Pregnant and heading home on our anniversary, I never imagined my night would end in a horrifying accident. My car collided with a speeding bus, leaving me covered in blood and injured. I was rushed to the hospital immediately.
In the ambulance, when the medics asked for my husband’s details, my vision blurred with tears. I choked out a lie, claiming I was divorced. After enduring a perilous surgery, the doctors delivered the unthinkable.
“Ma’am… we’re so sorry,” one said, shaking his head. “We couldn’t save your child. The baby suffocated. If your husband had answered your calls, we might have reached you sooner and prevented this tragedy.”
The words hit me like a punch. Stunned, I spent three days in the hospital before being discharged, Alaric completely unaware of my condition. Hoping to reach him, I unlocked my phone—and froze. My mother-in-law had posted a photo online.
It showed Alaric gently holding Camilla, his childhood love, eyes soft and adoring as he looked at her. The caption read: “They’d make the perfect couple. She would have been my daughter-in-law if my son hadn’t been taken by a worthless orphan.”
A sting of pain shot through me as tears streamed down my face. All of them were at a royal event, blissfully unaware that I was the youngest daughter of the Alpha King and Luna Queen.
---
Earlier that day, I had spent hours preparing gifts for Alaric and arranging a candlelit dinner. But fate intervened—a speeding bus shattered my plans and my car. My hands instinctively shielded my stomach, only to be slashed by glass as I desperately called Alaric, pleading for him to come.
I rang him twenty-three times. No answer. Only messages:
[Alaric: Stop bothering me! I won’t be home tonight, so don’t wait. If you’re useless, at least don’t create unnecessary drama.]
[Alaric: Cancel the anniversary dinner, by the way.]
By the time rescuers arrived, I was barely conscious. They lifted me into the ambulance, sirens blaring around me.
“She’s lost a lot of blood—we need to operate now,” one doctor said urgently.
“She’s pregnant. What about the baby?” another replied, worried.
“My baby…” I whispered, clinging to consciousness.
“We need your husband’s consent—”
“I’m divorced,” I gasped. “Please… just save my child.”
The procedure began immediately. Beeping machines filled the emergency ward as pain radiated through every inch of my body. When I woke, agony gripped me.
“My baby…” I murmured, only to meet the solemn gaze of a female doctor.
“Ma’am… your child didn’t survive. It was life-threatening. If only we had reached you earlier. We saw your calls, but your husband didn’t answer… your child suffocated.”
“What?” My voice cracked. “My child… my baby!” I covered my face and wept uncontrollably.
During my three-day hospital stay, Alaric never called. When I was finally discharged, I unlocked my phone to reach him—only to be confronted by my mother-in-law’s post.
It showed Alaric and Camilla dining at my favorite sushi restaurant, Alaric holding her close and gazing at her tenderly. Another photo made my blood run cold—they posed in front of the werewolf royal palace, home of my parents, the Alpha King and Luna Queen.
They attended a gathering meant for mates. I had secretly asked my parents to organize it so they could meet my mate, Alaric. But he abandoned me—his pregnant mate—choosing another woman while I bled in my car, losing our child.
Comments below the post twisted the knife further:
[Our college’s hottest couple! Can’t believe you’re still together!]
[Camilla was always Alaric’s first and only choice. Of course he’d pick her over a poor, useless girl.]
[Camilla belongs beside Alaric, no one else.]
[You two look amazing together. Your child would have been lucky to inherit your genes.]
These were Alaric and Camilla’s childhood friends—some aware I was his wife, yet loyal to their tight-knit group of four boys and a girl. Alaric and Camilla had once been perfect together, until Camilla left him for another Alpha. Returning three years later, rejected by that abusive mate, she received sympathy from the group and from Alaric.
Suddenly, I was the villain—the orphan who stole Alaric, breaking their golden couple. I became the pack’s outcast, the most despised woman. Camilla was celebrated as the princess, while I was the “dramatic third wheel” ruining everything.
Even at the palace, my father’s insistence that I avoid chores didn’t stop me from learning to cook—especially for Alaric. I endured burns and blisters, preparing meals he could eat and enjoy. I made light dishes and seafood despite my allergies, yet his friends sneered at me, labeling me a leech trying to climb the social ladder through Alaric. Behind my back, they called me “the witch.”
When they visited, they demanded elaborate dishes. I initially resisted, but Alaric urged me to prove myself. I complied. Today, he chose them over me again. Perhaps this was better—I wouldn’t soften for him anymore.
I scrolled through my mother-in-law’s post once more, knowing she deliberately shared it for me to see, even commenting:
[They look perfect together.]
