Chapter 4Raising My Husbands Mistresss Son

My temporary address was leaked within forty-eight hours.

Threatening letters were shoved under my door. Red paint was splashed across the entrance. Dead animals were left on my mat.

I stayed inside, shivering, until a phone call from Benedict broke the silence.

“Michelle, get to the hospital. There’s been an accident. It’s Toby.”

I didn't think. I didn't care about the betrayal or the paint. He was my son.

I ran through a gauntlet of protesters outside my building. They threw eggs and rotten vegetables at me. One man spat on my coat. I didn't stop until I reached the ER.

Benedict and Callie were both there. Callie was hysterical, clutching a doctor’s arm. “Please, he’s so small! Save him!”

The doctor looked around. “Who is the mother? There was a crash, and he’s lost a lot of blood. The blood bank is low on his type. We need a direct transfusion now.”

I stepped forward, rolling up my sleeve despite my shaking hands. “I am. Take mine.”

Callie’s eyes flickered toward me, a strange, unreadable expression on her face.

The nurse worked quickly. But a few minutes later, the doctor came back, his brow furrowed as he looked at a lab report. He looked at me, then at Benedict, his face hardening into a mask of professional disapproval.

“Are you people playing games? Life and death is on the line here.”

He tapped the chart. “The husband is Type B. The wife is Type O. It is biologically impossible for you two to produce a child with Type AB blood.”

The world stopped spinning. I stared at the paper, the letters blurring into meaningless shapes.

Suddenly, Callie shoved me aside. “I’m the mother! Take mine!”

The doctor looked confused for a second, then nodded and ushered her into the back.

I stood in the sterile, white hallway, the silence screaming in my ears. If Toby was Callie’s son... then where was mine?

Benedict stood there, his jaw tight. “Michelle, I can explain later...”

“Where is my baby, Benedict?” I whispered.

He swallowed hard. “He... he didn't make it. He died right after the birth. His heart just stopped. I knew you were fragile, I knew you couldn't handle the grief... so I took Callie’s baby. She had given birth prematurely the same night. I thought it was for the best. I thought it would help you heal.”

“But that doesn't matter right now!” he added, his voice rising. “What matters is Toby!”

I felt my knees give out. I grabbed a chair to keep from falling. I looked at the man I had loved and felt absolutely nothing but a vast, icy void.

I finally understood why Toby hated me. Why he bonded only with Callie. It wasn't "autism." It was instinct. It was blood.

I had raised another woman’s child for five years while my own son was a shadow in a grave I didn't even know existed.

I turned and walked away. I didn't look back at the operating room. I didn't look back at Benedict.

I called my lawyer as I stepped into the cold night air.

“Everything is ready,” the lawyer said. “We have the original files.”

“Good,” I said, my voice as cold as a winter grave. “I don’t want custody anymore. Send the photos. Send the chat logs. Send everything. I want them destroyed.”