Instead, my husband Connor stepped inside.
He looked perfectly put together in a gray suit, like he was heading into a business meeting instead of visiting his wife after she had just given birth.
Behind him was Sabrina.
His assistant.
Or rather, the woman I had suspected for months was more than that.
Sabrina walked in slowly, as if she already belonged there. She didn’t look at the empty bassinets beside the bed. She didn’t ask about the babies.
She looked straight at me.
Connor moved closer and dropped a folder onto my hospital bed.
The papers slid across the blanket and brushed against the IV line in my arm.
“Sign the divorce,” he said.
For a second, I thought I had heard him wrong.
“What?” My voice came out weak and hoarse.
“I’m finished,” he said casually. “You’re not the woman I married anymore.”
My chest tightened.
“Connor,” I whispered, “I just gave birth. Our babies are still fighting in the nursery.”
He let out a sharp laugh.
“Exactly. Three of them. Look at you.”
His gaze swept over my pale face, my hospital gown, the tubes attached to me.
“I’m not dragging this out,” he continued. “You’ll get support. Be grateful.”
Sabrina stepped closer to the bed. Her manicured hand rested lightly on the metal rail.
“This will be simpler for everyone,” she said softly, though a trace of superiority lingered beneath the sweetness.
My hands began to tremble.
The room suddenly felt cold.
I reached for the call button beside my pillow.
Within seconds, a nurse walked in.
Her eyes quickly moved between the three of us, sensing the tension right away.
Connor’s entire demeanor shifted.
His shoulders relaxed. His voice turned smooth and polite.
“We’re just handling some paperwork,” he said with a friendly smile.
The nurse looked at me closely.
I forced a small nod.
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