“Marcus… help me… they left me… our baby…”
For a moment, there was only the sound of wind on the other end of the line. Then everything went quiet.
Too quiet.
“Elena,” he said, and his voice had changed completely. Gone was the gentle, joking tone he always used with me. What remained was something sharp. Focused. Commanding. “Are you bleeding?”
“Yes… I think… I think something’s wrong…”
“Stay awake,” he said immediately. “Put the phone on speaker. I’m coming.”
The call ended.
I didn’t understand what he meant.
He was supposed to be abroad.
Hundreds of miles away.
Pain slammed into me again, ripping a scream from my throat. I curled on the kitchen floor, clutching my stomach, praying our baby would survive.
Minutes passed.
Or seconds.
Time dissolved into agony.
Then I heard it.
At first faint.
A distant rhythmic thunder.
Whump… whump… whump…
The windows rattled.
The glasses in the cabinet vibrated.
The sound grew louder until it swallowed the entire house.
A helicopter.
Bright white light flooded through the kitchen windows, turning night into day. Wind howled outside, scattering leaves and dust across the backyard.
Then voices.
Running footsteps.
The back door burst open.
“Ma’am! Stay with us!”
Men in medical uniforms rushed toward me, dropping beside me with practiced urgency.
One cut through my dress with scissors.
Another checked my pulse.
A third placed an oxygen mask over my face.
I stared at them, disoriented.
“How… how did you—”
“Emergency air transport,” one paramedic said quickly. “Your husband called it in.”
My husband.
Marcus.
They lifted me onto a stretcher and rushed me outside.
And that’s when I saw it.
A massive black helicopter crouched in the backyard like something out of a movie, its blades slicing the air violently.
Neighbors were already outside, watching in shock.
Phones raised.
Whispers spreading.
As they loaded me inside, someone climbed in after me.
I turned my head weakly.
Marcus.
His hair was wind-tossed. Shirt half untucked. Eyes filled with panic.
“I’ve got you,” he said, gripping my hand tightly. “You’re safe now.”
Tears streamed down my temples.
“You came…”
“I will always come,” he whispered.
The Truth No One Told Them
The flight to the hospital was a blur of lights, voices, and pain.
Doctors swarmed the moment we landed.
“Placental abruption — prep OR!”
Bright lights swallowed everything.
Then darkness.
Two Hours Later
I woke to a soft beeping sound.
For a moment, I didn’t remember where I was.
Then I heard it.
A tiny cry.
My heart stopped.
A nurse smiled gently. “Congratulations. You have a son.”
Relief crashed through me so hard I sobbed.
Marcus appeared beside the bed moments later, eyes red like he hadn’t slept in days.
“He’s perfect,” he said quietly.
I reached for his hand.
“Thank you for coming.”
His jaw tightened.
“I wasn’t going to let you die on a kitchen floor,” he said.
Only then did I realize something.
He wasn’t just scared.
He was furious.
Meanwhile — At The Restaurant
Across the city, my parents and sister sat under golden chandeliers at L’Obsidian, sipping champagne and laughing.
My mother bragged to anyone who would listen about Victor’s new contract.
My father checked his Rolex again, satisfied.
Then the restaurant manager approached.
“Mr. and Mrs. Carter?” he asked politely.
“Yes?” my mother replied.
“There are officers here to see you.”
Confusion flickered.
Two uniformed police officers stepped forward.
The entire restaurant fell silent.
“Linda Carter,” one officer said calmly, “we need you to come with us regarding a medical emergency involving your daughter.”
My mother scoffed nervously. “She’s dramatic—”
The officer continued.
“That helicopter?” he said. “It was dispatched under the authority of Mr. Marcus Hale.”
My father froze.
“…Hale?” he whispered.
The officer nodded.
“Yes. Chairman Marcus Hale.”
Recognition spread like wildfire through the restaurant.
Because everyone knew that name.
Marcus Hale wasn’t a “failed designer.”
He was a billionaire investor.
Owner of multiple companies.
One of the most powerful men in the city.
And they had just abandoned his wife to die on a kitchen floor.
Final Scene
Back in the hospital room, Marcus sat beside me holding our newborn son carefully.
I watched him — the man my family mocked for years.
The man they called useless.
And I finally understood why he never corrected them.
Power doesn’t argue.
It waits.
Then he leaned down and kissed my forehead gently.
“They’ll never hurt you again,” he said.
And for the first time in my life…
I believed him.