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The Divorced Architect's Spectacular Comeback

Chapter 3 

Word Count: 942    |    Released on: 13/05/2026

Crista forced her eyes open, squinting against

or filled the room. She tried to move her fingers and f

a medical chart in his hand. He paused, a look of s

l penlight. He shone it into her eyes, checking her

rted them, her voice a rough whisper.

re at Mount Sinai Hospital. You've been in a coma for a

he water, Conrad's resolute back as he walked away-the memories cra

pped open the chart. "There's something I need to

lat stomach, disbelief washing over her fa

e a knife. "The severe hypothermia and trauma caused an inevitable miscarriage. We di

tor's white coat, her knuckles white. "Please. Tell me

cover. I'm giving you medication to prevent infection and stop any further hemorrhaging. But you must stay in be

wave of grief pressed down on her chest. She had to tell Conrad. Maybe if he knew about the

and grabbed her phone from the nightstand. T

hest, but she bit the bullet an

, the line clicked. But the voic

iggling, laugh.

tightened around the phone. "Whe

ht here. He's peeling an apple for me. He's been by my side

t, her voice sickeningly sweet, "C

old, impatient, and utterly devoid of emotion. "Tell her

low. The phone slipped from her numb f

n. Audrey rushed in, her face

her friend's pale face. She burst into te

was pregnant, Audrey," she choked out, her voice breaking in

ed square of glossy paper. "While you were unconscious, I went to your apartment to get your th

my cousin, Caleb Arnold. He's one of the best trauma surgeons here at Mount Sinai. He's going to make sure you get the best care while I go

onfused. "What are

is in the VIP suite at the end of the hall. 'Severe ankle sprain obser

t of ice water. He was right there. Jus

sharp. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, her jaw

er voice weak but firm. "I'm not lying here whi

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The Divorced Architect's Spectacular Comeback
The Divorced Architect's Spectacular Comeback
“My husband of three years dragged me into the freezing autumn ocean because my stepsister claimed I bullied her. When she faked a sprained ankle in the shallow water, he immediately abandoned me in the roaring waves to save her, not knowing I was eight weeks pregnant. The icy undertow swept me away, causing a brutal miscarriage. Later in the hospital, my traumatized body started hemorrhaging, and I desperately needed a rare blood transfusion. My stepsister, who shared my blood type, held my life hostage. She forced my husband to sign our divorce papers before she would donate a single drop. By the time the blood reached me, my uterus was irreparably damaged. I permanently lost the right to ever be a mother. "The Anderson family can't have an infertile matriarch." My own parents said this as they falsified my medical records to protect her. And my husband, blinded by his misplaced loyalty, simply walked away, leaving me with a meager settlement. I lost my baby, my fertility, and my marriage all in one week. How could the people I trusted most be so completely heartless? But looking at the divorce papers, I didn't shed a single tear. I calmly signed my name and unsealed my Yale architecture degree. "I'm in. Send me the files for the Manhattan project." The weak, pathetic Mrs. Anderson died on that operating table. Crista Cherry is back, and it's time for them to pay.”