Love Too Late, Ashes Too Soon

Chapter 1

At eight months pregnant, my husband Frank locked me in an industrial steamer after his mistress Jennifer falsely accused me of burning her, all while our unborn child kicked desperately inside me.

"You really thought you could use her miscarriage to mistreat Jennifer?" he growled. "I'll make sure you learn your lesson."

I screamed for mercy in the blistering steam, begging him to stop, for the sake of our unborn child. I promised I wouldn't fight Jennifer for his attention ever again.

But he just sneered. "Quit playing the victim. I've done my research, some stress before birth actually makes the baby healthier."

"Relax," he added coldly. "I'm not divorcing you. But every ounce of pain you made Jennifer feel, I'll make you pay back a thousand times."

To scare me, he cranked the heat to maximum.

The searing heat triggered early contractions. I felt my baby come, his cries echoed faintly through the walls. My baby was born.

I begged them to at least take the baby out. But Frank waved me off, thinking I was still pretending.

"Lock the damn thing. No one opens that steamer unless I say so."

That evening, while spoon-feeding Jennifer, Frank frowned. "Autumn still won't admit she was wrong? How long does she think she can keep up this act? Who's going to take care of Jennifer if she stays stubborn?"

"Tell her I'll give her one chance: if she kneels, kowtows, and apologizes to Jennifer, and cooks all her meals for a week, I'll let her go to the hospital."

His men glanced at each other, pale and speechless.

A while later, one of them returned, visibly shaken. "Mr. Foster… your wife… she's not responding. It's been over an hour. We called out, no answer."

Frank rolled his eyes. "She's faking. She knows she can't use the baby to manipulate me, so now she's pretending to be dead."

He stood up and added coldly, "These new machines are smart. They auto shut off if something's wrong. She'll be fine. She's not that fragile."

No one dared to argue.

Frank returned to the bedroom with dinner in hand.

Jennifer was lounging on my side of the bed in my pajamas, scrolling on her phone, smiling sweetly to herself.

Frank's eyes softened. "What are you looking at, babe? You look happy." He fed her a spoonful of chicken soup. "You need to get your strength back, I can't stop worrying about you."

Jennifer let out a nervous laugh, then snuggled into his chest, tears welling up in her eyes.

"My friend told me to leave you. Said I deserved better after everything. But I couldn't. You've been so good to me, how could I ever walk away?"

She sniffled. "Back when you were drugged, I knew I shouldn't have touched you. I just wanted to give you a child and disappear, never disturb your life. But I lost the baby. And if I lose you too… I won't survive it."

"I know I'm selfish," she cried. "So even if Autumn stabs me next time, I won't complain. I'll take whatever she throws at me, as long as you don't send me away."

Frank's face darkened with guilt and anger. He kissed her forehead. "Jennifer, you're too softhearted. That's why Autumn dared to bully you. You've given me everything. You're my savior, my true love. I don't care if she's pregnant or my wife, she has no right to hurt you."

Jennifer's eyes flickered with something unreadable. Then she blushed and whispered, "Actually… the burn wasn't just on my thigh. But I didn't want the doctor to see me like that…"

Desire flared in Frank's eyes. "Then let me check myself… see if my Jennifer is still all pink and tender."

He pounced on her.

Jennifer giggled and moaned, wearing the custom-designed couple's pajamas Frank had made for me on our wedding night. On the Egyptian cotton sheets I had picked with so much care… they made love.

At the height of it, Frank yanked her leg, knocking over the photo frame on the nightstand. It was a picture taken outside the courthouse the day we got our marriage license. A stranger had captured the moment, two people grinning like fools in love.

Now, the glass was cracked, splitting our faces apart.

A broken mirror can't be mended. But just a few months ago, I had still been foolish enough to believe that if I gave birth to our child, maybe, just maybe, he'd come back to us.

But there was no "us" anymore.

Because I was already dead.