The Midnight Show That Ended with My Husband’s Affair Chapter 07

The Midnight Show That Ended with My Husband’s Affair Chapter 07 In the Surveillance Footage

On the other end of the line, Flynn Dawson was silent for a long time before letting out a sight

“Spencer. Are you finally admitting you regret it?”

“I don’t regret anything!”

Spencer snapped back like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.

“I just want to ask her face-to-face-who taught her to forge that surgery note!”

But the woman named Lena Foster had disappeared like the season’s first snow. Melted away without a

trace.

Desperate to find any sign of her, Spencer drove himself to Fairhaven General Hospital.

He pulled every string he had. He even called in favors from the city police department. He forced the hospital director to dig up three-month-old surveillance footage from the OB/GYN emergency room and the surrounding corridors.

Inside the security control room, Spencer stood before the largest monitor, his eyes locked on the timestamp ticking in the corner of the screen.

Three months ago. The morning he had left Lena alone at home to go save Summer.

“Professor Whitmore, we have the footage.”

The chief of security wiped sweat from his forehead and pressed play.

The video began.

The glass doors of the ER lobby swung open.

Through the wind and snow, a thin figure in a dark dress stumbled inside.

It was Me.

My face was ashen. With every step, my body swayed violently.

Spencer’s breath stopped. He stepped forward unconsciously, almost pressing his face against the screen.

As the camera zoomed in, his gaze locked onto the hem of my skirt.

With each step she took, drops of blood splattered onto the hospital floor.

“Lena…”

Spencer’s voice cracked. His eyes flooded with red.

On screen, I doubled over in pain, clutching her lower abdomen. I was almost crawling as I reached the

triage desk.

From the tinny speakers came a doctor’s urgent voice:

“Where is your family? You came alone? The gestational sac has descended to the cervix. You’re hemorrhaging. We need to perform a D&C immediately. Get a family member to sign the consent form!”

Then my faint voice:

“I don’t have any family. Doctor, I’ll sign it myself.”

On screen, a nurse handed her the surgical consent form.

I leaned alone against the triage desk. My fingers trembled so badly I could barely hold the pen.

I bit my lip. Stroke by agonizing stroke, I signed my name.

No crying. No hysterics.

Spencer slammed his fist onto the hard console.

He doubled over, dry-heaving a mouthful of bile.

“Professor Whitmore! Are you all right?” The security chief was terrified.

“Get away from me!”

Spencer shoved him aside. He had finally seen my suffering with his own eyes.

While I was hemorrhaging, dragging my half-dead body to sign that surgery form-he had been in the next ward, berating me over Summer Vance.

He was a law professor who demanded evidence. But he couldn’t even be bothered to look at the blood on my skirt.

Just then, frantic footsteps shattered the silence of the control room.

Flynn Dawson burst in, stumbling over himself. He clutched a hard drive in his hand, his face bone-white, his voice strained to a rasp.

“Spencer! We’ve got a huge problem! I used every hacker contact I have-I pulled the raw audio logs from the station’s servers, and I recovered Summer’s social media data!”

Spencer’s head snapped up. He stared at the hard drive in Flynn’s hand. “What did you find?”

“All of it is fake!”

“Summer never had depression. She never had panic attacks!”