Mr. Billionaire Wants His Dying Wife Back

A FRAGILE HOPE

AVA

"It's the 7th year of marriage with Drake, but he would rather spill away his cum than have me pregnant.” I ran my hands over my face in frustration, my hands trembling as I looked at my reflection in the white walls of the hospital.

For the past three weeks, I had been noticing symptoms… symptoms that I couldn’t ignore any longer, no matter how hard I tried… and my husband, Drake Blackwood, did not care about my wellbeing, even if I drew my last breath in front of him.

I could still hear Drake’s voice from that morning, sharp and laced with that familiar irritation.

“Ava, just take your pills, please. I can’t afford any complications.”

“What complications, Drake?”

“Nothing.”

His dismissive tone echoed in my mind.

It was the soundtrack of our marriage, clearly indicating the yearning that had hollowed me out for years.

For seven years, I had longed for a child. Every month, my hope turned to ash when he forced those pills on me, until I had finally grown too weary to fight him.

“Why can’t you understand how much this means to me?” I had whispered back then, tears blurring my vision.

But as usual, his response was always a wall of frustration. “I don’t want children yet.”

The ticking clock did nothing but worsen the ache in my heart. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the world had tilted sideways.

The cold examination table felt like a slab of ice beneath me. I kept my eyes fixated on the walls, the ticking of the wall clock only worsening the ache in my chest. Everything felt gray, as if the color had been drained from the world.

“Ma’am, the doctor will see you now.”

The nurse’s soft voice pulled me out of my thoughts. I stood up and followed her to a furnished office. I saw the files, the stethoscope, the manometer, tools of a trade that usually brought answers, though I feared what mine would be.

I had felt so weak lately, my body failing under the weight of emotional neglect and constant stress.

Maybe it’s just exhaustion, I told myself, biting back a sob.

The door swung open and the doctor entered with a practiced, reassuring smile. “Good morning, Mrs. Blackwood. Let’s see how you’re doing today.”

He performed a brief examination and took a blood sample. The minutes he was gone felt like hours.

I shifted nervously, the smell of antiseptic filling my lungs until I felt lightheaded. When he finally returned, his demeanor had shifted. The cheerfulness was gone, replaced by a heavy seriousness.

“Ma’am,” he began softly, “I have some news. Is your husband here with you?”

“No, I came alone. Tell me.” I had purposely chosen a hospital far from our family doctor. I didn't want Drake’s fingerprints on my medical history today.

“You’re pregnant.”

The words seized the air in my lungs. Me? Pregnant?

My heart raced so hard I thought it might burst. Goosebumps erupted over my skin, and a cold sweat soaked through my shirt. The room began to spin. After everything I had endured—the pills, the arguments, the rejection—

This felt impossible.

“Are you sure?” I whispered.

The doctor nodded gently. “The test results are clear. The blood work confirms you are in the early stages.”

The joy I felt battled with a fear I never knew still existed within me.

I allowed myself for a second to imagine tiny hands and little feet, but the grip of reality tightened quickly.

What would Drake do?

“There’s something else we need to discuss,” the doctor continued, his voice dropping to a low octave.

My joy always had a breaking point, even the short-lived ones.

I sat up straight, bracing myself. “I..is something wrong?”

“No, ma'am, but further tests indicate that you have a rare, life-threatening heart and lung condition.”

My mind went blank, the words echoed in my head. The doctor paused for a moment as if waiting for the news to settle, then continued.

“And unfortunately, it has already progressed significantly due to the pregnancy.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “What do you mean?”

“Your pregnancy is accelerating the illness,” he explained. “At this stage… even with immediate treatment, you may only have SIX to EIGHT months.”

I struggled to catch my breath.

Six… months?

“Statistics say the risk of death for the mother is between fifty and seventy percent. And if you continue with the pregnancy…” He hesitated slightly. “You may not live long enough to see the child born. So, you have to choose between your health and your child.”

Panic washed over me. “But… I finally have the child I’ve dreamed of,” I pleaded.

The doctor sighed, rubbing his temples. “I wish I had better news, Mrs. Blackwood. If you terminate, we can start treatment immediately. You may have more time—to live, to heal, perhaps to adopt. But if you continue, the medications necessary to protect the baby will be harsh, and your condition will worsen rapidly. I’m sorry, ma'am… there’s a very real chance you won’t live long enough to become a mother.”

The room went blurry. “If I choose the baby, my life slips away faster?”

“Yes. You would have to sign a waiver stating you understand the dangers.”

I stared at the floor.

My heart felt like it would rip apart as it slammed against my ribs. Without fully realizing it, I found myself reaching for the pen. My hand shook, but I signed the papers.

Each letter was a vow.

“You deserve to live, little one,” I whispered to my womb, “even if I don’t.”

The doctor placed a hand on my shoulder. “You are so brave. We will do everything we can, but I can make no promises.”

As I walked out of the office, a wave of disappointment washed over me. What am I supposed to do?

Drake doesn't want children, our marriage is hanging on a thin thread. Still, I can't lose this child… it would be too selfish of me to cut its life short just to save mine.

What do I do?

As my mind shuffled through the situation, my legs halted suddenly at the sound of a familiar voice.

Drake?

My husband came to the hospital? What is he doing here?

I turned to the door right beside me, taking a hesitant step, my hand wrapping around the handle.

"Congratulations, Mr. Blackwood… Your wife is pregnant."

I shuddered, the name and the voice were Drake's. I didn't think twice, I pushed the door open… the couple facing the doctor turned to look at the door.

A knot curled in my stomach.

I stood frozen as the whispers of nurses and visitors swirled around me.

It's indeed Drake, but then the person sitting beside him—

Emily Sinclair.

“D–did you just say… she's pregnant?”

The words slipped out of my mouth, the test result opened in Drake's hand. I could tell even from where I stood, because the paper was painfully similar to the one I was given minutes ago.

My eyes moved to Drake.