Spectacular Comeback Of The Abandoned Pregnant Wife

"Your progesterone level dropped to 8.2 ng/mL," the nurse said, her rubber soles squeaking against the hospital linoleum. "That downward red arrow indicates a severe risk of miscarriage. You need to see the attending specialist immediately. Any severe emotional fluctuations or physical stress right now could be fatal to the fetus."

Adaline Mcpherson sat on the cold metal bench in the waiting area of the Upper East Side private clinic. Her fingers curled around the freshly printed lab sheet, crinkling the edges. Beneath the thin cashmere of her sweater, her other hand instinctively pressed against her lower abdomen, feeling the faint, fragile swell.

The sterile smell of bleach and alcohol seemed to suffocate her. She was entirely alone. Swallowing the lump of fear in her throat, she reached into her designer handbag with a trembling hand and pulled out her phone. She needed her husband. She needed Clifton to be here, to tell her everything would be fine.

She dialed his private number. It rang until it hit voicemail. She bit her pale lip and dialed again. Still no answer. Panic began to flutter in her chest like a trapped bird. Please pick up, Clifton. Just this once, please be here for me, she prayed silently. On the third attempt, the line finally connected.

"Hello?" Adaline breathed out, tears of relief welling in her eyes.

"Daddy is kissing Mommy right now! You're so annoying, stop calling!" a childish, incredibly impatient voice of a young girl snapped through the speaker.

Adaline's entire body froze. The blood drained from her face in an instant. Before she could even process the sheer shock of a child answering her husband's private phone, a familiar, deep voice came through the line. It was Clifton. But his tone held a gentle, coaxing warmth she had never, ever heard in their three years of marriage.

"Be good, Dotty. Give the phone to Daddy," Clifton chuckled softly.

The little girl giggled, happily throwing herself into his arms. Then, another woman's voice chimed in. It was Jacquelyn Vance, Adaline's older sister-the person she trusted and relied on the most in this world.

"Clifton, you're going to spoil our baby girl rotten," Jacquelyn said, her voice dripping with coquettish affection. "She's going to think she owns the world."

"She is a Pace. She does own the world," Clifton replied, his voice overflowing with absolute devotion.

A picture-perfect family of three. On the other end of the line, Adaline sat completely paralyzed on the freezing metal bench. A dull, ominous ache began to spread through her lower abdomen. She suddenly remembered the nurse's grave warning about the severe risk of miscarriage, but her fingers were locked around the phone in a death grip. Like a masochist, she couldn't bring herself to hang up. She sat there, her heart shattering into a thousand jagged pieces, listening to the man she had loved for six years shower another woman with the affection he had always denied her.

"Our baby is already three years old," Clifton said, his tone shifting into something almost pleading. "When will you finally agree to marry me, Jacquelyn? I want to give you and Dotty the proper title you deserve."

"Stop talking nonsense," Jacquelyn whined playfully. "You already have a family. You have a wife."

"You know perfectly well I only married her because I was furious you pushed me away back then," Clifton scoffed. The moment he mentioned Adaline, his voice turned as cold and sharp as a guillotine blade. "She is nothing but a useless trophy, a low-class dog that comes running whenever I snap my fingers. Just touching her these past three years makes me physically sick."

Adaline felt all the air leave her lungs. Her fingers dug so hard into the painted wooden bench that her knuckles turned bone white. The three years of hidden marriage, the fact that he never gave her a wedding, never introduced her to his friends, never touched her. It wasn't because he was a workaholic who disliked intimacy. It was because he was saving all his love and loyalty for her sister.

But Clifton wasn't finished. He continued, eager to prove his cruelty to Jacquelyn. "And as for that pregnancy of hers, seven months ago at the hotel, I deliberately arranged for a disgusting, bankrupt, ugly old merchant to go into her suite. Who would have thought she'd get pregnant on the first try? Low-class people really do have low-class blood. They breed like rats."

A sharp, tearing cramp seized Adaline's lower abdomen. The sheer shock sent a violent tremor through her body. The memory of that dark night seven months ago flooded her mind. Clifton had uncharacteristically taken her to a business dinner. She had been so full of hope, thinking he was finally accepting her. But she was inexplicably forced to drink heavily. When she woke up, she was completely naked, and Clifton was gone. She had always believed that night was spent with her husband. She never imagined it was a cold-blooded trap orchestrated by the man she loved.

She tried to hold her breath, tried to bite down on her pale lip to keep quiet, but the overwhelming, suffocating grief was too much. A broken, uncontrollable sob escaped her throat and transmitted through the phone.

The laughter on the other end of the line stopped instantly.

There was a second of dead silence. Then, without a single word of explanation, without a shred of pity or hesitation-

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The call was abruptly, mercilessly disconnected.

Adaline stared at the darkened screen, her mind going completely blank. The phone slipped from her trembling fingers and clattered onto the freezing hospital floor. The adrenaline that had been keeping her upright vanished, and her knees gave out. She slid off the metal bench, collapsing onto the hard tiles.

The cramp in her abdomen deepened into a searing, continuous spasm, as if invisible hands were tearing her from the inside out. A warm, terrifying wetness spread down the inside of her thighs, soaking through her silk slip. But Adaline barely registered the physical agony. The betrayal was a rusty blade twisting relentlessly in her chest, carving out her soul. The husband she had loved with all her heart, and the older sister she had depended on her entire life-the two people she held most dear had joined hands to push her into a living hell. The catastrophic shattering of her heart was a thousand times more agonizing than the pain in her womb.

Her lungs burned, unable to draw in a single breath of air. Pure terror and despair gripped her throat. Shaking uncontrollably, she tried to reach for the fallen phone to dial emergency dispatch, but her strength was entirely gone.

Just as her consciousness began to fade into a gray haze, the heavy doors of the corridor were violently pushed open.

A flood of cold fluorescent light spilled across the floor. Through her darkening vision, Adaline saw a tall, broad-shouldered man in spotless surgical scrubs striding toward her. Above his sharp jawline, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses caught the harsh glare of the lights. His figure looked incredibly familiar, triggering a distant spark in her memory. Driven by pure survival instinct, she weakly reached her bloody hand toward him.

"Help me," she whispered.