The two on the cot beside me went dead silent the moment they heard my voice.

Brendan turned. When his eyes met my icy stare, a flicker of discomfort crossed his face—but he recovered fast.

"Naomi… you're awake?"

"Are you feeling okay? Do you want some water?"

His expression smoothed into perfect composure as he poured a glass and brought it to my lips.

I said nothing for a moment, then leaned forward and let the water wet my cracked lips.

"So. Are you going to explain? The video."

His hand froze.

I looked past him. On Charity's phone screen, still glowing bright, was footage of me—writhing, screaming, giving birth.

She caught my gaze. Her smile stretched wider.

"Hey, sis," she chirped.

Then her finger accidentally grazed the volume button.

My own voice—raw, guttural, shattered with pain—exploded through the hospital room.

My whole body locked up.

In the bassinet beside me, my newborn startled awake. Her tiny mouth opened, and a thin, reedy cry spilled out.

That sound. It was like a thousand needles driving straight into my chest.

I forced myself upright, reaching for her with trembling hands to soothe her, then whipped my head back toward them.

"Turn it off. Delete it. Now."

Charity pouted and glanced at Brendan.

"It was an accident."

"See, I told you she'd throw a fit."

Brendan frowned. He set the glass down, sat on the edge of my bed, and his voice came out clipped with irritation.

"Babies cry. It's healthy. Is this really necessary?"

My hand stilled on my daughter's back.

Something cold clicked into place in my mind.

"When she came out of the delivery room," I said, my voice flat, empty of anything, "who held her first?"

Brendan blinked.

He hadn't expected me to go there. I watched the memory surface—our promise, the one he'd made—and guilt flickered across his face before he could hide it.

Three years dating. Five years married.

I knew that look.

I'd thought he was just a disappointing husband. Now I realized he'd failed as a father too.

Maybe the contempt in my eyes was too obvious. He knew he was in the wrong, but he still fumbled for an excuse.

"I was… busy when she first came out. I held her later."

"Busy?"

I stared at him. Then at Charity, poised beside him like a guard dog ready to leap to his defense.

My voice dropped, edged with something cold and mocking.

"Busy showing her footage of me at my most vulnerable. Too busy to hold your own daughter."

"Brendan. Who gave you permission to send her that video?"

The room went so quiet I could hear the fluorescent lights humming.

Brendan pressed his lips together, visibly calculating his next words.

But Charity—watching him flounder—let out an impatient little huff.

"I asked him to film it for me, sis."

She met my gaze and lifted her chin, defiant.

"I was bored. Curious what it looks like when a woman gives birth." She shrugged. "So he recorded it. We're practically family. You're not really going to throw a tantrum over something this small, are you?"

I turned to Brendan.

He didn't contradict a single word.

The last trace of warmth drained from my face.

"Curious…"

I rolled the word around slowly, tasting its shape.

"Then why don't you find someone to knock you up and try it yourself?"

My voice was quiet. Almost conversational.

But the smug look on Charity's face cracked like dry earth.

"That's enough, Naomi. You've gone too far."

Brendan's voice cut in, low and hard. His eyes held nothing but disapproval—

For me.

I watched him in silence.

Just as he turned to comfort Charity, I spoke again.

"Oh, I almost forgot."

"You'd love to have a child of your own, wouldn't you? Too bad the father wasn't interested."

Everyone who knew Charity knew exactly what she'd done back then.

The moment the words left my mouth, two sounds rang out simultaneously.

"Naomi!"

Slap!

Charity stood before me, her raised hand striking down again.

I'd just given birth. I had no strength left to fight back—I took both blows full-force.

When I tried to dodge, the movement tore at my stitches. Waves of searing pain ripped through my lower abdomen.

Charity looked down at me, her voice dripping with acid and contempt.

"I only slapped you twice out of respect for Brendan. Sister-in-law, I suggest you remember this lesson."

My face had gone chalk-white. Through the agony, I turned to look at Brendan, who stood beside her without lifting a finger.

He'd been right next to Charity the whole time. Close enough to stop her.

Unless he never intended to.

Sure enough, after a brief moment of eye contact, Brendan's gaze drifted away, unbothered.

"Charity was right to hit you."

"You went too far, Naomi."

My heart plummeted.

Too far?

Compared to what he and Charity had said while I lay unconscious and vulnerable—this didn't even come close to a fraction of it.

I remembered drifting in and out of sleep, hearing Brendan discuss my most private moments with an outsider. That careless, dismissive tone.

And my daughter—the child I'd nearly died bringing into this world—when she cried, he hadn't even glanced her way.

His claim that he'd held her later? I didn't believe a single word.

"Brendan, I asked you a question. Answer me."

"Sister-in-law, don't be so dramatic." Charity crossed her arms, her face full of disdain. "You ballooned into that mess during your pregnancy, and Brendan never said a word about it. So what if he let us watch your delivery video?"

"Stop acting like Brendan owes you something. Who are you playing victim for?"

I froze.

"Us?"

"What do you mean, us? Brendan—explain yourself. Who else did you send that video to?"

A terrible suspicion was already forming.

And Charity, seeing my expression, couldn't hold back her laughter.

She waved her phone at me. On the screen was a group chat—flooded with screenshots taken from my delivery video, turned into mocking memes.

Mixed in were crude jokes. Vulgar comments. People laughing at my expense.

"One second her face is all twisted up, the next her eyes are rolling back—and she's so red and sweaty. Honestly, if I didn't know better, I'd never guess this was childbirth, haha."

"Leave it to Brendan to kick off the new year with entertainment like this. Think the missus will run away from home when she finds out?"

"Who cares..."

I closed my eyes, unable to stomach another word. The rage made my wound throb.

"Brendan. Are you still not going to explain?"

I'd assumed he'd simply shown the video to Charity.

I never imagined he'd screenshot the worst moments, turn them into animated memes, and share both the video and the images in the cash-gift group chat he used with his friends.

Over a hundred people in that group. Most of them strangers, maybe—but his close friends knew exactly who I was.

And right now, they were having the time of their lives discussing it.

Brendan frowned, clearly irritated by my confrontational tone.

He studied me from above for a long moment, as if finally deciding he was done pretending. Then he spread his hands, his expression utterly indifferent.

"There's nothing to explain. I was just having some fun."

"Naomi, it was just a joke. Don't take it so seriously."

My breath caught in my throat.

"A joke?"

My hand trembled as I pointed to the filthiest comments on the screen.

"You turn your wife—who just gave birth—into a punchline? Brendan, are you even human?"

He snatched the phone with an impatient sigh and typed a half-hearted message telling everyone to knock it off.

"That's enough, Naomi. Don't be so dramatic."

"You gave me a child. I was happy. What's wrong with sharing the video so the guys could celebrate too? If you don't like it, just don't look."

I went rigid, unable to believe those words had come from his mouth.

But then again—maybe I'd never really known him at all.

Everything before this. All of it. A mask.

The realization that I'd spent five years with a man who'd casually expose my most private moments to strangers sent ice crawling down my spine.

I looked at his face again—and couldn't hold it in. I lurched over the edge of the bed and dry-heaved.

"Was there... was there anything else?" I gasped. "Did you ever record anything else and send it out?"

The nausea in my chest refused to subside.

Brendan raised an eyebrow, his gaze darkening as he considered the question for a long moment.

"No."

Relief began to loosen the knot in my stomach—

Then he continued.

"But I wanted to."

"We'd just gotten married back then. You hadn't even had the baby yet. How could I risk it?"

He looked at me as though he were discussing the weather.

"If you'd found out, I would've lost the wife I worked so hard to marry."

Staring at him, rage tore through me until my whole body shook. My hands on the bed rail wouldn't stop trembling.

"Disgusting. Vile."

My fists clenched, released, clenched again—and finally, I swung at his face.

He saw it coming. His arm still draped around Charity's neck, he stepped back smoothly.

My palm cut through empty air.

The nausea surged again. I barely made it to the trash can before bile burned its way up my throat.

Charity watched, one hand resting on Brendan's, the other pressed to her mouth as she doubled over laughing.

"See? I told you she's hilarious. A few little words and she's falling apart. Zero composure."

Her voice carried just as Brendan's friends arrived to visit.

They sauntered in with grins, shoving an elaborately wrapped bouquet of lilies into Charity's arms before crowding around her and Brendan.

"What's so funny? You two look way too happy—always keeping your little secrets from us."

"Screw off," Brendan said with a lazy curse, then asked what brought them here.

Their eyes slid toward me. The words came out halting.

"Just... wanted to check in."

"Oh—where's the baby? Boy or girl? You showed us the whole delivery but never told us what you got!"

The one speaking—I recognized his voice instantly. The most vulgar one in the group chat.

Charity was already steering them toward the bassinet.

I couldn't stop them. All I could do was turn desperate eyes to Brendan.

"Brendan."

I called his name the way I always had.

He paused. Something flickered in his eyes when he saw my ashen face, my tangled hair—a brief flash of reluctance.

"What is it?"

His voice softened.

"Could you take them somewhere else? The baby just fell back asleep after crying. All this noise... it's not good for her."

The moment the words left my mouth, whatever softness had been in his expression vanished. His tone turned cold again.