From Loss to Legacy

(Patricia's POV)

The first thing I registered was the smell of disinfectant. And the beeping of the machine. My eyes flung open, staring at the white ceiling. It wasn't familiar. I tilted my head, noticing the white walls and an IV drip taped to my palm. My dress was gone. I wore a soft linen hospital gown. I was in a hospital?

I shifted in the bed and felt a dull pain in my lower belly. I clutched my stomach, my heart raced.

Suddenly, the door opened, startling me. A doctor walked in. He let out a polite smile as he came toward me.

"You're awake," he said.

I gulped. I wasn't dreaming. I was really in the hospital.

"How... did I get here?" The question tore out of my dry throat.

"Someone brought you in last night," he said as he examined me.

Someone? It couldn't be Mason. I remembered he had clearly abandoned me in the rain last night.

"Who?" I whispered.

"He didn't say his name. He simply paid the medical bills and left," he replied.

The doctor stepped back just enough for me to see his face. His expression changed, like he was about to give me bad news.

“We managed to stop the bleeding before it caused more damage. You’ll be alright in a few days, but…” He paused, searching for words.

“The baby…” His voice cracked. “I’m sorry. We couldn’t save the baby.”

“What baby?” I asked, genuinely confused.

The doctor looked at me, as if my question surprised him too. "Your baby... you... miscarried."

My brow furrowed as I tried to make sense of his words.

“Wait… you didn’t know?” He looked at me, shocked. “You didn’t know you were pregnant?”

The whole world froze. My ears rang and my heart pounded. What? What did he say? I was pregnant?

"I... I was pregnant?" The question tore out of my throat like a sob.

“Yes. You were seven weeks,” he said, steady but gentle.

I was seven weeks pregnant? I tried to think back. It must be that night Mason came home drunk. He had come to my room, saying that he missed me, and because I loved him, I let him.

"I'm so sorry," the doctor said, his voice soft with pity.

But I didn't want his pity. I needed his help. I reached for his hands, clinging to them, begging with my eyes, hoping he could still help me.

"My baby! Please, doctor, save my baby." Tears ran down my face.

He shook his head slowly. "I tried. I did everything I could. But I couldn't save it."

I tried to hold the sob in, but I couldn’t. Of all the years I had suffered in the Bedfords’ hands, this one broke me completely. I collapsed back onto the bed, clutching my stomach, the world fading as I cried until no sound was left in me

That pain was unlike anything I had ever felt. My baby was gone. The only thing that could have mattered. They killed my baby before I even knew it existed

Pain and regret mixed with fury took over me. I clenched my fist so hard. I could forgive them for everything they did to me but not this. They took away the only thing that could have healed my broken heart.

............

Two days went by, but nothing changed. I had lost the will to live. Losing a baby after years without children made life feel meaningless.

After a painful marriage, that tiny life would have been the only good thing to come from it. That small heartbeat could have given me a reason to live. Now it was gone. I had nothing left. What was the point of living?

My chest felt like it broke again and again as I wandered aimlessly around the hospital garden, not knowing how to carry this hurt or how to survive it.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I saw a man. He was old, wearing a hospital gown like me. He had fallen from his wheelchair, his hand pressed to his chest. He looked like he was in terrible pain.

My eyes widened, and without a second thought I ran. My legs carried me faster than I thought they could, straight to the old man on the ground. I dropped to my knees beside him, my breath sharp, my hands trembling.

“Sir? Sir, can you hear me?” My voice shook as I tried to steady him.

He gasped, struggling to breathe. His fingers gripped mine hard, and in that moment, I knew he was having a heart attack. Panic rose in my throat.

“Help!” I screamed, my voice tearing through the garden.

My heart pounded, my eyes darting around, searching for help. I found some Nurses nearby, but they didn’t see us.

“Somebody, please help!” I cried again, louder, forcing every bit of strength into my voice.

The sound of my panic echoed until, finally, nurses came running. In seconds they lifted him onto a stretcher, and rushed him into the emergency room.

I stood there, frozen, my chest pounding so hard it hurt. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

I didn’t even know him. I had never seen his face. But as the doors closed, I found myself whispering, “Please… let him live.”

Minutes felt like hours, like time itself was punishing me. At last, a nurse came out, her face calm.

“He’s stable for now,” she said.

I was so relieved I thought I might collapse. I walked quietly into the room. He was lying there, his face pale, his body weak, but he was breathing. He looked safe, at least for now.

I sat on the chair beside him, wondering why there was no one here. No family, no friend, no one to hold his hand in a time like this. The thought broke me. How could they leave him like this?

So I stayed. I couldn’t walk away. Something in me refused to leave him alone.

After an hour that felt like forever, he finally opened his eyes. I jumped to my feet, moving closer to him.

“You’re awake, sir,” I said, worried. “Are you all right? Do you feel any pain?”

He didn’t answer at first. His eyes dim, studying me. It was as if he was searching for something in my face.

Finally, his voice broke the silence... low, weak. “What’s your name?”

The question caught me off guard. My name?

“Patricia Bedford…” I paused.

The name felt wrong in my mouth. I had forgotten for a second, that I had divorced Mason. That I wasn’t a Bedford anymore.

“Patricia Addison sir,” I corrected softly.

Before I could say more, the door opened. A man in a sharp suit strode in, his face drawn tight with worry. He opened his mouth to speak, but the old man slowly raised his weak hand, stopping him.

“I… have made up my mind, James,” he whispered.

James... that was his name. He hurried closer, leaning down as the old man whispered something only he could hear. James’s eyes widened, then flicked to me with shock before he quickly nodded and stepped out of the room.

And I stood there, confused, not understanding a thing.

Moments later, James returned, carrying documents and a pen. He placed them carefully before the old man.

The old man looked at me again, his gaze steady despite his weakness. Then, with a shaky hand, he drew his signature on the papers.

“Patricia?” he called, his breath shaky,

I hurried to his side and held his hand gently. “You need to rest, sir. Your health is most important.”

He gave no reply, only reached into the pocket of his gown. Slowly, he pulled out a small key. His hand shook as he placed it on the papers, then pushed both into my hands.

The weight of it startled me. My fingers trembled as I clutched them.

“Take care of everything, Patricia,” he whispered, breaking into a cough.

My eyes widened. “What… what are these?” I asked, confused.

“Things that must never fall into the wrong hands,” he murmured.

His words tangled in my mind. What things? What hands? I wanted to ask more, but his body trembled as a fit of coughing overtook him.

“Doctor!” I cried.

The doctor rushed back in. I stepped aside as he and the nurses surrounded the old man.

Only then did I notice them... five men in black suits standing at the door. Their stance was sharp, unshaken, like bodyguards.

My heart raced again. The papers felt heavy against my chest, like they carried a weight I did not understand.

After a while, the doctor came out, his face heavy with sorrow. We rushed forward, desperate for good news, but he only sighed and shook his head.

Silence fell. We didn’t need words. We already knew what that meant.

Sadness washed over me. I didn’t really know this man, but I had seen him fight for his life… and now he was gone.

I looked down at the papers, the key still tight in my hand. What now? What was I supposed to do with them?

My thoughts scattered when James, the man in the sharp suit, stepped forward. He straightened his shoulders, his eyes serious. Then, slowly, he bowed his head in a silent salute.

“To the new president of Smithfield Global Group,” he declared firmly, his voice steady. “I pledge my loyalty. Your vision is ours to follow.”

The other men behind him lowered their heads in unison.

“All hail the new president!” they chorused, their voices echoing.

I stood there, more confused than ever. Their words made no sense