10. Soren
SOREN
We check into a downtown hotel two miles from the house. The room is quiet and plain—one bed, a small veranda, heavy curtains drawn against the city lights.
I keep her pressed to my chest the whole night. The bruise on my cheek throbs. The cut on my knuckles is already drying and pulling tight every time I shift my hand against her back.
With all the stress of the day, I know how much Selena is hurting.
She tries to hide it at first. She presses her face into my shirt and holds the sound in as long as she can.
But the silence doesn’t last. Soft, broken sobs start shaking her shoulders.
She clutches the front of my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go.
I feel every tremor. I don’t push her to talk. I don’t tell her it’s going to be okay. I just stay still and let her take what she needs—my heat, my heartbeat, the solid weight of my arms around her.
After a long time the shaking slows. Her breathing evening out against my chest. She falls asleep like that, still holding onto me, her face damp and her body curled tight against mine.
I stay awake.
The room is dark except for the thin line of light under the bathroom door.
I stare at the ceiling and turn everything over again and again.
The look on Mom’s face when she walked into the kitchen.
The way Rick’s voice sounded when he told me to get out.
The blood on the floor near the flowers.
The sound of Selena’s voice when she said she chose me even while her father was ready to hit her.
It’s not only the family breaking apart. My business is on the line too. One wrong public move and everything I’ve built can turn into noise I never wanted—gossip, judgment, clients pulling back.
I already cancelled the public face of the company once for her. Now the cost is higher. The family knows. The extended family will know by morning. There is no clean version of this left.
I weigh every option in the dark until the numbers and the risks settle into something I can live with.
Keeping her. Claiming her. Building a life that doesn’t require us to hide.
The alternative—walking away, letting her go back to that house alone, pretending none of this happened—feels worse than any professional fallout.
I stay like that for a long time, one hand still moving slowly up and down her back, listening to her breathe, feeling the weight of what we just did settle fully into my bones.
I slip out of bed without waking her. The small veranda outside the room is cold. I stand there with my phone and call my PA.
He picks up on the second ring, voice still half-asleep. “Boss? It’s almost three. You need something?”
“I need you awake for this,” I say. “First, give me the status. How is the company holding after we pulled back from the public side?”
There’s a short pause. Papers rustle on his end. “It’s turned around. That decision not to go public worked. Numbers are up. Clients are responding better to the product focus. We’re solid. The company is doing well thanks to your brilliant mind, Sir.”
“Good.”
“I’ll send you an email about it. We’re running as a pure product- and results-driven entity now. PR is already shifted. Everything goes through the work, the numbers, case studies, and the hired spokespeople.”
“No need. But let’s stay with this route,” I tell him. My voice stays quiet and deliberate. “From now on, any residual rising visibility fades. No more interviews. No panels. No social-media personality content. I’ll be keeping a low profile from now on.”
There’s a short pause. He sounds confused. “May I ask why, sir?”
I wait a few seconds before answering. “I will settle now. I’m getting married.”
“Married?!” He sounds more awake.
“Yes. Announce the engagement tomorrow. Arrange everything. Ring, papers, whatever is needed. Invite the family. There aren’t many of them, so do it fast. I want it ready by morning.”
“To who?”
“You’ll know when the announcement goes out. Just get it done. Call me when the ring is ready to deliver.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll handle it.”
I hang up and go back inside. I slide into bed beside her again. This time sleep finally comes.
Morning light wakes me first. The mattress under her hips is damp. I sit up and freeze.
Blood.
A lot of it. Soaked through the sheets. Spreading under her.
“Selena?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Selena, wake up!”
Her face is pale. Too pale. I shake her shoulder. Nothing. I call her name harder.
“Selena, wake up and look at me.”
Still nothing. I press two fingers to her neck, then lean closer to feel for breath. There’s a heartbeat—slow, weak, barely there. Her breathing is the same. Shallow. Almost gone.
Fear hits fast and sharp. I scoop her up, wrap the sheet around her lower half, and carry her straight to the car. The hospital is ten minutes away. I break every speed limit on the way.
They take her from me the second we reach the ER. A nurse points me to a waiting chair. I don’t sit. I stand by the doors until a doctor finally comes out.
He’s older, calm, clipboard in hand. “Mr. Vale? You’re the one who brought her in?”
“Yes. How is she?”
“She’s stable for now, but it was close.
Threatened miscarriage. The bleeding was severe.
Heavy blood loss dropped her count to a dangerous level.
She needs a transfusion even though the baby’s heartbeat is still strong.
We also found untreated severe anemia which also contributed to her situation.
From the labs, it’s been going on a while. She never mentioned it to anyone?”
“No. She never said a word.” I stare at him, still trying to take it in. “The baby… the anemia… I never knew any of it.”
“Her blood type is rare. We’re having trouble locating a match in the bank right now. Do you know anyone in the family who might be compatible?”
The doctor’s voice fades for a second. The hallway noise disappears. All I can hear is the slow, weak beat of her pulse under my fingers from earlier and the way she wouldn’t open her eyes when I shook her.
The doctor keeps talking, but the words reach me in fragments.
Threatened miscarriage.
Severe blood loss.
Untreated anemia that has been going on for weeks, maybe longer.
Rare blood type.
Baby’s heartbeat still strong.
I stand there with her blood still drying on my shirt and try to process the fact that she has been carrying our child this entire time without telling me. That she has been sick, scared and silent.
I always knew she took the pills. Every single time. I never once thought there was a chance this could happen.
The guilt hits hard, followed by fear.
“Mr. Vale?”
I don’t answer.
“Mr. Vale, are you okay?” The doctor steps closer, voice firmer now. “I just asked you if you know anyone in the family who might be compatible. Her blood type is rare. We need a donor. ASAP.”
I blink hard and force myself back into the present.
I don’t hesitate. “Her father. Of course. I’ll call him.”
I step away and dial Rick. The call rings out. He doesn’t pick up. I dial again but still no answer.
I call Mom instead.
She answers on the third ring, but it takes her a few seconds to speak. I overhear voices on her end—our family members chatting with each other.
“Soren?”
“Mom, Selena’s in the hospital. Heavy bleeding. It was a threatened miscarriage. She needs a transfusion and her blood type is rare. Rick is the match. Tell him to come now. City General, third floor.”
A short silence. Then, quieter, “I’ll tell him. We’re on our way.”
She hangs up.
Rick and Mom arrive twenty minutes later. A few other family members show up with them—Aunt Lila, Uncle Martin, and Cousin Jenna. I guess they overheard enough on the phone and decided to come along.
They walk into the waiting area and see me standing there with blood still dried on my shirt and a dark bruise rising on my cheek. Their faces change in real time.
Aunt Lila is the first to speak. “Soren? What is this? Why are you here with Selena?”
Uncle Martin looks between me and the blood on my clothes, then at the closed doors of the treatment area. “What’s going on? Rick only said it was an emergency. No one said you were involved.”
Cousin Jenna’s eyes go wide. She takes a half-step closer, voice dropping. “Oh my God. Are you the guy she’s been trying to tell me about? Are you two…?”
I bow my head once. I don’t deny anything. I don’t explain. I’m too busy watching the doors for any update on her. The questions hang in the air unanswered.
Rick doesn’t say a word to me. He only looks at Mom. The look is clear enough. She understands.
Mom pulls the three of them a few steps away toward the far wall and starts explaining in a low, tired voice.
I can’t hear every word, but I catch enough—my name, Selena’s name, the kitchen, the month, the relationship. I stay where I am and watch it happen.
One by one their eyes turn back to me.
Aunt Lila’s expression hardens into something cold and disappointed. Uncle Martin’s jaw tightens; he looks at me like I’ve confirmed every bad thought he ever had about the stepson who never quite belonged. Jenna’s face is a mix of shock and secondhand embarrassment.
None of them say anything else. They just stare.
The judgment sits heavy in the small waiting area. No one asks if I’m all right. No one asks how Selena is doing beyond the medical facts. I am simply the problem that caused this.
I keep my eyes on the treatment doors and let the silence do what it wants.
Rick goes in for the transfusion without looking at me. Mom stays outside, arms wrapped around herself, eyes red.
We wait. Rick comes out of the room right after he’s finished.
After a while, the doctors come out of the room. One of them looks at our whole group.
“She’s stable. The bleeding is under control. The baby’s heartbeat is strong. She just needs to wake up. You can go in now.”
Everyone sighs in relief and moves inside at once.