The Wife You Shouldn't Have Lost

“I have half a year to live?” Layla repeated, letting the words sink in as they echoed in her ears. Her eyes widened as she struggled to comprehend what the doctor had just told her.

Layla refused to accept it. She shook her head slowly. There was no way she was the one with only six months to live. There had to be a mistake. Perhaps the doctor was wrong. Perhaps the results weren’t hers.

Her breathing turned shaky as she crawled her hands toward the doctor, clutching his coat tightly. He reached for her hands, holding them as her body trembled, tears welling up in her eyes.

She shook her head profusely, her grip tightening around his clothes.

“Please, doctor… You need to check again. Those results aren’t mine. I can’t—”

Her voice broke before she could finish, and the words dissolved into sobs as tears streamed down her cheeks.

She had seen her name on the report, boldly written. She knew they were her test results, but she refused to believe that was her fate.

“Mrs. Watson,” the doctor said firmly but gently, “you need to compose yourself. Reach out to your husband. Don’t keep this to yourself.” He paused before continuing, his tone grave. “You must prepare yourself. Your organs are shutting down. At most… half a year.”

Layla locked her tear-filled eyes with his, shaking her head in silent refusal. Her husband, Nolan, was supposed to come with her to the hospital, but he hadn’t shown up. He knew she was sick, yet he chose not to care.

And even if he had wanted to come, his mother would have stopped him. She would have framed Layla, caused trouble, and twisted the situation, only making Nolan resent her even more.

Two weeks ago, Layla had felt her strength slipping in ways she couldn’t ignore. Reluctantly, she had visited the hospital, hoping for answers, only to discover she has an autoimmune disease slowly attacking her body from within.

She's lived eight years in a painful marriage without any love. If her mother-in-law weren't in the picture, she could have had hope of reviving her love with him, but with her around, nothing ever worked for her, not even her daughter.

Initially, she believed it was because she had waited a year to get pregnant. However, after becoming pregnant, the situation intensified. The maltreatment doubled, and every day her husband watched her but said nothing. Instead of him protecting her, he asks her to understand his mother, even on the days she would hit her because of some small mistakes.

As if that wasn't enough until she gave birth to her daughter. She was accused of faking pregnancy and adopting a daughter, which led to a DNA test that confirmed she was his blood.

The humiliation, the pain didn't stop Layla from hoping she would be accepted after confirming her pregnancy was his, and she never faked it. But with each passing day, the more she lived in the house, the more she was accused and beaten by her mother-in-law.

There were days she would have to sleep outside in the rain because his mother would claim to have forgotten she was out when she was the one who assigned her to run an errand for her.

“I know it's difficult right now, but please consider your husband and daughter. You don't have to keep them in the dark. Perhaps not today, but tomorrow will still be great.”

The doctor made it sound so easy, and she wished it would turn out that way. The mention of her daughter broke her even more. The one person whom she thought would provide her comfort as she grew up, turned out to be a villain.

She has never regarded her as worthy of her mother, barely has time for her, and spends most of her time with her grandma. Even when he daughter is around, she never obeys her or respect her.

It's been hell for her. She's just like a wife who has never had any kids, throughout her eight years of marriage.

Layla was just surrounded by people who didn't want her alive. Her existence exasperates them to their bones, and they wish she would get lost in sight.

The doctor was able to help her up onto her feet, stroking her back to comfort her.

“I will be expecting you and your husband. I will have to go now; patients are waiting to be attended to.” He said, bobbed his head, and then turned to take his leave.

It was sad news, but he had to inform her about it.

Layla stayed there, her gaze on the doorknob, but her mind was clouded with different thoughts, as she tried to come to terms with the news.

How is she supposed to share such news with her husband? With her mother-in-law in the picture, it's probably going to be a disaster, that's if he ends up giving her a listening ear.

'You never really know what might happen; you should give him a call,' her subconscious muttered, making her skeptical about the decision she was about to make, but most importantly, the doctor's word rang in her head.

If she doesn't inform him, he won't hesitate to reach out to the Watsons since he is the family's doctor. Informing me was to make sure he didn't turn out to be the one breaking such news to them.

She swallowed hard, her hands clenched into fists to keep herself steady.

It was tough for her, but she braced herself, holding herself from crying. This isn't the time to be crying, but rather to seek an answer if there's one.

She couldn’t just let the next six months slip away in despair. Even with her life hanging by a thread, a part of her still clung to the impossible, hoping for her mother-in-law’s approval, dreaming that her daughter might one day look at her with affection, and longing to be recognized as Zara’s mother in a way that felt real.

All this she's hoping to achieve even though it hasn't been possible in the past eight years. Layla was being an optimist, and she's putting her mind towards making it possible as long as she's still with them.

She shivered as she reached for her phone in her bag, pulled it out, and immediately dialed Nolan, her husband's number.

As the phone rang, she exhaled heavily, and a new stream of tears rushed down her face, making her sniffle. It rang until the line went off, which broke her heart. Even if he's seeing her call, he wouldn't care to pick up.

This was the least of whatever she's faced at the Watsons' mansion. Even if there's an emergency, she didn't get the attention; it always comes later, when she's been able to fix things herself. But this time, it's her health; she needs them.

She pressed the phone again, heart hammering, and this time Nolan picked up almost immediately.

“Hello… Nolan?” Her voice wavered, almost lost under the static.

“Hello? Are you still there...” The line went dead, and she froze, staring at the screen, willing it to ring again.

Five minutes passed like hours. Then his name appeared once more, lighting up her screen like a cruel sign of hope.

“Why are you calling? Don’t you know I’m busy?” His voice was flat, clipped.

“Please… Nolan, it’s time-critical. I’m at the hospital, I need you—”

“You should know,” he interrupted, “my mother wants a surrogate. Since you can’t give me a male child, I’ve chosen Ashley.”

The line went dead before she could even speak.

Her phone slipped from her fingers, clattering to the floor. Her hands clutched at her chest, trying to steady her ragged breaths.

Ashley… her husband's ex, who had walked away years ago. And now… the surrogate? Her mind scrambled, refusing to accept it.

Tears threatened, but she pressed her lips together, holding them back. Slowly, shakily, she pushed herself up and left the doctor’s office, her legs carrying her but her heart lagging.