot of blood. You were found unconscious after drowning. You must stay for recovery.”
I swallowed hard, my lips trembling. “I… was I—pregnant?”
Her eyes widened, then softened with pity. “I don’t think so. There’s no record.”
But I heard it. I knew what I heard. Pregnant. Child. Died. My womb felt empty, my chest hollow. Silent tears slipped down my cheeks as the truth clawed at me.
“What about… my husband?” The word cracked on my tongue, though even as I said it, I knew it wasn’t true. Joseph wasn’t my husband. Just the man I had given my life to, the man who had Jackson’s heart, the man I had foolishly believed would love me.
“Did someone visit me?”
The nurse hesitated, then shook her head. “No one has come. You’ve been asleep for three days already.”
I forced a trembling smile. “Please. Leave me alone.”
The door clicked shut, and silence swallowed me whole. That was when the ache settled in—not the physical pain, but the kind that gnawed at the marrow. I thought it was love.
I thought five years of devotion meant something. I wanted to believe that his care, his touch, his presence was real. Yet still, it wasn’t. To him, I was never love. Just convenience. Just pity. And me? I was a fool. A fool who mistook borrowed warmth for a promise, who gave my heart to a man who never truly wanted it.
My chest tightened, and for the first time in years, my thoughts drifted back to Jackson. Jackson—wild, reckless, full of life. He had never once made me feel like an afterthought.
With him, every word was truth, every touch was certainty. If he were here, he would never have let me rot in this bed alone. He would never have given me up for someone else’s sake. Jackson would have fought for me. Protected me. Loved me without condition.
And now his heart beat inside Joseph. The cruel irony cut deeper than any blade.
I waited the entire day, staring at the door, praying Joseph would come. He didn’t.
By nightfall, something in me snapped. Pain laced every step, but I forced myself out of bed, the IV tugging against my arm. The hallway lights were dim, cold. That’s when I heard it—his voice again.
I froze.
“…are you sure it’s okay that you’re here?” Hannah’s voice. Her tone was low, nervous. “What about Ysabel? You drained too much of her blood for me.”
Joseph scoffed, his voice a knife. “I don’t care about her. She won’t die. And even if she does, what then? It’s not like she matters. The baby already died. She’ll never know.”
The ground tilted beneath me. Baby. Died. Never know.
He continued, his words merciless. “I never wanted her. I only pitied her. Joseph—” he paused, his voice breaking only to twist into bitterness. “Joseph died because of me. I was drunk, reckless. I crashed into his car. I killed him. His family gave me his heart out of pity, not knowing I was the reason he died. You left, I was devastated. So I used her. A bed warmer. Nothing more. But now that you’re back, and you’ve divorced that bastard husband—let’s get married.”
Hannah gasped softly. “Joseph… of course, I would love that! I regretted leaving you.”
My stomach twisted, bile rising to my throat. My knees nearly buckled, but I pressed against the wall, forcing my sobs down.
Every word was a dagger. Every word burned the love I had clung to into ashes.
Joseph. It was Joseph. The man I had trusted, the man I had given five years of my life to—he was the reason Jackson was gone. All those nights I cried myself to sleep, mourning my first love, never once had I imagined the man sleeping beside me carried such a secret. He had crashed into Jackson. He had killed him. And then, instead of confessing, he had hidden it behind his sickness, behind his pity, behind his manipulations.
The man who carried Jackson’s heart had been the very hand that ripped him away from me.
My tears blurred everything. My breaths came shallow and broken. It felt like betrayal layered upon betrayal, until I couldn’t tell where the grief ended and the rage began.
I stumbled away, desperate for air, desperate for escape. My eyes caught a telephone on the corner desk. My hands shook as I grabbed it, my breath ragged.
There was only one number I had memorized, one lifeline I had never dared to use.
When the line clicked, my voice broke. “Brother… it’s me. Ysabel.”
Silence. Then a sharp inhale on the other side.
“Do you still care for me?” My tears fell hot, dripping onto the receiver. “If yes… please… help me. Help me fake my death.”
