At eight months pregnant, I was in a car accident and delivered a stillborn child.

My husband, who had always been so gentle, turned on me. He called me useless. He said I couldn't even protect our baby.

He forced me into a divorce and, without looking back, rushed into a hasty marriage with his long-lost first love.

Just as despair threatened to swallow me whole, Grayson Brooke—my childhood friend who had been overseas for years—returned. He confessed his feelings and promised to cherish me for the rest of my life.

But in the third year of our marriage, I accidentally overheard a conversation between him and his closest friend that turned my blood to ice.

"That car accident you staged—just to get the cord blood—killing Lydia's innocent baby in the process… it was too cruel, even for you."

"It was a necessary evil. Only her child's cord blood could save Kayla."

"But Lydia had just one month left. Kayla could have held on a little longer—"

Grayson cut him off, his voice sharp and absolute.

"If there was a way, why would we wait? I couldn't stand by and let Kayla suffer for one second more."

My hand trembled as I clutched a pregnancy test.

Inside the room, Grayson Brooke's and his friend's voices carried, clear and damning.

Grayson let out a heavy sigh, his tone laced with bitterness. "Even if Kayla never loves me back, I'd still give her everything I have. Everything."

His friend Shawn Carson, sounded appalled. "And what about Lydia? That accident you orchestrated nearly destroyed her chance to ever have children. For years, she's endured those brutal procedures—the injections, the retrievals, the transfers—praying for a miracle just to give you a baby. And you're just going to let her keep suffering?

"She's your childhood friend, for God's sake. You set her up. Aren't you afraid she'll find out?"

I heard the faint click of a lighter, the slow draw of a breath. "She'll never know," Grayson said. "And I will take care of her for the rest of her life. As long as she doesn't get in the way of Kayla's happiness, she'll want for nothing."

The recording icon on my phone glowed red. I tapped it, ending the truth, and staggered back into the living room. My legs gave way, and I crumpled onto the rug beside the sofa, all the strength gone from my body.

I curled into myself, a low moan escaping as a familiar, stabbing pain lanced through my lower abdomen—a permanent souvenir from the accident, the stillbirth, and the countless medical invasions that followed. Now, my heart was being shredded just as thoroughly.

When I'd lost my first baby, my ex-husband had paraded Kayla in front of my hospital bed, their cruel happiness stabbing at me so seriously that I nearly hemorrhaged.

It was then that Grayson appeared. He dragged my ex-husband out of the ward, fists landing solid and merciless.

I had wept with gratitude, so broken I would have kissed his feet. He'd just held me, his voice thick with what I'd mistaken for remorse. "I'm so sorry I wasn't here sooner. I'll never let anyone hurt you again."

He'd proposed the day I was discharged, saying he couldn't risk losing me a second time. We went to the city hall that very afternoon to get married.

All of it—every tender word, every promise whispered in the dark—had been a performance. My unborn child and I were just medical assets, collateral damage in his desperate quest to save the woman he truly loved.

The pain in my chest was so acute, so visceral, I saw spots dancing at the edge of my vision.

"Lydia? My God, what's wrong?"

Grayson was suddenly there, kneeling, gathering me into his arms. His palm was warm and gentle against my back, a perfect imitation of concern. "Is it the pain again? Baby, you have to listen to me. Your body can't take another pregnancy. We have to stop trying. Please."

His voice cracked with such convincing anguish that it had always disarmed me. I'd carried the weight of my own inadequacy, ashamed I couldn't give this seemingly devoted man a child.

Now, the sheer, pathetic depth of my self-deception made me want to vomit.

I bit down hard, dug my nails into my palm, and forced my tone into calm indifference.

"What if I already am pregnant?"

His body went rigid against mine. The pause was infinitesimal, but I felt it—a split-second of pure panic masked almost instantly. He smoothed my hair back, forcing a bitter smile.

"Lydia, there is nothing in this world I want more than a family with you. But carrying a child could kill you. I can't lose you. It can be just us. Just you and me, forever. That's all I'll ever need."

Liar.

Not a single word from Grayson's mouth was ever true.

I pulled myself free from his embrace and forced a smile.

"Alright. I won't make trouble anymore."

For the first time, genuine relief softened Grayson's face. He pinched my cheek lightly, his voice tinged with guilt. "I have dinner with Shawn tonight. It might run late, so don't wait up. Get some rest."

I nodded obediently.

The moment they left, I dialed my lawyer best friend. "I want a divorce."

With her by my side, I once again stepped into the obstetrics and gynecology department.

The doctor assured me that the baby inside me was perfectly healthy.

But my lips curved into a bitter smile. "Doctor, this child came at the wrong time. Please schedule the procedure."

Unfazed, the doctor set the operation for three days later.

Leaving the hospital, I was about to hail a cab when I saw Grayson walk into a revolving restaurant, hand in hand with a woman.

I would never forget that face. The very same woman who once clung to my ex-husband's arm, taunting me with smug defiance.

I drew a deep breath, steadied myself, and walked straight toward the restaurant.

I chose a quiet, hidden corner and sat down.

Grayson and Kayla faced each other at a table. His eyes brimmed with tenderness as he slid a beautifully wrapped gift box toward her.

"Today's your birthday. I got you something."

Her face lit up in delight as she hurried to unwrap it. But inside was nothing… only a sheet of blank paper.

Confused, Kayla feigned a pout and huffed.

"Grayson! If you don't want to give me a gift, fine, but don't mock me like this!"

Grayson's eyes crinkled with a smile. He brushed his finger playfully along her nose.

"It's not that I won't give you a gift. It's that whatever you want, you can have. Write it on this paper. Even if it's the stars in the sky, I'll pluck them for you."

"Really!?" Her squeal was full of joy. She bent over the paper and began to write.

The longer she wrote, the longer his gaze lingered—indulgent, overflowing with adoration.

I pulled out my phone and recorded the scene.

I couldn't make out what she had written. But when she finally handed the paper back, Grayson's eyes flew wide in astonishment, his hands trembling with excitement.

Just then, my phone buzzed.

It was a message from him.

Grayson: [Lydia, I'll be out late tonight with clients. I'll just stay at a hotel nearby. Don't wait up. Get some rest.]

I gripped the phone tight and typed a single word in reply: [Alright.]

When their meal ended, I rushed to their table the moment they left.

The sheet of paper was still there.

It was filled from top to bottom—luxury brand jewelry, couture gowns, priceless paintings. There was nothing Kayla couldn't demand.

But one line at the very bottom snatched the breath from my lungs: I wish Grayson could spend one full day and night with me.

My vision went black, the room spun—and I collapsed.

In my dream, I watched myself—eight months pregnant—thrown into the air by a speeding car again and again.

The scene replayed endlessly, blood spattering, bones breaking, a slow torture grinding away the last shred of feeling I still held for Grayson.

The shrill ring of my phone dragged me from the nightmare.

The moment I answered, a woman's sultry moans filled my ear. Breathless, she cried out Grayson's name.

Expressionless, I ended the call.

Beside me, my friend quietly handed me the freshly printed divorce papers.

I murmured a thank you, took the documents, and returned home.

…

The next afternoon, Grayson finally came through the door.

I was sitting on the sofa. He swooped down, pulling me into his arms.

"Lydia, I drank too much last night. That's why I didn't come home. You're not angry, are you?"

His voice brimmed with remorse.

To me, it sounded absurd.

Drank too much? More likely, he was drunk on her perfume, lost in her embrace.

I pushed him away, ready to pull out the divorce papers, but he caught my hand.

"To make it up to you, why don't I take you to see the fireworks?"

"I've arranged a fireworks show just for you. The whole city will be able to see it, too."

I wanted to refuse, but Grayson pulled me into his arms, forced a coat around my shoulders, and dragged me outside before I could even protest.

Night had already fallen. He led me to a rooftop restaurant, and the moment I stepped up to the window, a cascade of fireworks burst across the sky.

They were beautiful. And completely revolting.

This wasn't some romantic gesture prepared for me. It was nothing more than another item checked off Kayla's wish list.

I scanned the restaurant, and sure enough, there she was—not far away, smiling sweetly at me.

She strolled over with practiced ease, her voice laced with fake warmth.

"Lydia, you came to watch the fireworks, too?"

Disgust twisted in my chest. A wave of nausea surged up, and I couldn't stop myself from retching.

Tears immediately welled in Kayla's eyes.

"Lydia, I know I was wrong before. I came to apologize." She lowered her gaze, then added softly, "I'm already divorced."

When she finished, her pitiful eyes shifted to Grayson, standing behind me.

His brow furrowed with sympathy. He tugged my arm.

"Lydia, how can you be so rude? She came all this way to apologize. It's one thing not to speak, but to retch in her face? Apologize. Now."

I dug my nails into my palm, teeth clenched, refusing to answer.

The two of them could screw around in secret for all I cared. But to stand here and humiliate me together—how disgusting.

I forced my voice low and cold. "Grayson, tell me, who's really the disgusting one here?"

He opened his mouth, but Kayla quickly stopped him. "Grayson, let me speak to Lydia alone. Just for a moment."

He hesitated, then nodded and stepped aside.

Kayla's tears vanished as quickly as they had appeared, her gaze sharpening into open challenge.

She tugged at her collar, revealing faint pink marks scattered across her skin.

"Lydia, Grayson was far too reckless, leaving me covered in marks like this."

I knew she was baiting me, trying to make me furious.

When I didn't react, her face soured. She leaned closer and whispered, "You don't know, do you? That car accident years ago—it was all carefully planned. We needed the cord blood from your baby."

Her lips curved in mock pity. "Your baby girl cried so pitifully when she was born… but she didn't last long before she died."

My eyes widened in disbelief, pain tearing through my chest like a blade.

My child hadn't been stillborn?

Kayla reveled in my broken expression. Her voice softened, taunting.

"But you fainted, didn't you? Which meant I got to decide how to deal with that baby."

Rage surged uncontrollably. My hand shot out, but before I could touch her, she shrieked, stumbling backward into a table.

Glasses shattered, shards slicing into her skin, blood spilling bright and fast.

The next instant, a brutal force slammed into me, knocking me to the floor.

Grayson rushed to her, gathering her into his arms. His voice thundered, cold and merciless. "Lydia! Are you insane?"

Kayla's face had gone pale. She clutched his shirt, weeping. "Grayson, don't blame Lydia… it hurts so much."

He lifted her quickly, fury twisting his features. "If anything happens to Kayla, Lydia, I will never forgive you!"

Without sparing me a glance, he carried her out, stepping right over my body.

Blood pooled beneath me. The familiar pain clawed through my abdomen, sparking panic.

Grinding my teeth, I dialed emergency services.

After the surgery, I placed two documents into the same box: the surgical consent form and the divorce agreement.

I took a photo and sent it to Grayson.

His reply came almost instantly.

Grayson: [You don't need to give me gifts. As long as you know you were wrong, that's enough.]

I stared at the message, the corner of my lips curving into a bitter smile.

Slowly, I typed my response.

Lydia: [Grayson, I know I was wrong. So you'd better hurry home to open your gift.]