He Made Me Draw A Lottery For Our Dead Child Chapter 01

He Made Me Draw A Lottery For Our Dead Child Chapter 01

Bastian Wycliffe was a prominent trial attorney who had never lost a case.

But when deciding whom to represent, he didn’t consider how serious or urgent the case was. Nor did he care whether the potential client was family or a stranger.

He carried a small wooden box filled with colored tokens. He would only take a case if the client drew a green token.

Even when I, his wife, was stalked and harassed by a man, Bastian refused to make an exception.

Without even looking up, he replied in a detached, businesslike tone, “Draw a token. I can’t break my own rules for you.”

Then, during a prenatal checkup, a doctor at a private hospital prescribed medication that increased the risk of bleeding instead of the one meant to support my pregnancy.

I miscarried right there in the hospital.

I wanted Bastian to help me hold the doctor accountable.

Instead, he stood beside my hospital bed and pulled out his token box, acting as though his hands were tied.

“Draw first.”

I froze.

“I just had a miscarriage, Bastian! Our baby is gone, and you still expect me to draw a token?”

His brows drew together, but before he could respond, his phone rang.

It wasn’t his usual ringtone, but a special one I’d never heard before.

His expression changed the moment he answered.

“Don’t cry. I’m on my way. Anyone who dares hurt someone close to me is going straight to prison!”

Then he raced out.

I looked down at the token box he’d left behind and suddenly laughed. A moment later, I contacted another attorney.

I no longer wanted a husband who chose someone else over me.

***

A nurse came in to change my medication.

Thinking I might be bored, she turned on the television. A live local news broadcast was playing.

When I looked up, I saw Bastian’s ex-wife, Colette Arden, standing on the side of the road.

An elderly man lay in front of her car, rolling around on the pavement, while a crowd gathered nearby and murmured among themselves.

The man’s wife wailed at the top of her lungs.

“She ran over my husband and tried to drive away! Is there no justice anymore?”

Colette’s eyes widened. “I didn’t hit him! He jumped in front of my car!”

As the argument continued, a black Bentley braked hard at the scene.

It was Bastian.

The moment Colette saw him, tears spilled down her cheeks. She looked as though the one person she could rely on had finally arrived.

“Bastian, I really didn’t hit him…”

He pulled her into his arms and smoothed a hand over her hair.

“I know. I’m here. Don’t be afraid.”

In five years of marriage, I’d never once seen him look at me with that kind of tenderness.

The elderly man’s wife grew visibly uneasy when she saw Bastian arrive.

Bastian pulled Colette behind him and fixed the elderly couple with an icy stare.

“Under state law, staging an accident to extort money is a felony punishable by three to five years in prison.”

He scoffed.

“You assumed there wouldn’t be cameras on a quiet road like this?”

“Unfortunately for you, I had a 360-degree dashcam system installed in her car. You targeted someone under my protection, and neither of you is walking away from this.”

Realizing the scam had fallen apart, the couple scrambled to flee.

Police arrived moments later, detained them, and put them in a patrol car.

Red-eyed, Colette stepped out of Bastian’s arms. “I’m sorry I bothered you so late.”

Something complicated passed through his eyes.

“I’m glad you thought to call me.”

I silently watched their charged exchange.

More than anything, I wanted to ask him:

Why didn’t Colette have to draw a token?

Why could he break his rules for his ex-wife?

Why couldn’t he do the same for me?