Our Lost Baby, His Eternal Muse

My husband’s childhood sweetheart was about to go on stage for her big concert, but her lead guitarist got into a car wreck on the way to the venue.

In the middle of the backstage chaos, my husband, Ethan, calmly picked up an electric guitar from the rack.

As the heavy bass and dynamic chords filled the arena, the crowd went absolutely wild. No one in the audience realized he was just a lastminute substitute.

From the VIP wings, I watched Cleo, his childhood friend, excitedly grab his hand on stage.

And when Ethan looked down at her, his eyes were filled with a tenderness I had never seen before. The scene made my stomach twist.

Trying to shake off the unease, I forced a smile and spoke to the people around me. "I had no idea Ethan could play the electric guitar, let alone play this well." Standing next to me, Ethan’s personal assistant, Marcus, looked at me in shock. "You didn't know, Chloe?

Mr. Vance and Cleo started a rock band back in high school." "He actually learned multiple instruments just to keep up with her." "I even heard that Mr.

Vance had a massive fallout with his parents back then because the Vance family thought Cleo's rock lifestyle was trashy and unstable." "Even now, every time Cleo writes a new song, Mr.

Vance is the one who helps her arrange the music and record the demos." I froze.

Seeing my expression, the staff members nearby quickly shut their mouths, not daring to carry on the conversation.

They left me standing there in the dim light, so embarrassed that I wished the floor would swallow me whole.

Starting a band, rebelling against his oldmoney family, and writing music for her. In just a few sentences, they had painted a picture of an Ethan Vance I didn't know at all.

Ethan and I had been together for five years, married for two. But he had never mentioned a single word of this to me.

To me, and to the rest of the world, he had always been the epitome of cold, calculated control. The powerful CEO who dominated the boardroom. He bought me expensive, curated gifts.

He remembered my allergies. He would text me if he was running late due to a business dinner. He fulfilled every duty of a textbook husband.

Except, whenever I brought up his past or his family, his face would instantly darken.

I had always thought everyone had parts of their past they didn’t want to drag up, so I politely let it go.

Around me, the applause and compliments for the performance were deafening. On stage, Cleo and Ethan shared a knowing smile.

Under the dazzling spotlights, they looked like the perfect couple from a movie. And there I was, standing on the outer edge of the crowd, looking like a total stranger.

On the drive home, the silence in the car was suffocating. "I didn't expect such an accident to happen tonight. I hope her guitarist is okay.

Thank God you were there to save the show," I said softly, trying to break the ice. Ethan kept his eyes on the road, his brow furrowed. "It was an emergency.

Nobody wanted this to happen." "Fortunately, the show went on. Tonight was the kickoff for Cleo's eighthanniversary tour. It's crucial for her." Cleo. Such an intimate name.

And he called me Chloe. Ethan, every time you whisper my name in the dark, who are you actually thinking of?

He was never a man who wore his emotions on his sleeve, yet tonight, his face was clouded with worry for another woman.

I recalled how, before we left for the venue, he had spent nearly an hour in the walkin closet, changing through several designer suits.

At the time, I thought it was because he had an important business meeting afterward.

Now I realized he just wanted to look perfect for someone important. "Ethan, I really didn't know you played the electric guitar." After a few seconds of silence, he gave a careless shrug, his tone flat. "It was just a phase from high school.

Nothing worth mentioning." Was it really not worth mentioning? Or was it just not worth mentioning to me?

After that night, I pretended nothing was wrong. Ethan continued his routine of leaving early and returning late.

But curiosity got the better of me, and I ended up searching his study. Hidden in a drawer, I found a stack of handwritten sheet music.

The handwriting was wild and passionate, a stark contrast to the neat, precise signature he used on multimillion dollar corporate contracts. I never asked him about it.

Until one late night, his phone buzzed violently on the nightstand. I’m a light sleeper, and the vibration woke me instantly. The screen lit up with the name: Cleo.

Ethan got out of bed and walked out to the balcony to answer it. He kept his voice incredibly low, but the quiet night carried his words straight to my ears. "Don't panic.

I'm coming over right now." He came back inside and put on his clothes, his movements extremely quiet. I closed my eyes, pretending to be fast asleep.

It wasn't until I heard the soft click of the front door closing that I opened my eyes, staring at the empty, cold space beside me.

The next morning, Marcus came by the house to drop off some corporate documents. He casually let slip, "Mr. Vance went straight to Cleo's studio this morning.

Apparently, there was an issue with her new single's arrangement." I just nodded, keeping my face blank. Realizing he had said too much, Marcus quickly excused himself and left.

I opened my iPad and searched Cleo's name on Instagram.

The very first post was an update she had shared at 3:00 AM: "Shoutout to my favorite guy, Ethan, for staying up until 3 AM to help me rewrite my bridge!

My eighthanniversary single is coming out soon! stay tuned~" The attached photo was a night view from her studio.

Blurry in the reflection of the glass window was the silhouette of a man. I recognized the designer shirt he was wearing. I had bought it for him as a birthday gift last month.

The comment section was buzzing. "Is that Ethan, the OG keyboardist from your high school band?!

Are you guys finally collaborating again?!" "Oh my god, my high school ship is sailing again! Is the band back?!" "You two were literally soulmates back then.

Such a tragedy you broke up..." I scrolled through the endless comments, slowly piecing together the puzzle of their past. They had started a band in high school.

Later, because of Ethan’s strict family, they were forced to break up, and Cleo went abroad to pursue her music career. On the surface, they had been separated for years.

But it turned out Ethan wasn't born cold and emotionless. He had once passionately fought his entire family for someone.

He had learned entirely new instruments just to be close to her. And whenever she needed him, he would drop everything and run to her side without a single second of hesitation.

I sat down at my grand piano, my fingers pressing a few random, meaningless chords. Suddenly, a memory flashed in my mind.

Five years ago, Ethan and I only started talking because he overheard me secretly playing the bass in a music room. It turned out everything had a reason.

Then what did our five years together even mean? A sudden wave of nausea hit me. I rushed to the bathroom, clutching the sink, but nothing came up.

That night, Ethan didn't come home. He only sent a brief text saying he was tied up at a business dinner.

Meanwhile, I was standing in the cold corridor of the hospital, holding a medical report, completely lost. I was pregnant. What a beautiful piece of news it should have been.

It should have been a celebration. But this baby had chosen the worst possible time to arrive. Or rather, my marriage was already running out of time.

I didn't tell Ethan right away. He was still extremely busy—busy with the Vance Group, and busy with Cleo's upcoming album.

Occasionally, I would see his interviews on business channels. He looked sharp, calm, and flawless—the perfect CEO in the eyes of the public. But I knew he had another side.

A side that belonged entirely to Cleo. Over the weekend, my motherinlaw, Mrs. Vance, paid an unexpected visit.

She took my hand, her tone heavy with expectation. "Chloe, it’s about time you and Ethan had a baby." "Once you have a child, his heart will finally settle.

He’ll finally let go of those trashy, rebellious memories from his past." Her words carried a double meaning. Clearly, she had heard some rumors too.

I forced a tight smile and didn't answer. She had no idea that the "trashy past" she despised so much held the most sacred place in her son's heart. After she left, my phone rang.

It was Ethan. "I have a dinner meeting tonight. Don't wait up for me." "Okay." I hung up and opened Instagram. Cleo's fan account had just posted some paparazzi pictures.

At a highend French restaurant, Cleo was laughing and chatting with several music producers. Ethan sat right beside her, leaning in close, listening to her with absolute focus.

That wasn't a corporate dinner meeting. That was her celebration party. And today was our wedding anniversary. He hadn't sent me a single text about it.

I placed my hand over my stillflat stomach, my heart turning completely icecold. My morning sickness got worse by the day.

I found myself dryheaving every morning, losing my appetite entirely. I was losing weight rapidly. Ethan finally noticed my pale face one morning. "Are you feeling sick?

Do you need me to take you to the clinic?" His voice carried concern, but it sounded like a routine checkin. "I'm fine. Probably just a stomach bug," I said, avoiding his eyes.

He nodded and didn't press further. The next day, he went on a business trip. But I knew better. He was traveling to the next city on Cleo's tour.

I went to my prenatal checkup all by myself. The OBGYN looked at the ultrasound and smiled warmheartedly. "The baby is healthy, seven weeks along.

But your body is a bit weak, Chloe. You need to get plenty of rest and nutrition." Listening to the doctor, a bitter ache swelled in my chest.

This baby's father was currently standing near another woman's stage. I looked at the other pregnant women in the hallway.

Almost all of them had their partners holding their hands, whispering sweet words. But I was entirely alone.

After leaving the clinic, I went to a highend shopping mall, wanting to buy some baby clothes.

Maybe I was trying to find some tangible connection to the tiny life growing inside me. But right at the entrance of a luxury boutique, I ran straight into Ethan.

He was holding a beautifully wrapped shopping bag. It wasn't baby stuff—it was from a luxury professional audio brand. He froze when he saw me. "Chloe?

What are you doing here?" His eyes immediately fell on the medical envelope in my hand.

I instinctively tried to hide it behind my back, but I was too late. "Are you sick?" He frowned, stepping closer.

Looking at him, a wave of sheer exhaustion washed over me. "I'm pregnant, Ethan." His expression instantly petrified.

He stared at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. "Seven weeks," I added.

His jaw tightened, his throat bobbing as his eyes filled with confusion and panic. "Why... why didn't you tell me sooner?" "Did you ever have time to listen?" I looked down at the luxury bag in his hand. "How is Cleo's tour going?

Is it smooth?" His face paled slightly, and he fell silent for a moment. "Chloe, it's not what you think. Cleo and I are just..." "Just what?" I cut him off. "Just old friends?

Just business partners?" "Ethan, you write music for her, you play guitar for her on stage, you run to her studio at three in the morning, and now you’re following her entire tour." "Are all of these things 'just' nothing to you?" I had never spoken to him in such a sharp, confrontational tone before.

He stared at me, a strange, defensive look in his eyes. "Let's go home first." He reached out to grab my hand. I took a step back, dodging his touch. "Go home?

Ethan, has there ever been a home for us, or has the shadow of a third person always lived with us?" I stared at the brand logo on his shopping bag.

That specific audio brand was Cleo's absolute favorite.

He remembered every single detail of her preferences, yet he didn't even notice his own wife's deteriorating health. "Ethan," I took a deep breath, suddenly feeling a sharp, dull pull in my lower abdomen. "If Cleo and I both needed you at the exact same time today... who would you choose?" The moment the question left my mouth, I regretted it.

The answer was already glaringly obvious. He knitted his brows, a trace of impatience flickering in his eyes. "Chloe, stop being dramatic.

You know how important this tour is for Cleo's career. She can't afford any more setbacks." Cleo. He said her name so naturally, so protectively.

My entire body began to shake with anger, and the pulling pain in my abdomen grew sharper, dragging me down. I stared at him, forcing out every single word. "So, your choice is her.

Correct?" He didn't answer. Suddenly, I felt a warm, wet sensation trickling down my inner thigh. I looked down.

On my lightcolored linen pants, a bright, horrific patch of crimson was quickly blooming. When I finally regained consciousness, the sharp smell of antiseptic filled my nose.

I stared up at the sterile white ceiling of the hospital room, an IV drip hooked to the back of my hand. A hollow, aching pain radiated from my abdomen.

Turning my head, I saw Ethan sitting on the chair beside the bed. His head was buried in his hands, his posture slumped and defeated.

His designer suit was wrinkled and messy—the same one he wore at the mall. Hearing me move, he raised his head instantly. His eyes were bloodshot, and dark stubble covered his jaw.

I had never seen him look so incredibly wrecked. "Chloe..." His voice was extremely hoarse and trembling. "How do you feel?" I didn't say a word.

I just stared at him with empty, hollow eyes. I didn't need to ask. I already knew.

The doctor walked in for rounds. "Ah, you're awake." "The miscarriage was caused by a combination of severe emotional stress and your weakened physical state." "And... because of the trauma to your uterus this time, it might be very difficult for you to conceive naturally in the future." I lowered my gaze, staring blankly at the white hospital blanket.

Ethan’s face drained of what little color it had left. His hands clenched into tight fists, his knuckles turning white.

The doctor gave a few more standard postmiscarriage instructions and quietly left the room.

Silence fell over us again, heavy and suffocating like thick mud. "The baby is gone," I said. My voice was so calm it surprised even myself.

Ethan stood up abruptly, stepping closer to the bed. He reached out to touch me, but his hand hovered in the air, trembling. "I'm so sorry, Chloe. I shouldn't have argued with you.

It’s my fault.

I didn't know you were..." "If you knew, would you have skipped going to the mall to buy Cleo her equipment?" I interrupted him, my voice flat. "If you knew, would you have asked me why I was throwing up every morning?

Would you have held my hand during my checkups instead of leaving me alone in the clinic?" He stood there, completely speechless, his face twisted in deep regret and agony.

But I couldn't tell how much of his pain was for the baby we lost, and how much of it was just guilt for having to face me. "Please rest here for a few days, and then I'll take you home, okay?" he pleaded, his voice cracking. "From now on... we will make things right.

I promise." "Make things right?" I repeated the words, finding them incredibly laughable. "Ethan, how do we make things right?

Do we just pretend nothing happened?" "Should I keep watching you run to her whenever she calls? Should I ignore the music sheets in your study?

Should I just smile when you spend our wedding anniversary celebrating her success?" I swallowed the lump in my throat, looking straight into his eyes. "Maybe this baby made the choice for us." "It knew this home didn't want it.

It knew its father's heart belonged to another woman and another life." "Let's get a divorce."

I finally said it. It felt much more peaceful than I had imagined. Ethan looked as if he had been struck by lightning. He stared at me, his eyes turning red instantly. "No.

I won't do it," he said, his voice panicked. "Chloe, I know I messed up." "Our anniversary... we can redo it.

I'll plan everything." "Just give me one more chance, I promise—" "What do you promise?" I looked at him calmly. "Can you promise to never see Cleo again?

Can you promise to stay out of her life? Ethan, you can't." He fell silent, his lips pressed into a tight line. See? He couldn't even lie to me without hesitating.

Right then, his phone on the table began to vibrate again. On the screen, the name Cleo flashed relentlessly. He glanced at it.

He didn't pick up, but he didn't decline the call either. The buzzing sound felt like a cruel joke, reminding me of the one person I could never compete with.

I closed my eyes, feeling the last bit of my energy drain away. "Just leave," I said. "I'm tired." "Chloe." "Get out." My voice was soft, but it carried an absolute, cold finality. "Okay.

I'll be right outside the door." He lingered for a few seconds before finally picking up his phone and walking out, his footsteps incredibly heavy. The door clicked shut.

I curled my body into a tight ball, burying my face in the pillow. Finally, the tears broke through, soaking the sheets. I cried for the baby I never got to meet.

And I cried for the five years of marriage that had turned out to be a complete illusion. My parents and Mrs. Vance arrived at the hospital shortly after.

Upon hearing about the miscarriage, Mrs. Vance’s face darkened instantly. The look she gave me was filled with disappointment and blame. "How could you be so careless?

A perfectly healthy baby, just gone like that..." She didn't finish her sentence, but her tone spoke volumes.

My mother, Sarah, immediately stepped in front of my bed, her eyes tearing up. "Mrs. Vance, Chloe just lost her child. She is physically weak and grieving.

Please watch your words." My dad, Robert, stood there with a furious expression, glaring at Ethan, who was standing silently by the door. "What the hell happened?

How did she suddenly miscarry?" Ethan opened his mouth, but not a single word came out.

I answered for him. "It was just an accident, Dad." I didn't want to drag my parents into a messy, ugly fight in the hospital room. Mrs.

Vance sighed, her tone softening slightly. "Well, you're both still young. Once your body recovers, you can always try again.

The most important thing is to heal." She didn't know yet that the doctor said I might never conceive naturally again. Ethan remained silent about it too.

After a short stay, I asked them to leave, using the excuse that I needed rest. Only my mom insisted on staying overnight to watch over me.

Ethan refused to leave the hospital. "I'll stay in the waiting room outside," he said. I ignored him.

During my stay, he came by every single day, bringing homemade soup from our housekeeper. He even set up his laptop in the VIP suite's living area to work.

He tried to talk to me, tried to explain, tried to apologize. My only response was absolute silence. Cleo was a permanent wedge between us. There was no going back.

He stopped taking her calls in front of me, but I could still hear him whispering on the phone in the hallway. The day I was discharged, he drove me back.

Walking back into the house we had shared, everything looked exactly the same, yet everything felt completely different.

I packed a small bag and moved directly into the guest bedroom.

Ethan stood at the door, his eyes filled with pain. "Chloe, do you really have to do this?" "I need peace to recover." I shut the door in his face, locking him out.

The next day, I contacted a divorce lawyer. My lawyer was my college friend, Rachel.

After listening to my story, Rachel gave me a calm, professional analysis. "Divorce is definitely doable.

But since Ethan's company has a highly complex asset structure, dividing the marital assets will take time.

Plus, if he refuses to sign, this could turn into a long, drawnout legal battle." "It's fine," I said. "I can wait." After getting my emotions in check, I reached out to my old bandmates.

Back in college, I used to secretly play bass in an indie underground band. It was my only escape from the suffocatingly perfect life my parents had planned for me.

But after I met Ethan, especially after we got married, I forced myself to cut ties with that world. I picked up the classical piano again just to fit the image of "Mrs.

Vance." Looking back, I realized I hadn't lived a single day for myself in years. However, on my first day back at the music studio, I noticed something off.

My bandmates were looking at me with pity, whispering behind my back. One of my close friends quietly pulled me aside and handed me her phone.

A local celebrity gossip account had just posted a major leak: during Cleo's tour, Ethan had been spotted accompanying her multiple times.

Even worse, on the exact day of my miscarriage, a paparazzi had captured a photo of Cleo leaving the very hospital I was staying in. The caption read: Trouble in paradise?

Is the oldmoney marriage hitting the rocks? Is the Rock Queen finally winning her man back? The comment section was brutal. "The wife is so pathetic.

I heard she just lost her baby." "Honestly, Ethan and Cleo are soulmates. The wife was probably just a business arrangement anyway." "Why did Cleo go to the hospital?

To mark her territory? Damn." I stared at the blurry photos and the harsh words. I had to take several deep breaths to keep myself from breaking down.

So, while I was lying in that hospital bed, grieving the loss of our child, his beloved Cleo had actually come to visit him. And he had gone down to meet her.