Butterflies

While I Was Bleeding Out, He Lit Lanterns For Her

Katie Oettgen

As I lay on the floor of our manor, bleeding out from a ruptured ectopic pregnancy, I used my last ounce of strength to call my husband, Cole. I begged him for help, my vision blurring. But the only thing I heard was the clinking of champagne glasses and his mistress's giggle in the background. "Stop the drama, June," Cole snapped, his voice cold. "We're about to go on stage. Don't call again." He hung up, leaving me to die alone on the Persian rug while he accepted an award with another woman on his arm. I woke up in the hospital days later. My baby was gone. They had removed my fallopian tube. Cole finally arrived, smelling of expensive scotch and his mistress's perfume. He didn't hug me. He didn't cry. Instead, he leaned over my hospital bed, pressing his knee into the mattress until my fresh stitches tore open and bled. "You embarrassed me by calling an ambulance," he hissed. "My mistress, Alycia, says you're faking it. Clean yourself up." He left me bleeding again to go announce a $10 million donation to Alycia's "groundbreaking" medical research. I stared at the TV screen, numb. The research Alycia was taking credit for? It was mine. I wrote that patent years ago under a pseudonym. They thought I was just a poor, orphan housewife who needed Cole's money to survive. They had no idea I was actually a billionaire scientist hiding my identity. I pulled the IV needle out of my arm. A drop of blood fell onto the divorce papers I had been hiding. I didn't wipe it off. I signed my name right over it. Then I walked into the bank, reactivated my dormant account with $128 million, and bought the penthouse directly overlooking Cole's house. The mourning widow is dead. The avenger is born.

Romance Crime Revenge Pregnancy Enemies to Lovers Pregnancy Personal Growth

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"Ding dong, ding dong." The sound of door bell ringing echoed through the large yet elegant sitting room.

"It's not my turn, " muttered a girl with long red curly hair. She was lying on the sofa with a magazine covering her face.

"Not me either, " a girl with shiny curls yelled from her seat, frantically smashing on her computer. "Hit him, hit him... noooo."

"Then it's me again, " a petite girl rolled her eyes. "Fine, fine." She took her time to the front door. When she opened the door, she found an old lady with a basket.

"Would you like some bracelets?" the old lady offered. "I made them myself."

The petite girl smiled politely and looked into the basket the old lady was holding. She found four silver bracelets with intricate designs, all with butterfly charms.

"It's very pretty, " the petite girl answered politely, yet noncommittally.

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