My Water Broke During His Ex's Hostage Crisis

Chapter 4

The moment my mother-in-law staggered out of the maternity ward, her wrinkled hands were trembling uncontrollably.

I watched her hunched figure disappear down the hallway, and it was only then that I realized my surgical wound had started bleeding again.

When the nurse came in to change the dressing, I clenched my teeth and stayed silent.

As the gauze peeled away, the jagged incision still oozed blood—a grotesque reflection of my shattered marriage.

Later that night, the door to my hospital room burst open.

My father stormed in, his face flushed with rage, and shoved his phone screen inches from my face.

"Have you lost your mind? The whole family knows you're filing for divorce!"

It hit me then—the afternoon's chaos.

Messages from Gavin's relatives and friends had flooded my phone, buzzing relentlessly. So I did what seemed right in the moment: I copied the format of Gavin's mass-distributed plea for help and sent my own declaration—divorce, effective immediately.

"Gavin's life is on the line in some battlefield, and you're divorcing him?"

My father kicked the bed rail with such force the whole frame rattled.

"How did I raise such a heartless daughter?"

The violent jolt startled Jessica awake in her bassinet.

Her cries pierced through the room, but nothing stung more than my father's next words.

"If your mother were alive to see this—"

"Don't you dare mention her!"

I shot up in bed, the pain in my abdomen sharp and immediate.

"Who forced her to keep trying for a son? Who remarried before her grave was even cold?"

My father's face drained of color.

Nothing terrified him more than the past—just like how Gavin couldn't stand anyone mentioning Jennifer, his war correspondent ex.

Jessica's wails grew louder, but my father was fixated only on the humiliation I had brought him.

He didn't leave until a nurse intervened, not sparing a glance at his granddaughter.

I gathered my crying daughter into my arms, her tiny body trembling against mine.

In that moment, it hit me hard: some men never learn to appreciate what's right in front of them.

My father. Gavin.

Outside, the night stretched like spilled ink, dark and endless.

I rocked Jessica gently until her sobs quieted and her breathing evened out in sleep.

This new life of hers would never know her father was halfway across the world, playing hero for another woman.

But none of that mattered.

From now on, our story wouldn't include men like him.