---- Chapter 8 8 | drifted in and out of consciousness. Pain. Everywhere. Voices. Muffled. Urgent. "multiple fractures... internal bleeding..." "get her to surgery, now!" "she's pregnant. About eight weeks." Pregnant? The word cut through the fog. Pregnant. My hand instinctively went to my stomach. A baby. Our baby. A tiny flicker of warmth amidst the icy pain. Then, more voices. More urgency. "She's losing too much blood. Type O negative. We need it now!" "The blood bank is low. There was a major pile-up on the BQE." "There's a directed donation protocol... her husband... Cole... his family foundation is a major benefactor here..." "Contact Ethan Cole. Now! Tell him it's critical." Ethan. Maybe... maybe this would make him see. Our baby. ---- Then, his voice. Sharp. Cold. On a phone, amplified by a stressed ER doctor. | was semi-conscious, but | heard it. Clear as a death knell. "Chloe's condition is critical. She had an allergic reaction, she's at your hospital too. Prioritize her. Divert whatever resources are necessary to her. Do you understand? Chloe Vance." Chloe. Again. An allergic reaction. Versus me, bleeding out, with his baby. The doctor was protesting. "But Mr. Cole, your wife... she's hemorrhaging... the baby..." "| said prioritize Chloe!" Ethan's voice, like steel. "I'll deal with the consequences." The warmth inside me died. Replaced by a cold, vast emptiness. He chose. He chose Chloe over me. Over our baby. Our baby. The darkness closed in again. Utterly. When | woke, the world was muted. A quiet hospital room. The steady beep of a monitor. A different kind of emptiness in my belly. A nurse, her face kind, full of pity. "Mrs. Cole. 'm so sorry." | knew. Before she even said the words. "The baby... we couldn't save the baby." ---- Tears streamed down her face. | felt nothing. Just a hollow ache. "My husband..." | whispered. "Did he...?" "He made a choice, Mrs. Cole," the nurse said, her voice tight with anger she tried to suppress. "He directed resources to another patient. Ms. Vance. She had a mild rash, self-induced it seems from some new cosmetic. She's perfectly fine." Perfectly fine. While my baby was gone. Because of him. His choice. He sacrificed our child for Chloe's minor, self-inflicted drama. | closed my eyes. The ledger. It was all that mattered now. | imagined the entry. "He chose Chloe over me and our baby. Our baby is gone because of him. -50 points." The pen, in my mind, broke through the paper. Total: -125. No. The ledger stopped at 100. It was over long before this. This was just the brutal, bloody postscript. 100 points. It's over. | was discharged a few days later. Physically healing. ---- Emotionally... shattered. But with a strange, cold clarity. | went back to the apartment. Ethan wasn't there. He hadn't visited. Hadn't called. Good. | found the divorce papers my lawyer had couriered over before the accident. | spread them on the dining table My hand was steady as | signed my name. Ava Miller. Not Ava Cole. Never again. | found my old "Breaking Point Ledger" notebook, the physical one, from before | digitized it. | wrote the final entry, the one that mattered. "He chose Chloe over me and our baby. Our baby is gone because of him. -50 points. Total: 100. It's over." | placed the signed divorce papers on Ethan's desk in the home office. On top of them, | laid the ledger printout, and the notebook, open to the last page. Let him read it. Let him see. Let him live with what he'd done | packed my remaining bags. My flight to Austin was in three hours. | took one last look around the apartment. Chloe's painting still hung on the wall. Her photo still smiled from his desk. ---- Traces of him, of her, everywhere. Traces of a life that was never mine. | walked out. And | didn't look back.