The Divorced Architect's Spectacular Comeback

Chapter 7

Word Count: 674 | Released on: 13/05/2026

ng room door glared down like a bloodshot eye, s

paced the corridor like a caged animal, hi

tly in her lap, praying. She didn't look at Con

ked open. A nurse hurried

her arm. "How is she?" he deman

ve amount of blood. The uterus is severely damaged. You

took the pen she offered, but his hand shoo

choed down the hall, shatt

r a mess, one high heel missing. She thre

slit her wrists in her room! There's

is mind blank. "That's

e feels so guilty! She thinks it's her fault the baby died! S

r life all those years ago! She would have di

his unborn child, fighting for their lives. The other

oved Cristin away. "You're lying! Why now? Why t

ou're the heartless one! If Else dies, Conrad will nev

oral debt he owed Else, the ingrained beli

impatiently. "Sir, we don'

his signature on the critical notice an

. "Stay here," he said, his voice raw.

back her hand and slapped him hard across th

d on his cheek, but he didn't fight back. H

alked away, following

mbling with rage. "If you walk away now, Conrad," she

of a second. But he didn't turn arou

was working furiously. "Suture,

"Doctor, we're running out of

hand. "Give me the

major multi-car pile-up on the interstate an hour ago that depleted our entire eme

plit second. "Then call the do

sheets. The line on the heart monitor began to

Chapter End

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The Divorced Architect's Spectacular Comeback

Wu Xiaoyan Modern

“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.”