The illness was so severe that I had a splitting headache. In order not to make any noise at night, I bit out blood from my lips hard.

Bruce turned over restlessly, and finally couldn't bear it anymore and sat up, pulling on the bedside lamp to ask me.

"Daisy, what are you doing in the middle of the night? Do you know how annoying you are?"

My heart ached to the point of convulsions that I whispered, "I can't sleep."

My head hurt so much that I couldn't fall asleep.

Bruce sneered, "The child went into your dream to ask for your punishment. How could you possibly sleep? You should have died with him back then. It would have been better than living alone."

He forcefully threw a pillow at me and said, "I don't want to see you. If you can't sleep, then get out!"

I turned off the night light, hugged the pillow, and slowly left to sleep in the next room, which was a well-decorated baby room.

The baby room was well-decorated and everything was neatly arranged, without any signs of use.

I still remembered Bruce holding me and pointing to every corner of the room, talking about the room's decorations, with a gentle and hopeful sparkle in his eyes.

He was a different person than he was now.

I took out the painkillers the doctor prescribed for me from the crib. After taking them, I leaned against the crib and stared up at the sky-blue ceiling without saying a word.

After the intense pain faded away, my mind went blank. As I looked at it, I couldn't help but shed tears. My heart ached so much that it was hard to breathe.

Baby, I was guilty.

I would apologize to you soon.

Please, wait for me.

The doctor said that my illness was easily prone to complications of forgetfulness and amnesia, and told me to return to the hospital for a review as soon as I noticed it.

When I was in and out of the baby room eight times in one morning, just to deliver a bottle of prepared milk, I knew I was starting to forget things.

Every time I entered the room, I forgot why I came in, and when I was busy outside, I suddenly remembered, repeating this process eight times before finally completing the task.

I couldn't let this happen.

I bought a notebook and wrote down the tasks that needed to be completed each day every night.

Unfortunately, a few days later, I started to lose my memory and even forgot the notebook.

I had to start keeping a diary, recording my schedule every day.

Bruce was busy at work and he didn't go home often, which allowed me to hide this matter very well.

The time I almost got caught was when he came home suddenly, went into the study to get some documents, and saw me hunched over the desk writing something.

"Daisy, what are you doing here?"

I covered the contents of the diary with my hand and stammered, "Nothing, I haven't done anything."

"This is my place. You are not allowed to come in here in the future."

Bruce frowned and left coldly after saying this without looking at me.

I sighed and looked at the words in the diary. Three seconds later, I crossed them out with a pen.

Every spring, our two families got together the day before the child's memorial day to prepare the things.

We went up the mountain early and lived in the hotel next to the cemetery.

When they discussed what the child would like in front of me, I stood aside, feeling awkward and silent, like an outsider.

"This tiger doll is very popular this year. I saw a lot of children wearing it online. My grandson will definitely like it."

With a smile on her face, Emily took out a doll our of her bag and gave it to Bruce.

My father-in-law, Jake Lowell, was dissatisfied and took out a Barbie doll. "Who said it must be a boy? What if it's a girl? She might like this one."

The child was less than four months old, and it was hard to tell the gender when it was taken out of the belly.

Softening his expression, Bruce took the things his parents had brought one by one.

"Take them all, and choose whatever you like later."

My parents stood on the side with flattering smiles on their faces. "Yes, yes, bring more over. The child can choose later."

Emily glanced at my mother, and the corners of her mouth that were raised instantly dropped. She rolled her eyes and said nothing.

My mother, who had been infuriated, deliberately walked over to me, and twisted my arm hard, venting her anger on me.

"If the child was still alive, would I have to suffer from her?"

"It's all your fault! How could I give birth to such an unlucky girl like you? You can't even protect your own child."

"Kneel down to apologize to that old lady and make her feel better. You've done nothing. You are so stupid!

My mom never thought that I was the one who suffered the most from the loss of her child.

I couldn't help but ask, "Mom, do you only have my younger brother and the child in your heart? What about me?"

Shouldn't you be my mother before becoming a grandmother?

Moreover, it was not that I hadn't tried to mend my relationship with Emily. When I got married, she treated me the best. She would give me whatever goodies she had, saying it was for my health and to help me conceive a child.

But later, she never looked at me again. All the gifts I sent were thrown into the trash.

"The killer who killed my grandson makes me sick."

If I was alive, she would feel sick.