Regretful Heart: CEO's Tears Over Her Pregnancy

Vienna’s POV

"You’re going to be a mother," the doctor said, her eyes warm above her glasses. "Congratulations, Mrs. Hale."

"A–are you serious?" I gripped the edge of the examination table, trying not to squeal. "Oh my goodness… I can’t believe it!" I laughed, breathless and teary-eyed.

Clutching the test result like it was a golden ticket, I pushed through the door into the hallway. All I could think about was my husband Warren. How I’d wrap my arms around him and whisper, "You’re going to be a dad!"

I turned the corner too fast and crashed into someone in a white coat.

"Oh! I’m so sorry!" I exclaimed, glancing up.

The man looked down at me with narrowed eyes… Eyes I knew too well.

"Miss Vienna," he said flatly, his voice low and unmistakably irritated.

I winced. "Dr. Smith…"

He sighed, shaking his head. "I thought we were done with this. I told you, we cannot disclose any information about our organ recipients. That hasn’t—"

"No, wait. Doctor, I’m not here for that," I said quickly, holding up my hands like I was under arrest. "I swear."

He arched a brow, unconvinced.

"I’ve moved on," I added. "Really. I’m married now. Just found out I’m pregnant, actually." I held up the test result. "That’s why I’m here."

His expression softened. "Oh. I see. Well… congratulations, then."

"Thanks." I smiled. "And… I’m sorry, Dr. Smith. I know I wasn’t exactly easy to deal with."

"That’s putting it mildly," he said dryly, then sighed. "Grief makes people do strange things."

He was right. Losing Daniel—my childhood sweetheart, the boy I’d grown up with in the orphanage—had been the hardest thing I’d ever faced. 

When he died and donated his heart three years ago, I couldn’t let go. I needed to know who carried that piece of him, who kept his heartbeat alive.

But I’d moved on now.

Warren had come into my world like sunlight through a storm. He’d swept me off my feet, showing me that my heart still had room for love.

"Well. I hope this new chapter brings you peace, Vienna," Dr. Smith said before turning away.

I walked on with a smile, placing a hand over my belly.

Just as I stepped into the hospital foyer, the front doors swung open. A man rushed in, looking so disheveled I almost didn’t recognize him… Almost.

"Warren?" I breathed.

I watched my husband storm in, carrying a blonde woman in his arms. Her face was turned away, slumped against his chest. And… her legs were streaked with blood. What the hell?

"I need help!" Warren shouted. "Now!"

Nurses rushed forward, ushering them to the emergency room.

"She was pregnant?" one of them asked.

He nodded, panic in his voice. "She didn’t know."

I stood frozen in the middle of the foyer as they disappeared into the emergency wing. I don’t know how long I stood there, just staring at the double doors that had separated us.

Then, two nurses passed by, whispering.

"Miscarriage. They think it was caused by vigorous sexual activity."

My stomach turned. My mind started racing. 

The late nights, the work conferences, the endless phone calls. Had Warren been lying to me? Was he seeing someone?

No. No, it couldn’t be.

I rushed to the receptionist counter.

"Excuse me," I said, barely recognizing my own voice. "Can you tell me the room number for the woman who just came in? She was with a man—dark hair, navy suit."

The nurse looked hesitant. "Are you family?"

"I’m his wife," I said quietly.

She glanced at her screen. "Room 204."

When I reached the door moments later, it was slightly ajar. Through the narrow opening, I saw a familiar woman in the hospital bed, an IV drip in her arm.

I staggered back.

Desiree?

Warren’s stepsister?

My vision blurred. I knew something was off between those two.

At their family dinners, Desiree had a habit of feeding Warren spoonfuls of her desserts. He just let her. I mean, what sister does that? And he didn’t even like sweets.

Last month, I’d come home late from the bakery and noticed the light still on in the study. Warren was there, helping Desiree with her thesis. Six empty coffee cans surrounded them like relics of a long night.

They’d even gone on a ‘sibling trip’ to Switzerland last winter. I hadn’t thought much of it then. Just a getaway, he’d said.

How could I have been so blind?

I exhaled sharply, then pushed open the door. Desiree turned to me, eyes rimmed red. "Vienna?" she snapped. "How did you find me here?! Get out. Before Warren makes you."

I didn’t flinch. "Is something going on between you two?"

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

Before I could say more, the door opened behind me.

Warren’s eyes widened when he saw me. "Vienna? What are you doing here?"

I swallowed hard. I couldn’t tell him the real reason I was at the hospital. Not like this.

"I… I had a GI check-up," I lied, lifting my chin. "I was on my way out when I saw you. Carrying her. What the hell is going on, Warren?"

Desiree turned to him, her voice suddenly trembling. "I can’t handle this energy right now, brother. She’s stressing me out."

Warren looked at her, then back at me with a mix of irritation and defensiveness. "We should talk outside," he said sharply.

He walked over to Desiree, brushing her hair back. "I’ll be right back, okay?" he murmured. 

I stared at them, incredulous. Was he serious right now?

Then Warren turned back, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me out of the room.

"What the hell did I just walk in on?" I demanded as the door closed behind us.

He rubbed his face and let out a long sigh. "Desiree had a miscarriage. She didn’t know she was pregnant. Had a wild graduation party, then woke up bleeding."

I just stared at him.

"I was in a company meeting when she called," he added. "I came as fast as I could."

"And the baby’s father?" I asked, folding my arms. "Where is he?"

Warren’s eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at?"

"I’m asking why he isn’t here. Why you carried her in your arms like that."

"For God’s sake, Vienna," he snapped. "You’re being paranoid again."

My voice dropped. "You know damn well your relationship with Desiree has never been... normal."

His expression hardened. "She’s my stepsister. She was terrified and called me, so I showed up. End of story."

"Is it?" I whispered.

He ran a hand through his hair. "This is not the time or place for this. Desiree’s recovering, and you’re making this about you."

"Listen, Warren," I said. "I’m not blind, okay? I’ve seen the way she is with you."

He leaned in, voice low and sharp. "Go home, Vienna. We’ll talk later. And do not spread this around. The last thing Desiree needs is more humiliation."

He didn’t wait for a reply—just turned and walked back into the room.

I stared after him, stunned, then stormed out. 

As the city rushed by on my way home, so did my thoughts.

Warren had always been fond of Desiree. When he was twelve, he’d lost his mother to a heart attack. He’d withdrawn completely—stopped talking, hid in his room.

But then, his dad remarried. Six-year-old Desiree joined them. Apparently, she’d left origami animals at his door every day for three months straight. 

Warren told me that’s when things shifted for him. She’d helped him open up again.

At home, I waited. And waited. Just before midnight, my phone buzzed:

"Desiree needs me. Will be home late."