Her Baby’s Not My Husband's - Chapter 5: Chapter 5

The evidence was undeniable. I'd prepared for this moment down to the last detail, ensuring every lie she spat at me would shatter against the cold, hard truth.
Jessica's face drained of color as the damning proof played out for all to see. "She's—she's lying!" she screeched, voice cracking with desperation. "This is all fake! Every last bit of it!"
But her words rang hollow. The crowd shifted, uneasy murmurs spreading like wildfire.
"Did she really frame the doctor?" someone whispered.
"The evidence doesn't lie," another muttered.
Jessica gaped at me, lips trembling. "How… how did you even get all this ready beforehand?" I didn't answer. I didn't owe her one.
Her panic infected Isaac, who'd been lurking at the edges. Sensing the crowd's loyalty slipping, he tried to slink away—until Jessica clawed at his arm, nails biting into his sleeve.
"Isaac, what do we do?" she hissed, voice shaking.
He shoved her off, face twisted in irritation. But before he could speak, the dispersing crowd jostled Jessica backward. A sharp cry tore from her throat as she crumpled to the floor, hands clutching her stomach.
Gasps erupted. A dark stain spread beneath her.
"Help me!" Jessica wailed, face contorted in agony. "Isaac, call a doctor! It hurts—it hurts so much!"
I didn't need a diagnosis. She'd pushed her body too soon after the abortion. Now she was bleeding out.
Isaac's righteous act dissolved into panic. He dropped beside her, shouting incoherently. Security scrambled for a stretcher; hospital staff rushed to stabilize her.
I turned on my heel and walked away. The hospital doors hissed open, cold air slapping the tension from my face. But Isaac's voice screeched after me:
"Lola, wait!"
I turned slowly, patience frayed to a thread.
"You can't leave!" he begged, desperation carving lines into his face. "Jessica's hemorrhaging! You know she's got that rare blood type—the bank's empty! You have to donate!"
I stared. "You're demanding I save your mistress?" My voice could've frozen hell. "Have you lost your damn mind?"
He grabbed my arm. I yanked free.
"Let go!" I snarled. "We're done, Isaac. Sign the papers tomorrow, and you're dead to me."
He flinched like I'd struck him. "But Jessica's dying," he choked out. "Lola, please. After everything we—"
Crack. My palm split across his cheek, the slap echoing through the lobby.
"You pathetic worm," I seethed. "You think I didn't know? The lies, the cheating, the filth? And now you dare beg me for help?"
Isaac staggered back, clutching his face. Blood welled at his lip, but his eyes stayed locked on mine.
"I messed up," he rasped. "I never should've touched her—but she's critical. Please."
I stepped forward, grinding my heel into his hand until he howled. "No. You dug this grave. Rot in it."
I strode out, tires screeching as I peeled away. In the rearview, Isaac sprinted after the car, shrinking to a speck before vanishing entirely.
At the hotel, my phone buzzed with alerts. I slumped into the driver's seat, jaw tight. This wasn't over. I'd be watching—waiting to crush any last-ditch effort they might muster.
Jessica lay corpse-pale on the hospital bed, the sterile white walls making her look even deader. Doctors swarmed, adjusting IVs, checking monitors.
Too much blood lost. Too many hours hunting a donor. By the time they found a match, she was barely hanging on. Shallow breaths. Sunken features. A ghost of the girl who'd tried to ruin me.
She'd live—but the damage was permanent. The hemorrhage, the botched abortion—her uterus was gone. No children. No easy recovery. Just a lifetime of pain with every step.
I observed from the shadows, face unreadable. They'd aimed to destroy me. Instead, they'd gutted themselves.
Later, in my hotel room, I tapped my phone. Jessica's funding? Cut. A call to my father? Divorce finalized. No hesitation. Just steel.
Minutes later, Isaac's name flashed on my screen. I answered to his ragged voice:
"Lola, what the hell? Jessica's family's broke! Her tuition, her medical bills—you can't just—"
I leaned back, smirking. "My money. My choice. And since when do ex-husbands make demands?"
Silence.
"Oh, and Isaac?" I added, voice like a scalpel. "Funny thing. The hospital VP mentioned he's old pals with Jessica's dad."
The quiet stretched, thick with his unraveling lies.
I remembered her tragic backstory—the alcoholic father, the abusive mother, the gambling-addict brother. For ten years, I'd bankrolled her "escape."
How stupid I'd been.