His Merciless Redemption novel Chapter 138

Chapter 138

Dominic’s POV

I followed the doctor down the corridor on legs that didn’t feel like mine.

Everything around me was sterile white, bright, and too clean.

My shirt was still stained with Alessia’s blood.

The doctor stopped outside a small consultation room and gestured for me to sit.

I didn’t.

“Tell me,” I said.

His expression was the kind doctors used when there was no good version of what they were about to say.

“I’m very sorry,” he began.

The words hit before the meaning did.

“The fall caused severe trauma. There was significant internal bleeding. We performed an ultrasound immediately.”

He paused.

“The fetus no longer has a heartbeat.”

The world didn’t explode.

It didn’t collapse.

It just… hollowed out.

“What?” I heard myself say.

“It was a fatal injury. The pregnancy cannot continue.”

I stared at him.

Fatal.

The word echoed.

My child.

Dead.

There was a strange, cruel clarity to the moment.

प

I hadn’t even held that baby, hadn’t planned for it, hadn’t known about it until weeks ago.

But it was mine.

And now it wasn’t.

“She had lost a significant amount of blood,” the doctor continued. “We’ve stabilized her for now, but she’ll require a blood transfusion. She’s unconscious.”

My chest tightened.

“And the baby?” I asked, even though I already knew.

“We’ll need to perform a Dilation and Evacuation procedure,” he said carefully.

“It’s a surgical procedure. Because the fetus has passed, we must remove the remaining pregnancy tissue to prevent infection or further complications. We’ll dilate the cervix and remove the tissue using surgical instruments. It’s necessary for her safety.”

My mind struggled to process it.

Remove the tissue. Necessary. Safe.

This was medical language.

Clinical. Detached. Efficient.

But all I could think was that that was my child.

My child that I didn’t even get a chance to meet.

“I need your consent,” the doctor said quietly. “She’s unconscious and we can’t delay.”

He slid the clipboard towards me.

The pen felt heavy in

felt heavy in my hand.

I signed.

My signature looked unfamiliar, like it belonged to someone else entirely.

The doctor gave me a brief nod. “We’ll take care of her.”

When he left the room, I didn’t move.

I leaned both hands on the table and bowed my head.

I had lost a child.

The irony of it crushed me.

Chapter 138

Years ago, I had told Isabella to get rid of Mateo.

God.

The memory came back in vicious clarity.

My anger. My fear. My stupidity.

I hadn’t wanted it at the time.

I had said that to her.

To the woman I loved.

To the child who would become the center of my world.

What kind of a man says that?

What kind of a man thinks that way?

And now I had lost a child without even choosing it.

Was this punishment?

The thought lodged in my chest and wouldn’t move.

You didn’t deserve another chance. You didn’t deserve that baby.

I dragged a hand down my face and forced myself upright.

This wasn’t about me spiraling.

Alessia was unconscious.

She had carried that child.

She would wake up to an emptiness I couldn’t fix.

And her parents-

God.

Her parents.

They had helped me when I was drowning in grief five years ago. When I thought Isabella was dead. They stood beside me.

And this was how I repaid them?

By getting their daughter pregnant.

By having her fall in my home.

By losing their grandchild under my roof.

I pulled my phone out.

My hand trembled slightly as I dialed.

Her father answered on the third ring.

“Dominic?” His voice was warm, trusting.

My throat closed.

“There’s been an accident,” I said, barely managing to get the words out.

Silence.

“What kind of accident?”

“She fell. Down the stairs.”

Another silence.

“And the baby?”

I swallowed.

“The baby didn’t survive.”

The air left the other end of the line in a broken exhale. “Oh God.” His voice cracked.

“We’re coming,” he said immediately. “We’ll be on the first flight.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I meant it in a way I had never meant anything before.

He didn’t answer that. He just hung up.

I stood there for a moment longer, trying to hold myself together.

Then I walked back down the hallway.

Isabella was sitting outside the emergency doors, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

She stood the second she saw me.

Her eyes searched my face.

And I knew she saw it.

The answer.

“What happened?” she whispered.

I couldn’t speak for a second.

Then I forced the words out. “The baby didn’t make it.”

Her face crumpled. I knew somewhere we had both known that that was what the doctor was going to say. But it did nothing to lessen the impact.

She covered her mouth.

“No…”

“They have to perform a procedure,” I said, my voice sounding distant to my own ears. “To remove…everything. She lost too much blood. They’re giving her transfusions.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she listened. She didn’t hesitate. She stepped into me, her arms coming around to hold me.

And I broke down.

I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her hair.

“I lost my child,” I said hoarsely.

The words felt unreal, unfair.

“I know,” she whispered.

I clutched her tighter.

“I told you to get rid of Mateo,” I said suddenly, the guilt tearing through me. “I said those words. And now—”

She pulled back just enough to look at me.

“This isn’t karma,” she said firmly, even through tears. “Don’t do that to yourself.”

“I didn’t deserve-”

“Stop,” she said.

Her hand came to my face. “You didn’t deserve this either.”

For a moment, we just stood there.

Two people who had once destroyed each other, now grieving something neither of us expected to feel this deeply.

“I’m scared for her,” I admitted quietly. “Physically. And mentally. Losing a child….”

“I know,” Isabella said softly.

There was no jealousy in her voice, only empathy.

And that made the grief sharper somehow.

We sat down together, side by side, our shoulders touching.

And we waited.

For the first time in a long time, the war between us felt suspended, replaced by something heavier.

Shared loss.

Shared humanity.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

The surgery doors remained closed.

And I realized something with devastating clarity, no matter how complicated our lives had become, pain was simple.

And today, we were both drowning in it.

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