Rise of the Formidable Ex-wife (Lucia and Alex) novel Chapter 175

Chapter 175

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Chapter 175

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Margaret lay in the hospital bed, staring at the ceiling tiles. She’d counted them seventeen times since waking up. Thirty-six tiles in total. Each one with tiny holes that looked like they were screaming. Or maybe that was just her mind projecting the screams trapped in her own throat onto everything she looked at.

The room smelled like antiseptic and something else. Something metallic and wrong. Blood. Her blood. Her baby’s blood. All mixed together on that marble floor that would probably never come clean no matter how much Marco scrubbed it.

Her hand rested on her flat stomach. Empty. The word echoed in her head over and over. Empty. Empty. Empty.

A knock on the door made her flinch. She didn’t want visitors. Didn’t want sympathy or platitudes or people telling her everything happens for a reason. But the door opened anyway.

Vanessa stepped inside, her face carefully arranged into an expression of concern. She carried a small bouquet of flowers. Yellow roses. Margaret had always hated yellow roses.

“Oh honey.” Vanessa set the flowers on the bedside table and moved to hug Margaret. “I came as soon as I heard. I’m so sorry.”

Margaret didn’t hug back. Her arms stayed limp at her sides, her body rigid. Vanessa pulled away, hurt flickering across her face before she masked it.

“How are you feeling?” Vanessa pulled a chair closer to the bed, sitting down with a rustle of expensive fabric.

“How do you think I’m feeling?” Margaret’s voice came out flat. Dead. “My baby is gone.”

“I know. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“No. You can’t.” Margaret finally turned her head to look at her friend. “You have three healthy children at home. You have no idea what this feels like.”

Vanessa’s mouth tightened but she nodded. “You’re right. I don’t. But I’m here for you anyway.”

Margaret laughed but it came out harsh and broken. “Everyone’s here for me. Everyone’s sorry. Everyone has sympathy. But none of it brings my baby back.”

“Margaret…”

“It’s her fault.” The words burst out before Margaret could stop them. “Lucia and those brats of hers. They killed

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my

baby.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened. “Margaret, that’s not…”

“It is!” Margaret’s voice rose, cracking with emotion. “If they hadn’t made that video, if they hadn’t destroyed everything, Marco and I wouldn’t have been fighting. He wouldn’t have pushed me. My baby would still be alive.”

“You can’t blame them for this.” Vanessa leaned forward, her voice urgent. “What happened was a tragedy, but it wasn’t Lucia’s fault.”

“How can you say that?” Margaret pushed herself up in the bed, ignoring the pull of her stitches. “She turned Marco’s children against him. She poisoned their minds. She made them go on television and call us abusers. Everything that’s happened is because of her.”

Vanessa’s face hardened. “Margaret, stop. Just stop. You need to hear this even if you don’t want to. You started this war when you stole Marco from Lucia.”

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The words hit like a slap. Margaret’s face flushed red. “I didn’t steal him.”

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“Yes, you did.” Vanessa’s voice came firm. “You had an affair with a married man. You helped him destroy his family. And now you’re trying to blame his ex-wife for the consequences of your own choices.”

“Marco was never hers!” Margaret’s hands curled into fists in the hospital sheets. “He told me their marriage was dead long before I came along. He told me she didn’t understand him. He told me he needed someone who actually loved him.”

“And you believed him?” Vanessa’s tone came sharp with disbelief. “Margaret, that’s what every cheating husband tells his mistress. You know that.”

“Don’t call me that.” Margaret’s voice dropped to something dangerous. “I’m not a mistress. I’m his wife.”

“Now you are. But you weren’t when you started sleeping with him.” Vanessa didn’t back down despite the fury building in Margaret’s eyes. “You destroyed a family. And those children, they had every right to tell the truth about what happened to them in that house.”

“They lied! They made us sound like monsters!”

“Did they lie about you throwing away Monica’s artwork?” Vanessa’s question came quiet but cutting. “Did they lie about you slapping Ria? Did they lie about Marco hitting Lucas?”

Margaret’s mouth opened but no words came out. Because they hadn’t lied. Not really. Maybe they’d exaggerated. Maybe they’d made things sound worse than they were. But the core of what they’d said was true.

“I tried.” Margaret’s voice broke. “I tried so hard to be a good stepmother to them. But they hated me from the first day.”

“Because you were the woman who broke up their parents’ marriage.” Vanessa spoke gently now. “What did you expect? That they’d welcome you with open arms?”

“I expected them to give me a chance!” ‘Tears were streaming down Margaret’s face now. “I expected Marco to stand up for me instead of letting them treat me like garbage! I expected to build a family!”

“You can’t build a family on the ruins of another one.” Vanessa reached out and took Margaret’s hand. “And you certainly can’t blame Lucia for the mess you helped create.”

Margaret yanked her hand away. “You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to have everything you worked for destroyed. To lose the one thing that was supposed to make it all worthwhile.”

“I know you’re grieving. I know you’re in pain. But Margaret, listen to me. Vanessa’s voice came urgent. “You need to let this go. Blaming Lucia won’t bring your baby back. Planning revenge won’t ease your pain. It will only make everything worse.”

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“I’m going to make her feel what I feel.” Margaret’s whisper came cold and determined. “I’m going to make Lucia understand what it’s like to lose everything. To watch your dreams die. To hold nothing in your arms where a child should be.”

“Margaret, don’t do this.” Vanessa’s face went pale. “Don’t go down that road. It will destroy you.”

“I’m already destroyed!” Margaret’s scream echoed off the hospital walls. “My baby is dead! What more can anyone take from me?”

“Your freedom. Your sanity. Your soul.” Vanessa stood up, her hands shaking. “If you try to hurt Lucia or her children, you will end up in prison. Or worse. Please, Margaret. Don’t go to extremes over this.”

“Get out. Margaret turned her face away. “If you’re not going to support me, get out.”

“Margaret…”

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said get out!”

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The door opened before Vanessa could respond. Marco walked in carrying a basket of fruit, his face haggard and drawn. He stopped when he saw the two women, tension crackling in the air between them.

“Am I interrupting?” His voice came cautious.

“No.” Vanessa grabbed her purse. “I was just leaving.” She turned to Marco, her expression serious. “Watch over her. Please. She’s talking about doing things that will destroy her. Don’t let her ruin what’s left of her life.”

Marco looked between them, confusion and worry warring on his face. “What things?”

“Ask her.” Vanessa moved toward the door. “And Marco? Maybe it’s time you both started taking responsibility for your own choices instead of blaming everyone else.”

She left, the door clicking shut behind her. The silence in the room felt heavy and suffocating.

Marco set the fruit basket on the counter and moved closer to the bed. “What was that about?”

“Nothing.” Margaret’s jaw clenched. “She doesn’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

“That we can’t just let this go. We can’t just accept that our baby is dead and move on like nothing happened.”

Marco pulled the chair closer and sat down. He looked older than he had a week ago. Gray and tired and broken. “Margaret, we have to let it go. We have to heal and move forward.”

“How can you say that?” She turned to stare at him. “How can you even think about moving forward?”

“Because holding onto anger won’t bring the baby back.” His voice came soft. Defeated. “And we can have another child. When you’ve healed. When we’ve both had time to grieve properly. We can try again.”

Margaret felt something snap inside her chest. “Try again? You think I can just replace the baby we lost like it was a broken dish?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“That baby was mine!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “I had plans for that child! I was going to be the kind of mother my own mother never was! I was going to prove that I could build a real family! And now that’s all gone!”

“Margaret, please calm down…”

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“Don’t tell me to calm down!” She pushed herself further up in the bed, her face twisted with rage and grief. “You did this! You shoved me! You killed our baby!”

Marco’s face went white. “It was an accident. I never meant…”

“But you did it! Your hands pushed me! Your anger made me fall! And now our baby is dead because of you!” Margaret pointed at the door with a shaking finger. “Get out. Get out of my room. I can’t stand to look at you.”

“Margaret…”

“Get out!” She grabbed the water glass from her bedside table and hurled it at him. Marco ducked and it shattered against the wall, water and ice spraying across the floor. “Get out or I’ll scream until security drags you out!”

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Marco stood slowly, his hands raised in surrender. “I’ll go. But Margaret, we need to talk about this. We need to work through it together.”

“There is no together anymore Margaret’s voice came cold. Final. “There’s just me and my grief and the people who caused it. Now leave.”

Marco walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. “I’m sorry. For everything.”

Margaret didn’t respond. She just turned her face away, staring at the wall until she heard the door close. Then she was alone again with the silence and the empty space where her baby should have been.

Her phone sat on the bedside table. She picked it up with trembling hands and opened social media. It didn’t take long to find Ria’s account. Public, of course. These kids had no sense of privacy or danger.

Margaret scrolled through photo after photo. Ria laughing with her siblings. Ria at a art show. Ria with Lucia and Alexander, all of them looking happy and whole and completely untouched by the destruction they’d caused.

Then she found the videos. Short clips of family dinners. Of Lucas throwing a football. Of Monica painting. Of all of them together, talking and laughing and living the life that should have been Margaret’s.

“Why should they be happy?” Margaret whispered to the empty room. “Why should they get to laugh and smile when I’m here alone with nothing?”

Her hand moved to her stomach. Empty. So empty. The baby that should have been growing there was gone. The nursery she’d prepared would never be used. The dreams she’d built were shattered like glass on marble.

“They should go through what I’m going through.” The words came out soft but deadly serious. “They should know what it feels like to lose everything. To have their happiness ripped away.”

Margaret’s free hand stayed on her flat stomach, fingers splayed across where her child had been. Where life had started and ended before it really began.

And then, without meaning to, she started humming. A lullaby her own mother had sung to her when she was small. The only gentle memory she had of a childhood otherwise filled with criticism and coldness.

The humming turned to words, soft and broken and completely insane. Singing a lullaby to an empty stomach. To a baby who would never hear it. To dreams that would never come true.

Tears streamed down her face as she sang. Her voice cracked and broke but she kept going, kept singing to the chiki who wasn’t there. Kept rocking slightly in the hospital bed like she was cradling an infant instead of emptiness.

On her phone screen, Ria’s family smiled and laughed and lived their perfect lives.

And Margaret sang to her dead baby and planned her revenge.

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