Pregnant I left him To His First Love

My mother was in the hospital after a nasty dog bite, so I called my fiancé, Cohen. He was supposed to be my rock.

Instead, I got annoyance. He was in Aspen, on a ski trip with my best friend, Hillary. “What do you want me to do? Fly back right now?” he snapped, before hanging up to get back to the “perfect snow.”

The dog, it turned out, was Hillary’s. The bite on my diabetic mother’s leg quickly developed into a raging infection. I texted Cohen an update, telling him she was getting worse, that they were talking about surgery.

He didn't call back. Instead, Hillary’s Instagram story updated: a photo of her and Cohen, cheeks flushed from the cold, smiling in front of a fireplace. The caption was a single heart emoji.

While they were sipping hot chocolate, my mother went into septic shock. As I sat alone in the grim hospital waiting room, staring at my silent phone, I knew he had already made his choice.

He had chosen a vacation. He had chosen my best friend. He had left my mother to die all alone.

She passed away at 3:17 AM. I held her hand until it grew cold, then walked out into the gray dawn. I wasn't just grieving. I was done. I was going to erase myself from his world and burn everything to the ground.

Chapter 1

The first call came from the hospital.

Jaycee Shields stood in her mother’s kitchen, the scent of lemon cleaner sharp in the air. She was wiping down the counters, a small, mindless task to keep her hands busy.

Her phone buzzed against the granite. An unknown number.

She answered. “Hello?”

A clipped, professional voice asked if she was Jaycee Shields.

“Yes.”

“I’m calling from St. Mary’s. It’s about your mother, Eunice Miller.”

The dishcloth fell from Jaycee’s hand. It landed on the floor with a soft, wet sound. A chill snaked up her spine.

“What happened?”

“There was an incident. She was brought into the emergency room. She’s stable, but the doctor would like to speak with you.”

Jaycee was already moving, grabbing her keys, her purse. Her mind raced. A car accident? A fall?

She dialed Cohen’s number. Her fiancé. He was her rock, the one who always knew what to do. He answered on the third ring, his voice distant, muffled by wind.

“Jaycee? What’s up?”

“It’s my mom. She’s in the hospital. I’m on my way there now.” Her words tumbled out, breathless. “I don’t know what happened.”

There was a pause. In the background, she heard a woman’s laugh. A familiar, tinkling laugh that made her stomach clench. Hillary Peterson.

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Cohen said. His tone was placating, the one he used when she was being “emotional.” “What did they say?”

“Just that there was an incident. St. Mary’s.”

“St. Mary’s? That’s miles away. Why there?” He sounded annoyed, not concerned.

“I don’t know, Cohen. I’m just going.”

Another pause. She heard him speak to someone else. “Just a second.” Then he was back. “Look, I’m sure it’s nothing. Your mom is tough. Did she fall?”

“They didn’t say.”

“Right. Well, listen.” He took a deep breath. “Hillary and I are just about to hit the slopes. We just got to Aspen.”

Aspen. He’d told her it was a business trip. That Hillary was just tagging along because her family had a chalet there. It was practical, he’d said.

“You’re already there?” Jaycee asked, her voice small.

“Yeah, we just checked in. The snow is perfect.” He sounded excited. Happy.

A cold dread seeped into Jaycee’s bones. She stood by her car, the keys digging into her palm. “Cohen. My mom is in the hospital.”

“I know, babe. And I’m sorry. But what do you want me to do? Fly back right now? The meetings are tomorrow. It’s a huge deal for Bolton Corp.”

She didn’t say anything.

He sighed, a gust of impatience. “Look, call me when you know something. I’m sure it’s just a sprain or something. Send her my love. I’ve got to go. Hillary’s waiting.”

He hung up.

The silence on the line was absolute. It pressed in on her ears.

Hillary was waiting.

Jaycee drove. The hospital was a blur of white walls and antiseptic smells. A doctor with tired eyes finally found her in the waiting room.

“Your mother was bitten by a dog,” he said, his voice gentle.

“What?”

“A pretty nasty bite on her leg. The dog’s owner brought her in. A Ms. Peterson.”

Hillary.

The world tilted.