Left Behind, Never Looking Back

Ninety-nine times, Gabriel had proven he didn’t deserve a place beside me, and ninety-nine times I still chose to stay, convincing myself that love could still change him, that maybe I just had to endure a little longer. But the hundredth betrayal didn’t just break my heart—it shattered whatever remained of my loyalty.

He allowed Camille—his drunken secretary and the woman he kept hidden behind excuses—to drive me home that night, and that reckless decision ended in a violent crash that took the life of the four-month-old baby I was carrying.

At first, I thought the suffering had ended when the accident did. I was wrong. The real nightmare began when I woke in the hospital and heard them through the thin divider between beds, their voices slipping through like poison.

“I’m really sorry, Gabriel…” Camille’s voice cracked, drenched in panic. “I’m terrified. Marielle is going to hate me… she’ll kill me. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have driven like that, I shouldn’t have listened to her. I thought I could still get us home safely. I killed your baby.”

“Hey, calm down,” Gabriel murmured back, his tone soft in a way I hadn’t heard in years—gentle, reassuring, almost loving. “She’s not going to hurt you. I won’t allow it. And… you’re okay, that’s what matters.”

“But the baby…” she choked out between sobs. “Aren’t you angry? You wanted an heir… I ruined everything.”

There was a brief silence, then a faint, almost amused sound—cold and dismissive—that made my stomach twist.

“Don’t be dramatic,” he said lightly. “Why would I be angry at you? It was an accident.”

“But… your son…”

Gabriel exhaled, like someone finally relieved of an obligation. “To be honest, I never really wanted that child. She was the one pushing for it all the time. She was fixated on it. I just went along because my grandfather wouldn’t stop demanding an heir. I needed him off my back.”

Everything in me went still. Nausea rose fast and sharp. He didn’t want our child? The nursery we carefully painted together, the names we whispered at night, the future I built in my head—was any of it ever real?

“I only want a baby with you, Camille,” he said after a pause, his voice dropping into something intimate and low.

“Then leave her!” Camille suddenly cried, desperation breaking through her fear. “Why are you still with her? Just divorce her. Be with me, Gabriel. Let’s start over. Let’s have our own family.”

“We’ve already talked about this,” he replied patiently, as if calming a child. “I can’t divorce her yet. Not now. After what happened, especially with the baby… it would be a scandal. The press would tear me apart. And my grandfather—your brother—he’d lose it if he found out everything.”

“So we just wait?” she asked weakly.

“We wait until the inheritance is secured,” he said firmly. “Once everything is in my name, I’ll let her go. I promise you.”

“Do you love her?” Camille whispered.

The answer came without hesitation. “No. I only love you.”

Then I heard it—the sickening closeness of kisses, soft and unbothered, as if I wasn’t just a few feet away bleeding and broken.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t burst through the curtain. I didn’t even cry.

Something inside me went quiet instead. Cold. Detached. Final.

That was the moment I died with my unborn child—the version of me who still believed in Gabriel, who still forgave him ninety-nine times, disappeared without a sound.

I stayed still until their voices faded, until I heard footsteps approaching and the door finally opened.

Gabriel walked in first, already shifting his face like an actor stepping onto a stage. The warmth I had just heard vanished instantly, replaced by a grieving husband’s mask.

“Marielle…” he said softly, rushing to my side. He reached for my hand, his palms damp. “Thank God you’re awake. I was so worried about you.”

He squeezed my fingers gently, eyes shining as if he had been crying. “I’m so sorry, love. The doctor told me… about the baby. I… I can’t believe it’s true.”

I stared at him then. Really looked at him. And for the first time, I didn’t see the man I once loved—I saw someone else entirely. Someone I didn’t recognize at all.

I pulled my hand away like his touch burned.

Pain flickered across his face. “Marielle? I know this is unbearable, but I’m here. We’ll get through it together.”

That was when I noticed her.

Camille stood at the doorway, one arm in a cast, looking fragile and broken in all the right ways. Tears clung to her lashes like she had practiced them.

“What is she doing here?” I asked quietly.

Gabriel sighed, already defensive. “She insisted on coming. She’s been a mess since the accident.”

Camille stepped forward quickly, voice trembling. “Marielle… I don’t even know how to say this. I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of it to happen. Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t want you driving because you’re my boss and I just thought—”

“Stay away from me,” I cut in, my voice low and sharp.

She flinched but still tried. “I’m suffering too… I feel so guilty.”

“Good,” I said coldly. “You should. You were drunk. You insisted on driving. You killed my son. You should’ve been the one in that crash.”

“That’s enough!” Gabriel barked.

In an instant, the careful mask he wore for me disappeared completely.

“She’s injured too, Marielle!” he snapped, pointing at Camille as if defending something precious. “Do you think she wanted this? It was an accident. Stop treating her like a criminal.”

“She might as well be one,” I said, my gaze locked on him. “And you put me in that car with her.”

His frustration exploded. “This is ridiculous. You’re not thinking clearly. You’re grieving, fine—but don’t turn this into an attack on her. Camille is practically family. She didn’t mean to—she’s been driving like that before, I didn’t expect—”

“Family?” I let out a hollow laugh. “Is that what she is now?”

He glared at me. “What are you even trying to say? I’m done with this. You’re emotional. You need rest. We’ll talk when you’re calmer.”

Without another word, he turned away and offered Camille a gentler tone, as if switching realities. “Come on. Let’s get you some coffee. She just needs time.”

He placed a hand on her back—protective, familiar.

The same hand that once held mine.

Something in me finally snapped clean.

“Gabriel.”

He paused at the door, irritated already. “What?”

I pushed myself up despite the pain tearing through me, and when I looked at both of them, I felt nothing but absolute clarity.

“Let's get a divorce.”