For the next hour, Renata worked as if pain had no name.
Her hands were precise.
Her voice steady.
Her mind razor-sharp.
No one in that room would have guessed she was operating on her husband’s mistress.
Then—
A cry.
“Baby boy,” the OB announced.
Premature. Small. Red.
Alive.
Renata glanced at him for a second before he was rushed to NICU.
Something hit her chest when she noticed familiar features—
The same chin as her son.
The same forehead.
She clenched her jaw.
The mother kept bleeding.
Renata didn’t stop until she stabilized her.
Finally, it was over.
She removed her gloves slowly.
Her body was exhausted.
Her soul—ashes.
“You were flawless, Mendoza,” the OB murmured.
Renata said nothing.
In the waiting room, Julian stood pale, broken, hands clasped like a man praying without faith.
“Are they…?”
“Alive,” she said. “She’s stable. The baby’s in NICU. He’ll need weeks, but he has a chance.”
Julian exhaled, covering his face.
“Thank God… Renata, please, let me explain—”
“Explain what?” she asked calmly. Too calmly. “That your mistress is carrying your child? That you’ve been lying to me for months—years? That while I was saving lives, you were destroying ours?”
“It’s not like that—”