Chapter 5 - She Returned

Marietta's POV

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

Nine months of pain, discomfort, and struggle had led to this moment.

"The baby is here! One last push!" the nurse urged, her voice laced with encouragement.

Drenched in sweat, I mustered every last ounce of strength. A piercing scream escaped my lips as I made the final push. Then—relief. My body slackened as exhaustion consumed me, and tears welled in my eyes.

I barely registered the tiny cries echoing in the room. The baby had come early. I had been terrified I wouldn't survive this—my first childbirth, all alone in a foreign place.

The nurse cradled my baby in her arms. "A healthy little girl," she murmured with a smile.

With the last bit of energy I had left, I lifted my weak gaze toward the small bundle. My child. My family.

"Finally…" I whispered, tears rolling down my cheeks. "I have a family in this world."

Then, darkness consumed me.

A knock at the door pulled me from unconsciousness. My eyelids fluttered open to see a nurse standing beside my bed.

"Hi," she greeted softly. "How are you feeling?"

I blinked groggily, memories rushing back. "My baby," I croaked. "Where is my baby?"

The nurse’s smile was reassuring. "She’s perfectly fine. A nurse will bring her to you soon."

I exhaled a shaky breath, relief washing over me. But then I noticed her hesitation. Her fingers fidgeted slightly as she adjusted my IV drip.

"I don't know if I should do this," she admitted, "but I don’t have a choice."

A sinking feeling twisted my stomach. "What is it?" I asked cautiously.

She hesitated before speaking. "The hospital bills… they need to be settled before you’re discharged."

I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart pounding. How could I have forgotten? I had nothing. No home, no money—everything had burned to ashes the day I went into labor.

The fire had consumed my tiny apartment, taking with it every small victory I had scraped together over the past months. My neighbors had brought me here, but they were barely surviving themselves. There was no one to help me now.

A lump formed in my throat. My hands trembled as I wiped away my tears. "Can you do me a favor?" I asked the nurse desperately.

She nodded. "Of course. Anything."

"Can I borrow your phone?"

Without hesitation, she pulled it from her pocket and handed it to me. My fingers shook as I dialed the only number I could remember.

Michael’s.

The line rang. Once. Twice. My heart pounded as I waited.

Then—

"Hello?" A feminine voice answered.

My breath hitched. I knew that voice.

Katty.

For a moment, I couldn't speak. My grip on the phone tightened, my pulse racing. Of all the people who could have answered, it had to be her.

"You know, I could tell Michael whatever it is you want to say to him," she offered smoothly.

I hesitated. But my baby needed me to be strong. Swallowing my pride, I forced the words out. "Please… can you tell Michael if he could lend me some money? Just for the hospital bill."

Katty didn't ask any questions. "Is that all?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"Okay. I'll let him know."

Then the line went dead.

I handed the phone back, forcing a weak smile. "Thank you."

The nurse gave me an encouraging nod. "I’m sure he’ll help. Rest for now."

As soon as she left, another nurse entered, pushing a small cot beside my bed. Inside, my daughter stirred, her tiny hands curling into fists.

Tears blurred my vision as I gazed down at her.

"Michael will send the money," I whispered to her. "He has to."

Days passed. No money came.

And then, as I had feared, the hospital staff could wait no longer.

"I'm so sorry," the doctor said. "But we can’t allow you to stay any longer."

The nurse from before looked devastated. "I'm sorry," she repeated helplessly. "I'm so sorry."

I clutched my baby to my chest, fighting back tears. I had nothing. Nowhere to go.

But I couldn’t break down. Not anymore.

I was a mother now.

**************

THREE YEARS LATER

The past three years had changed me. The weak, naive Marietta was gone. I had fought, struggled, and risen from the ashes of my past. And now, I was back in America—not as a helpless girl, but as a woman who had built herself from nothing.

Stepping past airport security, I adjusted my sunglasses, the silk scarf covering my hair. My tailored grey blazer hugged my frame, paired with black trousers and nude heels. Minimalist makeup enhanced my features, and a quiet confidence radiated from me.

I had returned for business. That was my only focus.

But fate had other plans.

A child’s voice rang out through the terminal.

"Mommy! Look! It’s Marietta! The movie star!"

In an instant, the world seemed to freeze.

Heads snapped in my direction. Phones were pulled out. The hum of conversations turned into a chaotic whirlwind of voices.

Then, the flashing started.

Cameras. Reporters. Questions flying at me from all directions.

"Marietta, is it true you're here to sign a big deal?"

"What do you have to say about the rumors surrounding your personal life?"

I stood still, years of careful composure settling over me. The girl they once knew as the broken wife of Michael Whitmore was gone.

I was back.

And this time, no one would break me again.