The Accident

Because this wasn't just about me anymore.

This was about the tiny life depending on me for everything.

And I would not fail her.

Not this time.

Not ever.

The legal assault was relentless.

Every day brought new motions, new demands, and new threats. Alexander's lawyers filed for psychiatric evaluations—three different doctors, all of their choosing. Demanded I attend couples counselling despite the restraining order. Painted me as irrational, vindictive, and a danger to my unborn child.

I was drowning in paperwork, in legal jargon, in the slow crushing weight of the system designed to protect people like Alexander.

Twenty weeks pregnant now. Halfway.

I'd gone to my anatomy scan alone, lying on the table while the technician moved the ultrasound wand across my belly. Rosa had offered to come, but I'd needed to do this myself. Needed one moment with my daughter that wasn't tainted by fear and legal battles.

"Would you like to know the sex?" the technician asked.

"Yes. Please."

"It's a girl."

A daughter. I was having a daughter.

I cried right there on the exam table, happy tears mixed with terrified ones.

A girl who would need protecting from the world, from men like her father, from everything I'd failed to protect myself from.

"Congratulations," the technician said, handing me tissues, and I wondered if she could see the fear beneath the joy.

At home, I prepared my response to Alexander's custody motion. Jessica and I had built a case—recordings of his interrogations, his journal entries, and testimony from Dr. Reeves, who after reviewing all the evidence I'd provided, had completely changed her assessment.

"Based on a review of documented evidence not available during our initial session, I believe Ms. Rodriguez's allegations of emotional and psychological abuse are credible and concerning."

But would it be enough?

Every night I had the same nightmare: giving birth, and Alexander walking into the delivery room with court papers, taking my daughter from my arms while I screamed. I'd wake gasping, hand pressed to my belly, feeling her move, reminding myself she was still safe. Still mine.

For now.

I was folding tiny clothes in the nursery—yellow onesies and soft blankets—when my phone rang.

Unknown number. I'd learnt to answer these. Might be lawyers. Might be doctors. Might be important.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Rodriguez? This is Julia Martinez. Alexander Blackwood's assistant."

Every muscle in my body tensed. "I can't speak to you. The restraining order—"

"Please, wait. There's been an accident."

Time seemed to slow down. "What?"

"A car accident. Alexander is in the hospital. Critical condition."

I sat down hard on the floor, surrounded by baby clothes. "Why are you calling me?"

"You're still listed as his emergency contact. We never updated it after the divorce filing. The hospital needs authorisation for surgery, for treatment decisions—"

"Call his mother. His brother. Catherine is his next of kin now."

"Ms. Rodriguez—Elena—" Julia's voice cracked, the professional veneer breaking. "Please. He's in surgery now.

They don't know if he'll make it. I know everything that's happened between you. I know about the custody battle. But he might die, and I thought you should know."

"I..." My hand pressed against my belly, feeling my daughter kick. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"I don't want you to say anything. I just thought you deserved to know."

She hung up before I could respond.

I sat on the nursery floor, phone in my shaking hand, surrounded by the life I was building. The life Alexander was trying to destroy.

Alexander was dying.

Maybe.

The man who'd terrorised me, who was trying to take my baby, who'd spent months painting me as crazy and dangerous—he might die.

And I felt... nothing. Empty. Numb.

Shouldn't I feel something?

"Elena?" Rosa appeared in the doorway. "Mija, what's wrong?"

I told her. Watched her face cycle through shock, concern, and something complicated that might have been relief mixed with guilt.

"You don't have to go," she said firmly.

"I know."

"You owe him nothing. After everything he's done—"

"I know." I stood slowly, carefully, one hand supporting my belly. "But what if he dies? What if this is how it ends?"

"Would that be so terrible?"

Yes. No. I didn't know.

"What will I tell our daughter?" I asked quietly. "When she asks about her father? That I didn't even go to the hospital when he was dying?"

"You tell her the truth. That he was trying to take her from you. That you were protecting yourself. Protecting her."

But was that enough? Would it be enough when my daughter looked at me with questions I couldn't answer?

"I need to go," I said. "Not for him. For me. So I can close this chapter. So I know I did everything I could."

"Then I'm coming with you."

Seattle Grace Hospital smelt like antiseptic and fear. The ICU waiting room was crowded with exactly the people I'd expected—Alexander's world, the one I'd briefly been part of and then been expelled from.

Catherine Blackwood stood near the window in an elegant black suit, her face drawn with worry. Vincent Blackwood held court near the coffee station, his voice low but commanding. Marcus paced near the nurses' station, his phone pressed to his ear.

And scattered throughout—society, people in expensive clothes, colleagues in designer suits, all the inhabitants of Alexander's carefully constructed kingdom.

I walked in with Rosa at my side, twenty-two weeks pregnant and unmistakably showing.

Catherine saw me first. Her eyes went straight to my belly—the roundness that couldn't be hidden anymore. Her hand flew to her mouth, shock and understanding dawning simultaneously.

Every head turned. The whispers started immediately, spreading through the room like wildfire.

"That's the ex-wife."

"Oh my God, she's pregnant."

"Does Alexander know?"

"How far along is she?"

"The timing seems suspicious."

I felt their eyes on me, their judgement, their calculations. Divorce was filed three months ago. Baby due in four months.

Alexander's baby.

Or was it?

I could see the speculation in their faces, the same accusations Alexander had made coming from dozens of strangers' eyes.

Vincent Blackwood turned, saw me, and his expression transformed into something cold and ugly.

"Come to make sure he's dead?" His voice carried across the room. "Secure your inheritance? Or are you here to gloat?"

"Vincent." Catherine's voice was sharp, commanding in a way I'd never heard from her. She crossed the room quickly, positioning herself between her husband and me. "That's enough.”

She turned to me, and I saw the Catherine I'd glimpsed occasionally during my marriage—the woman beneath the society veneer, the mother who'd failed to protect me but maybe, finally, was trying.

"Thank you for coming," she said quietly. "I know things between you and Alexander are... complicated."

Complicated. Such an inadequate word for three years of abuse and months of legal warfare.

"How is he?" I asked because I had to say something.

"In surgery. We're waiting to hear."

Marcus appeared at his mother's side, his face drawn and exhausted. "Elena. You came."

"Julia called."

"I'm glad." He glanced at my belly, then quickly away. "You look... you look healthy."

I almost laughed. What else was there to say?

We stood in awkward silence, surrounded by whispers and stares, until a doctor emerged from the ICU.

"Family of Alexander Blackwood?"

Everyone moved at once, surging toward the doctor.

"Perhaps just immediate family?" the doctor said, overwhelmed by the crowd.

Catherine gestured to me. "She's his wife. Ex-wife. She needs to hear this too."

Vincent started to object, but Catherine silenced him with a look.

We were led to a small consultation room—Catherine, Vincent, Marcus, and me. The doctor closed the door, muffling the waiting room's whispers.

"Mr. Blackwood survived surgery," the doctor began.

Relief and disappointment warred in my chest. He was alive. The custody battle would continue. My daughter's father would survive.

"But there's been a complication."