My Husband Forced Me to Save His Mistress's Baby

I pressed my palm against my lower abdomen, feeling the familiar throb of pain that had been my constant companion for weeks. The ovarian cyst was growing, the doctor had warned me last week. It needed monitoring. I glanced at my phone for the hundredth time, checking for any sign that Barrett had seen my messages. Three voicemails. Zero responses. The silence from him was deafening, but I'd grown accustomed to it over the years. Still, the pain was getting worse. I needed him to come with me to the follow-up appointment. I needed him to care, just a little.

The penthouse felt cavernous around me, all marble and glass and emptiness. I set one place at the dining table, arranging the silverware with careful precision. The chef had prepared my favorite—seared scallops with lemon butter—but eating alone had long since lost its sting. I cut into the scallop, watching the juices pool on the white plate. Five years of marriage, and I'd perfected the art of dining alone in a home meant for two.

The elevator chimed just after nine. Barrett's footsteps echoed across the marble foyer, but they weren't alone. I set down my fork, my heart quickening despite myself. He rarely came home before midnight these days.

I rose from the table, smoothing my dress. 'Barrett?' I called out, moving toward the foyer.

He stood there, still wearing his charcoal coat, his surgical mask dangling from one hand. But it wasn't his presence that made me freeze. It was the woman beside him—pale, delicate, one hand resting protectively over her stomach. Her eyes met mine for just a moment before she swayed slightly, and Barrett's arm shot out to steady her.

'Kenia needs to sit down,' he said, his voice clinical and detached, as if he were addressing a nurse. He guided her to the living room sofa without removing his coat. 'She's carrying my child.'

The words hit me like a physical blow. I gripped the doorframe to steady myself. 'Your... child?' My voice sounded distant, as if it belonged to someone else.

'The baby has a critical congenital heart defect,' Barrett continued, not looking at me as he knelt beside Kenia. 'She'll be staying here indefinitely. The pregnancy is high-risk.'

Kenia's eyes fluttered open, meeting mine with a flash of something triumphant before her expression softened into practiced vulnerability. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'I didn't want to intrude, but the doctors in Paris... they said the baby might not survive without specialized care.'

Barrett's hand covered hers, his thumb stroking her knuckles in a gesture so intimate it made my stomach clench. 'You're not intruding,' he said softly. 'This is my responsibility.'

He didn't ask me if this was okay. He didn't even look at my face to see if I was falling apart. In that moment, I was invisible.

Three days later, I understood just how thoroughly I'd been erased from my own home. Kenia had moved into our master suite, her silk nightgowns hanging in my closet. She used my vanity, my favorite chair at the dining table. Even my favorite throw blanket now draped across her legs as she reclined on the sofa.

I was eating breakfast alone when a particularly sharp pain doubled me over. Coffee spilled across the table as I clutched my abdomen. 'Barrett,' I gasped, looking up to find him entering the kitchen. 'I need to talk to you about my appointment. The doctor said—'

Before I could finish, Kenia appeared in the doorway, her face contorting in distress. She stumbled forward, and Barrett was at her side in an instant, catching her as she 'fainted' into his arms.

'Kenia!' he called, panic edging his voice. 'What's wrong? Are you in pain?'

She moaned softly, her eyes remaining closed. 'The baby... I'm worried about the baby.'

Barrett lifted her effortlessly, carrying her back to their room—our room—without a backward glance. I sat there, still doubled over in pain, utterly forgotten.

That evening, Eleanor Chapman arrived for dinner. She swept into the penthouse like she owned it, her pearls gleaming under the chandelier light. She embraced Kenia warmly, air-kissing both cheeks. 'My dear, you look radiant. Pregnancy suits you.'

When her gaze finally landed on me, her smile cooled several degrees. 'And why is that girl still at the table? I thought this was a family dinner.'

Family. The word echoed hollowly as I excused myself to the kitchen, where I found Kenia waiting for me, her mask of fragility completely gone. Her smile was sweet, but her eyes were cold as she leaned against the counter.

'You should leave,' she said softly. 'This isn't your home anymore. A knife scar isn't a love story, Lilah. He married you out of guilt, nothing more.'

I straightened my spine, refusing to show fear. 'I'm not going anywhere. This is my marriage.'

Her smile didn't falter. 'Then I'll make sure he removes you himself.'

The next morning, Barrett entered my bedroom without knocking, a folder of medical documents in his hand. 'Get dressed,' he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. 'We're going to Chapman Memorial. Now.'