I Raised My Husband's Love Child...Then He Shot Me

Chapter 4

Rachel's POV

"Don't think acting all pitiful is gonna make me let you stay and be my stepmom!"

"If you've got the guts to leave, then don't ever come back!"

His words hit harder than the arrow that followed. Fueled by resentment, the arrow sliced through the air—straight at me.

I barely dodged, but it grazed my shoulder. Pain exploded as the sharp tip lodged into my flesh, and a scream tore from my throat.

Michael was at my side instantly, holding me as I clutched my bleeding shoulder, teeth gritted.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," he choked out.

Before I could respond, chaos erupted behind us. Susan screamed, followed by Ivan's voice shouting dramatically, "Papa! Auntie Susan twisted her ankle trying to help that witch!"

Michael froze. His eyes flicked between Susan's 'injury' and me. Then he let out a deep sigh and released me.

"It's a clean wound. Rachel, head to the hospital—I'll meet you there," he said quickly. "Susan can't walk. I need to take her."

Not a single flicker of regret on his face.

I said nothing. Just sat there in a growing pool of my own blood, watching—again—as Michael walked away from me.

He carried Susan bridal-style. She threw me a smug, triumphant look as they drove off with Ivan.

Left behind, bleeding from an arrow shot by a child I had raised, loved, and taught to shoot.

Fate really is a bitch.

I was still struggling to get up when footsteps approached from behind.

"You shameless girl! Why are you still here? Didn't you already tell the whole city you were leaving?"

I knew that voice. Maria—Michael's mother. She'd hated me from day one.

When she caught sight of the blood soaking through my sleeve, she gasped, but it wasn't out of concern.

"Trying to make this look like my son's fault? What are you doing bleeding in our driveway? You wanna die, go die somewhere else!" she snapped.

I met her gaze and said evenly, "I was leaving. But your grandson shot me."

She scoffed, "Oh, please. Probably scratched yourself for attention. Trying to guilt Michael into begging you to stay? Pathetic. You made your choice. You don't belong here anymore."

"I don't want anything from you or your family, Maria. But your grandson hurt me," I snapped back.

"And yet you're still here," she hissed.

Without another word, she grabbed my boxes and tossed them outside like trash.

"Go! Leave! Die out there for all I care—just stay away from my son!"

I staggered, clutching my shoulder as I stumbled to my knees on the pavement.

"You'll all regret this," I swore, eyes burning with fury.

Just then, my Uber pulled up.

"Sorry for the delay, Miss," the driver said.

"It's fine," I muttered, climbing in.

He gave me a concerned look. "You still heading to the airport?"

I shook my head. "Hospital first."

I leaned back in the seat, exhausted. My eyes closed, and everything went black.

When I came to, the steady beep of an EKG machine filled the room. I was in a hospital bed. My shoulder throbbed. I spotted my suitcases nearby.

The door opened. A doctor stepped in.

"Miss Rachel, how are you feeling?" he asked.

I groaned. "Last I remember, I was in a cab."

"You passed out before reaching the hospital. The driver brought you in. Good thing he did—you lost a lot of blood."

I nodded, too tired to say much. I picked up my phone—missed my flight, obviously. One text message blinked on the screen.

I quickly replied:

Something came up. Reschedule my flight ASAP.

"Miss Rachel?" the doctor prompted again.

I looked up. "Yes?"

"You're stable now. Once we finish the paperwork, you'll be cleared to leave."

"Perfect," I replied, mechanically.

After he left, I stood slowly, grabbing my bags. No missed calls. Not even a text from Michael. His son shot me, and he couldn't even check if I was alive.

The door swung open again. And there she was.

Susan.

I rolled my eyes. "What do you want? Didn't you twist your ankle?"

She giggled. "Oh, that? Please. I just wanted to see what Michael would do if both of us were in trouble. And guess what? He picked me. Isn't that romantic?"

I scoffed, reaching for the handle of my suitcase. "Enjoy it while it lasts. I'm done."

But she stepped in front of me, a smug little smile on her face.

"Before you go… there's something you should know," she said sweetly. "I'm pregnant—with Michael's baby."

The words dropped like a bomb. Everything went still.

My heart didn't just break—it crumbled.

Eight years. Eight long years by Michael's side. Loyal. Loving. Waiting.

And the whole time, he made sure I took birth control after every time he used me.

Because he did want another child.

Just… not with me.