All it took was my fiancé's foster sister claiming that I had given her a cheap ointment, which supposedly caused her to contract a filthy disease.
Enraged, my fiancé, Michael Floyd, snapped.
Right in front of everyone, he broke the hand I used to write prescriptions. And if that wasn't bad enough, he put the private photos we took together when we were still a couple on a resale app.
"Damaged Goods," he titled it. "Free to take."
His friends tried to intervene.
"She's about to marry you. Are you really going to destroy her like this?"
But Michael's voice remained calm, almost eerily so.
"Zoey prescribed the wrong medicine to Jenna and made her sick. Jenna got depressed and almost killed herself. And she still refuses to admit her mistake. She's not worthy of being a doctor."
He added lightly, almost lazily, "It is just to scare her. It is not like I would really send her off and let her catch a disease, too."
I was standing in the doorway, and our eyes met, and I felt my blood run cold.
He didn't even show a flicker of guilt. Instead, he reached out and casually toyed with the ends of my hair.
"This time you were in the wrong," he said. "Suffering a little is exactly what you deserve. As long as you treat Jenna's illness and then apologize to her in person…"
He paused, softening his tone. "You'll still be my most beloved fiancée."
Swallowing every tear, I forwarded the link.
A second later, someone messaged him privately: 'I'll take her.'
Michael's expression darkened instantly. He crushed the wine bottle in his hand.
——
The room fell silent. His rowdy friends stopped talking at once.
One of them tried again, this time more cautiously. "Maybe just let it go. This is getting too far."
Michael flicked him a cold glance, then turned to me. "Zoey, what do you think? Do you want to come with me to apologize?"
I lowered my eyes and walked out without a word.
Behind me, his cold, mocking voice echoed down the corridor.
"Your sister-in-law doesn't care. What are you all panicking about? Someone out there actually wants her. How could I not give her away?"
I kept moving toward the bar's exit, though my legs felt strangely hollow. People in the hallway turned to stare as I passed, whispering behind their hands. Their looks felt like needles pricking my skin.
I felt lost and hollow, as if my body were moving while my soul stayed behind somewhere inside that room.
Just then, a drunken man suddenly lurched forward and wrapped his arms around my waist.
His breath reeked as he slurred, "I just got diagnosed with syphilis last week. Isn't that your type? Come with me, sweetheart."
I screamed and called for help, but everyone recoiled, disgusted.
Their scornful voices sliced through the air.
"Isn't she the woman from that viral post? What trash! Didn't she say she wanted to collect every dirty disease?"
"Leave her. Maybe she is trying to seduce him on purpose. Disgusting!"
My teeth chattered uncontrollably. "Stay away from me! My husband is right here. If you touch me, he will not let you go."
"If you had a husband, would you be online begging for diseased men?" he sneered. "Those posts of yours went viral. What man would want a filthy woman like you?"
He shoved his phone toward me.
The page on the screen made my chest twist painfully.
"Go on. Call your husband to save you. If he really shows up, I won't touch you."
As soon as the words left his mouth, the private room at the end of the hallway opened.
Michael stepped out with his friends.
The sight of him shattered whatever composure I had left.
Tears streamed down my face as I choked out, "Michael, save me!"
Michael didn't spare me a single glance.
Instead, he looked at the drunk pinning me down and drawled, "Bro, you do not meet her standards. This woman likes them diseased."
My world collapsed as he turned away without a backward look.
The drunk burst into harsh laughter.
"That is Michael Floyd. Why would he give a damn about a shameless woman like you?"
I didn't know how long I lay there after he left.
At some point, a warm, thick pool of blood spread beneath me. The man panicked, cursed under his breath, and ran off.
Eventually, I rose like a corpse and dragged myself to the ER.
The baby could not be saved.
I had planned to tell Michael I was pregnant as a gift on our third anniversary.
