Regretful Heart: CEO's Tears Over Her Pregnancy

"You are becoming a mother," The doctor winked at me as she handed me the paper. "Congratulations." 

I excitedly covered my mouth, then took the report over with my trembling hands, "Oh my! Thank you! thank you so much, doc!" I strode fast out of the exam room after hugging her.  All I could think about was getting home, throwing my arms around my husband Warren’s neck, and blurting out, "You’re going to be a dad!"

It felt almost unreal. Warren is the light of my life. When I was at my most desperate, he gave me a home. And now we have our own child. I can't imagine anything more wonderful than this. 

I was ecstatic on my way home that I barely noticed when I bumped into someone in the hallway.

"Oops, sorry!" I exclaimed, looking up into a familiar face.

"Miss Vienna," his voice barked, surprised and slightly annoyed.

"Dr. Smith!"

He frowned. "Not again. I thought you’d let this go. I’ve told you before, we can’t disclose anything about our organ recipients. It’s confidential."

My lips parted, stunned. He thought I was here for the same thing again.

I raised my hand, flashing the ring with a proper smile, "I think you misunderstood, Dr. Smith. I’m not here for information about Daniel. I’m married now… and pregnant. I came for a check-up."

His face softened immediately, his frown melting into awkwardness. "Ah. I didn't expect... I thought you would always… I guess I owe you an apology. Anyway, congratulations."

I nodded politely. "It was about time I moved on," I said with a small smile.

"I’m glad," Dr. Smith smiled back.

The person we talked about was Daniel. He is my ex boyfriend; he had been everything to me. 

We grew up together as orphans, finding in each other the kind of family we’d both yearned for. 

But after that accident, his heart donated to someone in need. 

I couldn't let it go. At that moment, my mind was twisted, and all I wanted to know was in what stranger's chest Daniel's heart was beating?

Therefore, I pestered Dr. Smith for over a year, hoping he would tell me something about Daniel's recipient.

That was the darkest moment of my life, and Dr. Smith also suffered a lot because of my irrational behavior.

It wasn't until Warren, my current husband came along that he guided me out of that endless darkness with his tenderness and love.

My background was nothing like Warren’s. I had no parents, no family to turn to. 

Warren, on the other hand, came from a wealthy family as his father ran one of the top hotel chains in the city.

Warren once mentioned that every time he saw me, his heart would race, a feeling that seemed to come out of nowhere. 

Now, with his child growing inside me, everything felt like a movie, as if life had wrapped itself up in the most perfect, cinematic way. Becoming Warren's wife and having a family with him, I am lucky.

But just as I was lost in my thoughts about the future, a sharp cry pulled me back to reality.

"Help! I need help here!"

I turned toward the ER and froze.

Warren?

He came barreling through the entrance, carrying a woman in his arms. Her pants were soaked in blood. My stomach turned.

What was he doing here? He’d had an important investor meeting this morning—he was supposed to be across town. And now he was here, carrying a woman bleeding from her lower body into the emergency room.

I stepped closer, as if in slow-motion, heart hammering. Then, I heard the whispers float through the nurses’ station:

"Miscarriage. The bleeding won’t stop."

"She didn’t even know she was pregnant."

"Too rough… probably sex."

My breath caught. 

"It can’t be," I whispered. My mind started racing.

Warren had been coming home late for months now. Long calls after dinner, sometimes disappearing to "work" late into the night. 

Last month, that sudden week-long trip to Switzerland—he said his stepsister Desiree had planned a ski getaway without asking, and he couldn’t say no. She was willful. Spoiled. She always seemed to get her way with Warren.

My mind struggled to process what I’d just seen.

Who was that woman in his arms? Had he been using work and Desiree as excuses? Was he… cheating on me?

"No, no, no," I whimpered, dread pooling in my stomach.

I waited for hours, trying to stay calm, asking the secretary again and again what room they were in. "That’s confidential, Miss," was her only reply.

Eventually, an observant nurse pitied me and finally gave me the room number. My legs felt stiff as I walked down the sterile corridor and pushed the door open.

It was Desiree. Lying in the bed, IV in her arm, face pale and turned toward the wall.

Relief bloomed in me for a moment. It was just his stepsister, not some other woman. But suspicion crept in just as quickly. Something still didn’t sit right.

"Desiree? What happened?" I asked quietly.

She turned to me slowly, eyes rimmed red. "Vienna? What are you doing here?" she snapped. "Get out. This is none of your business."

I stepped back, startled. Before I could say anything else, Warren walked in.

"Vienna?" He looked at me, eyebrows raised in surprise.

I plastered on a calm expression. "Hey Warren, I was here for a GI exam," I lied smoothly—this wasn’t the time to reveal my pregnancy. "I saw you rushing in. Thought I’d check on you."

"Oh," he frowned. "Now’s not a good time."

"What happened, Warren? Why are you here with her? I thought you—"

"Shh, be quiet, Vienna," he interrupted me bluntly. "You’re stressing her out." 

He walked over to Desiree, brushing her hair back from her forehead. "Get some rest, okay?" he murmured.

Something about that gentle gesture made my skin crawl. They weren’t related by blood. What if…?

Warren turned back, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me out of the room. Once the door was shut behind us, he spoke low.

"She had a miscarriage," he said. "Graduation party. Got drunk, hooked up with someone. She didn’t know she was pregnant."

I stared at him. "Who was the guy? Why didn’t he bring her in?"

He shook his head. "No idea. She’s not ready to talk about it."

"She clings to you, Warren. Always has. I’ve never even heard her mention a boyfriend. And now she’s miscarried and you can’t even name the father?"

His jaw tightened. "Are you seriously suggesting—"

"I don’t know what I’m suggesting," I cut in. "But lately, things haven’t felt right. You’re distant. That trip to Switzerland—those photos she posted—"

Warren’s expression darkened. "Stop. You’re being paranoid."

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Just tell me the truth. Are you sure the baby had nothing to do with you?"

His eyes burned into mine. He stepped back. "I’m not doing this here. Not in a hospital. Go home, Vienna. We’ll talk later."

But he didn’t come home that night.

Around 11 PM, I got a text: Staying with Desiree. She needs me.

I didn’t reply. I just opened my drawer, stuffed the pregnancy report inside, and shut it hard.