I left the hospital the next morning with discharge papers, a prescription for pain medication, and a hollowness that no pill could fill. The doctor had explained that physically, I would recover quickly. Emotionally was another matter entirely.

Ethan had disappeared after our conversation, leaving only his business card on my bedside table. Dr. Ethan Reed, Cardiothoracic Surgeon. I slipped it into my purse without really knowing why.


I took a cab directly to the law offices of Winters & Associates. Janet Winters had been my classmate at Columbia before I dropped out to “find myself.” She’d gone on to become one of the city’s most formidable divorce attorneys.

“Isabella,” Janet said, rising from behind her desk when her assistant showed me in. Her professional smile faltered when she saw my face. “My God, what happened?”

“I need a divorce,” I said, sinking into the chair across from her. “As quickly and cleanly as possible.”


Two hours later, I left her office with preliminary divorce papers and a strategy. Janet had been efficient and ruthless, exactly what I needed. The prenup Ryan had insisted on—to “protect us both,” he’d claimed—would now work primarily in my favor. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

Back at our apartment, I packed methodically, taking only what was truly mine. Clothes, a few books, my laptop. I left the wedding photos, the gifts from Ryan, the life we’d built on lies. As I was zipping my final suitcase, I heard the front door open.


“Bella?” Ryan’s voice called out. “Are you home? I’ve been trying to reach you all day.”

I stepped into the hallway, suitcases beside me. His eyes widened.

“What’s going on? Where were you last night?” he asked, then noticed the hospital bracelet still on my wrist. “Were you in the hospital? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Why would I?” My voice was eerily calm. “You were busy with Victoria at the Archer Hotel, room 1412.”

The color drained from his face. “Bella, I can explain—”

“Don’t bother.” I handed him the divorce papers. “I was pregnant, Ryan. Was. I lost our baby last night while you were with her.”

He staggered back as if I’d struck him. “Pregnant? I didn’t… you never said…”

“I was going to tell you last night. I brought dinner to your office, but you weren’t there. You were never there, were you? All those late meetings, business trips. How long has it been going on?”

Ryan sank onto the couch, papers clutched in his hand. “It’s complicated. Victoria and I… we have history.”

“So I’ve heard. She told me everything yesterday. How you were practically engaged before she chose Charles. How you married me two months after meeting me, just to get back at her.” The words tasted bitter. “Was any of it real, Ryan? Did you ever love me at all?”

He looked up, and for a moment, I saw genuine remorse in his eyes. “I did love you, Bella. Maybe not at first, but I grew to love you. Victoria was… she was a mistake. When she got divorced, she reached out, and I just—”

“Couldn’t help yourself?” I finished for him. “Save it. I don’t care anymore.”

“Please, we can work through this. Couples therapy, a fresh start—”

“There’s nothing to work through.” I slid my wedding ring off and placed it on the coffee table. “Sign the papers, Ryan. Don’t make this uglier than it needs to be.”

“What about our life together? Our plans?”

“They died last night. Along with our child.” I picked up my suitcases. “My lawyer will contact you. Don’t try to find me.”

As I reached the door, my phone rang. It was Michael.

“Izzy, you need to come home now,” he said without preamble. “Dad’s had another episode. The doctors are talking about emergency bypass surgery.”

My heart clenched. “How bad?”

“Bad. He’s asking for you.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “I’m on my way.”

Ryan was watching me, confusion mixing with the desperation on his face. “Bella, who was that? What’s happening?”

I looked at him one last time—this man I’d thought I knew, this life I’d tried so hard to make real.

“Goodbye, Ryan. For what it’s worth, I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.”

I walked out, closing the door on my marriage and the identity I’d created. In the elevator, I pulled out my phone and made a call I should have made years ago.

“Thomas? It’s Isabella Sinclair-Hamilton. Please prepare the jet. I’m coming home.”

As the city streets blurred past the taxi window, I thought about the strange twists that had brought me here. I’d left home to prove I could make it on my own, to be loved for myself rather than my fortune. Instead, I’d found a man who didn’t love me at all, and lost a child I’d never get to meet.

Yet somehow, as the familiar Manhattan skyline receded behind me, I felt something unexpected stirring beneath the grief and anger—a sense of clarity, of purpose. Isabella Matthews had been a fiction, a character I’d created to escape my reality. But Isabella Sinclair-Hamilton was real, with real power, real responsibilities, and real choices to make.

And her first choice would be to never again hide who she truly was.