He Saved His Mistress, Not His Wife

“I was trapped under a massive oak bookcase, my leg shattered, dust filling my lungs. My husband, Dante, the Underboss of the Chicago Outfit, finally found me. But just as he lifted the heavy beam to free me, his earpiece crackled. It was news about Sofia, his childhood friend and the woman he truly loved. "She scratched her arm on the car door, Boss. She's hyperventilating. She won't board the jet without you." Dante froze. He looked at me, bleeding on the floor, secretly ten weeks pregnant with his child. Then he looked at the door. "It's just a broken leg, Elena," he said coldly, slowly lowering the crushing weight back onto me. "You are a doctor. You know it's not fatal. Sofia needs me." He ran to comfort a woman with a papercut, leaving his wife and unborn child to be buried alive in the rubble. I miscarried alone in the dark, tracing the number of a divorce lawyer on the floorboards in my own blood. Three days later, while he was peeling grapes for Sofia in a VIP hospital suite, I packed my medical degree and a single gym bag. I didn't go to a hotel. I boarded a military cargo plane to a war zone in South Sudan. By the time the Ice Prince realized his castle was empty, I was already thousands of miles away, and I wasn't coming back.”