The True Luna's Forbidden Temptation - Chapter 30: Chapter 30

Analise.
A steady, consistent beeping sound wakes me up. Slowly, I open my eyes. White ceiling, white walls, white curtains. Surely, this is not my bedroom. But where am I?
My hand drifts instinctively to my stomach, and the memories crash back like a wave, drowning me in their intensity. Lorraine and her lies. Tyler and his concern for Lorraine. Vivian with her contemptuous glances.
Then there’s blood—from Lorraine.
Blood—from me.
‘My baby!’
"No," I whisper, the sound barely audible even to my own ears.
I remember now—Tyler carrying Lorraine out the door, the triumphant gleam in her eyes as she looked back at me over his shoulder. Me, alone on the floor of our house as cramping pain seized my abdomen. The warm wetness between my thighs. The blood on my fingertips, bright and unmistakable.
I sit upright but my body feels heavy. Everything around me seems to be spinning. I grip the edges of the bed to steady myself. A thin tube snakes from my arm to a bag of clear fluid hanging beside me.
"Easy now," a gentle voice says from my right.
I turn to see a nurse approaching, her face kind but professional. She wears light blue scrubs, a contrast against the rooms all-white theme.
"Where am I?" My voice cracks, dry and foreign in my throat. "What happened?"
The nurse checks something on the monitor beside my bed. "You're at Lunar Haven General. You were brought in last night."
"Lu… Lunar Haven?” I try to place the hospital. I realize it’s a private hospital in an exclusive subdivision in the city.
“Why am I here?” Then it occurs to me that I bled. “The baby," I say, my hand pressing against my stomach. "Is my baby okay?"
The nurse's expression shifts subtly—a minute change that sends ice through my veins. "The doctor will be in shortly to speak with you about your condition."
"No." I grab her wrist, surprising both of us with the strength of my grip. "Tell me now. Please."
She gently disentangles herself from my grasp. "You need to stay calm, Ms. Lewis. You lost a significant amount of blood. You cannot stress yourself.”
"I don't care about my body!" The words tear from my throat, raw and desperate. "I care about my baby!"
The monitor beside me begins beeping faster, matching the frantic rhythm of my heart. The nurse places a steadying hand on my shoulder.
"Please try to calm down," she says. "Dr. Morgan will be here any moment to explain everything."
Before I can ask anything else, the door swings open, and a lady doctor walks in. Her silver-streaked hair is pulled back in a neat bun, her wire-rimmed glasses are perched low on her nose. She carries a tablet in one hand, her expression carefully neutral as she approaches my bed.
"Mrs. Lewis," she begins. "How are you feeling?"
"Doctor, how’s my baby?" I ask directly, ignoring her question.
She exchanges a glance with the nurse, then she pulls a chair to my bedside and sits.
"I'm very sorry," she finally says, her voice gentle but direct. "You suffered a miscarriage last night. We did everything we could, but the pregnancy was not viable."
The words land like physical blows. Not viable. My baby—gone.
‘No! It can’t be!’
The tiny life that had been growing inside me, that I had only just begun to love, to plan for, to dream about—erased as if it never existed.
“You’re lying.” I shake my head violently. “It can’t be gone! You’re lying!”
She looks at me sympathetically. “You lost a significant amount of blood, Mrs. Lewis. But even before that, there were complications with the pregnancy that made it high-risk."
"What do you mean complications? I felt fine until last night."
"The bloodwork we ran when you were admitted showed some... unusual markers." She pauses, studying my face. "There appears to have been an incompatibility issue between your body and the fetus."
"Incompatibility?" I repeat, the word strange and clinical on my tongue. "How is that even possible?”
"Your body was essentially rejecting the pregnancy," she explains. "Combined with the severe stress you've clearly been under, the fetus had a lower chance of survival from the beginning."
I shake my head, refusing to accept what she's telling me. "But I was fine. I had no symptoms, no warning signs. How could my body reject my own baby?"
Doctor Morgan narrows her eyes. “Do you not know?”
"Know what?"
She looks at me thoughtfully for a moment, as if trying to read my expression, to see behind my words. Then she shakes her head. "Never mind. What I’m saying is that sometimes it does happen. The body views the fetus as foreign. So, as a defense mechanism, it attacks it.”
“Attacks? Are you saying that my husband and I can never get pregnant? That my body will always attack the baby?”
“Even if your body treats the baby as a foreign entity, and attacks it, the baby can still survive, of course. And if it does, then it means that baby is unique and strong. He’s going to be extraordinary.” She gives me a reassuring smile.
I stare back at her like she has completely lost her mind. “What kind of twisted logic is that? Why is my body rejecting my baby? Maybe if I took care of it better, if I wasn’t under too much stress, if I had known—”
"Yes. That would have given your baby a higher chance of surviving.”
“I was—I was pushed. I fell to the floor…” I remember that Tyler pushed me to get to Lorraine because she lied about me pushing her.
“That could have been it. The final blow.” She reaches forward to squeeze my hand. “But also… some things are just not meant to be. I’m sorry.”
The kindness in her voice undoes me more than any clinical explanation could. I turn my face away, wiping the tears from my cheeks.
"You lost a lot of blood," she continues gently. "You need to rest to recuperate. We're keeping you for observation at least until tomorrow. After that, you'll need to take it easy for a few weeks."
She stands, patting my hand awkwardly before moving toward the door. "I will check up on you once in a while. Press the button if you need anything.”
As she reaches for the door handle, I find my voice again. "Where's my husband?"
Doctor Morgan turns back, her expression unreadable. "I'm afraid I don't know. You were brought in alone."
After she leaves, the nurse checks my vitals once again.
"Who brought me here?" I ask her.
"An older woman," she replies, noting something on my chart. "She introduced herself as your maid. Said she found you unconscious at home, bleeding. She brought you here.”
"And no one else has been here? No visitors?"
She shakes her head. "No one. Would you like me to call someone for you?"
I shake my head, and she leaves me alone with the beeping machines and the hollow space where my child should be.
Only when the door closes do I allow myself to break. The sobs come first as hiccups, then build into something primal and raw that tears through my chest. I wrap my arms around myself, feeling alone and hollow.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry!’
Tyler didn’t even know about our baby’s existence, and now it’s gone! I didn’t even get a chance to hold it, nurture it.
I wonder now, if I told Tyler about the baby earlier, would he have treated me better? Would he have prioritized me instead of Lorraine? Would he have pushed me?
Through tears, I reach for my phone on the bedside table. The screen lights up—no missed calls, no messages from Tyler. Nothing.
“Fuck!” He’s not even here at the darkest moment of my life.
I dial his number, my fingers trembling badly. But it goes straight to voicemail.
"Tyler," I say after the beep, my voice thick with tears. "I'm in the hospital. I lost—" My voice breaks. "Our baby. Please, I need you. Please call me back."
I hang up, staring at the phone as if it might conjure Tyler from thin air. When nothing happens, I scroll to Vivian's number. She answers on the fourth ring.
"Hello?" Her voice is cautious.
"Vivian," I say, not bothering to hide the tremor in my voice. "I need to speak with Tyler."
"Tyler isn’t home.”
"Where is he? I need to talk to him." I swallow hard. "It's important."
"He's at the hospital," she says, her tone suggesting this should be obvious. "Lorraine has been admitted. Tyler was so worried that he stayed with her all night."
‘What? Is she fucking serious?”
The irony would be laughable if it weren't so cruel. My husband, spending the night at a different hospital, holding vigil for my stepsister while I lost our child alone on our living room floor.
"Do you know where I am right now?" I ask, anger rising through my grief. "I'm in the hospital too. I lost the baby. Tyler's baby."
There's a long silence on the other end of the line. When Vivian finally speaks, her voice is flat, emotionless. "It's probably for the best. You weren't worthy to carry Tyler's heir anyway."
The words hit me like a physical slap. The last piece of something inside me—something that still cared about maintaining peace, about being the dutiful daughter-in-law—breaks clean off.
"You heartless bitch!" I spit into the phone. "You don’t even know who I am and yet you talk to me like that? It’s you who are not worthy to be called my family! Tell Tyler that I want a divorce.”
Vivian's laugh is sharp, victorious. "Ha! You just made me the happiest woman in the world. Don’t worry, dear. I already know who you are. And I don’t think it’s worth my time to know."
"Trust me, Vivian. You won't be laughing when this is over," I promise, a new coldness settling into my bones. "You'll eat those words. You'll regret this day."
I hang up before she can respond, letting the phone drop onto the bed beside me. The room feels suddenly too small, the air too thin. I've lost everything—my baby, my husband, the life I sacrificed everything to build.
Then I realize one thing.
‘I haven’t lost everything.’ Not yet.
I reach for my phone again, taking a deep breath before I dial the number I haven’t called in years.
One ring.
Two rings.
Three…
There is silence on the other end of the line, but I’m sure that he’s listening, waiting for me to speak first.
I heave a sigh. Then I say, “Hello, Father…”