Rebirth

Chapter 3: Rebirth

The doctor pulled up a chair and sat down beside her bed, setting his tablet aside. His voice became gentler, more human.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Blackwell." He paused, choosing his words with care. "You were approximately eight weeks pregnant when you were admitted. The trauma and blood loss—your body couldn't sustain the pregnancy. We did everything we could, but..."

He trailed off, and Aveline could see him weighing his next words carefully, debating how much to say.

"This is your fourth miscarriage, Mrs. Blackwell." His voice was quiet but firm, the kind of honesty that came from a place of professional duty. "I need to be frank with you, because you deserve to know the full picture of your health."

Aveline felt her heart stop. She knew what was coming. Remembered these exact words from her previous life, words she'd barely acknowledged then.

"Your body has endured significant trauma—repeated trauma over the course of your marriage. The scarring, the stress on your system, the multiple incidents of self-harm, the physical toll of each miscarriage... These have all taken a cumulative effect."

He met her eyes directly, his expression compassionate but unflinching.

"The likelihood of you being able to carry a pregnancy to term in the future is extremely low. Your uterine lining has been compromised. The repeated trauma has created conditions that make it very difficult for a pregnancy to be viable." He paused. "I can't say it's impossible—medicine can surprise us. But realistically, Mrs. Blackwell... you may not be able to have children. I'm truly sorry."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Four babies lost.

And possibly no chance of ever having another.

All because of her own actions. Her own choices. Her own cruelty.

The weight of it was crushing. In her first life, this news had barely registered. She'd been too focused on her divorce, on running to Damien, on her imagined freedom. She'd even thought it was convenient—no risk of "accidents" tying her down, no complications in her plan to start fresh with her lover.

How stupidly, blindly, monstrously selfish she'd been.

Now, the loss was unbearable. A physical ache that radiated from her empty womb to every corner of her body.

She'd killed four of Lucian's children. Destroyed them through negligence, through deliberate harm, through her own self-destruction. And she'd destroyed any chance of giving him the family he might have wanted—the family he deserved.

All while chasing a man who would eventually betray and murder her.

The irony was so bitter it tasted like poison on her tongue.

"Mrs. Blackwell?" The doctor's voice cut through her spiraling thoughts. "I know this is incredibly difficult news to process. We have counselors available if you'd like to speak with someone about—"

"I need to be discharged," Aveline said suddenly, her voice raw but filled with determination. She pushed herself up despite the immediate wave of dizziness that made the room tilt. "I have to leave. Now."

"Mrs. Blackwell, please—" The doctor stood quickly, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "You're in no condition to be discharged. Your body is extremely weak. You lost a tremendous amount of blood. You need at least another few days of monitoring, proper nutrition, rest—"

"You don't understand." Aveline swung her legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way her vision swam and her muscles trembled with the effort. The IV line pulled taut, and she started fumbling with the tape holding it in place. "I have somewhere I need to be. Someone I need to see. I can't stay here—"

"If you leave in this condition, you could collapse within minutes," the doctor said firmly, moving to gently but insistently push her back against the pillows. "Your blood pressure is still unstable. Your body needs time to heal. Mrs. Blackwell, I understand you're going through emotional trauma right now, but making rash decisions—"

"I must insist that you rest." His hand on her shoulder was gentle but unyielding. "At minimum, you need another 48 hours of observation. Your hemoglobin levels are still critically low, and—"

A knock on the door interrupted them both.

Aveline's heart stopped, then began racing so fast the monitor beside her bed started beeping in alarm.

A man in an impeccable gray suit entered, his expression professionally neutral, his movements precise and economical. She recognized him immediately—Mr. Matt, Lucian's personal assistant. Efficient, loyal, unreadable, and utterly devoted to his employer.

In her previous life, she'd barely given Mr. Matt a second thought. He was just another part of Lucian's cold, corporate world that she'd been desperate to escape.

Now, looking at him, she felt a surge of panic so strong it made her dizzy.

"Mrs. Blackwell." Mr. Matt gave a slight bow, his tone respectful but distant, the kind of professional courtesy that maintained perfect boundaries. "I'm glad to see you're awake and recovering."

Her throat tightened. She knew what was coming. Remembered this exact moment from her previous life with painful clarity.

Mr. Matt reached into his leather briefcase with practiced efficiency and extracted a manila envelope. Thick. Official. Final.

"Mr. Blackwell asked me to deliver these to you." He placed the envelope on the table beside her bed with careful precision, as if it were something fragile. Or dangerous. "He sends his best regards and hopes for your swift recovery."

Best regards.

The words were so perfectly, painfully polite. So utterly devoid of the emotion she now knew he'd been hiding beneath that icy exterior.

So carefully constructed to maintain distance while still showing care.

It was so perfectly Lucian—trying to take care of her even as he was letting her go.

Aveline stared at the envelope as if it were a venomous snake coiled on her bedside table. Inside were the divorce papers. Already signed in Lucian's precise handwriting. Already filed with the court. Already processed through the legal system.

The final severing of a marriage she'd spent two years systematically destroying.

In her original timeline, she'd opened that envelope with triumph. With relief flooding through her veins like a drug. With eager, trembling hands ready to sign her name and run straight to Damien.

She'd thought it was freedom.

She'd thought it was victory.

She'd been so stupidly, fatally wrong.

Her hands trembled as she stared at the innocent manila envelope. She felt like she was suffocating. Like the walls were closing in. Like she was being buried alive in her own past mistakes.

"I wish you a quick recovery, Mrs. Blackwell," Mr. Matt said with another slight bow, already turning toward the door.

And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him with a soft finality that echoed like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Aveline sat frozen, her gaze locked on the envelope.

The doctor cleared his throat awkwardly. "Mrs. Blackwell, you really should rest now. Your blood pressure has spiked significantly, and—"

But Aveline wasn't listening anymore.

Her mind was spinning, racing through everything she knew, everything she'd lived through, everything she had to prevent.

One thought burned in her mind, bright and unwavering:

I have to stop this. I have to win him back. I have to fix everything I broke.

Outside her window, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and red.

A new beginning.

Or perhaps, a second chance at the beginning she'd thrown away.?