Eight Lost Babies: My Husband's Deadly Secret

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The eighth failed pregnancy, and once again Derek Gilbert performed the D&C on me with his own hands.

"Derek, I'm so sorry."

On the operating table, I couldn't hold back the sound of my crying.

His hands never paused, but his voice stayed gentle, soothing.

"Shh. There'll be more chances."

After the procedure, I lay on the hospital bed to rest.

Worried I'd be bored, Derek made a point of handing me his tablet to pass the time.

I hadn't meant to pry into anything of his.

But a message popped up, and before I could stop myself, I'd tapped into it.

【Derek, man, this is the eighth time. Don't actually leave yourself without an heir.】

【Vivi doesn't want me having kids with anyone else. I have to think about how she feels.】

【Still, you can't keep giving your wife mifepristone every single time. Can't you just use some kind of protection?】

【We're both men. You get it.】

The conversation ended, but I sat there staring at the screen, unable to come back to myself.

Four years of marriage. Eight failed pregnancies.

So it had all been my beloved husband, the gifted OB-GYN, feeding me the drug with his own hands.

Derek, you are so cruel.

And me — I can't love you anymore.

1

Derek pushed the door open. I didn't have time to wipe the tears off my face, only to swipe the screen over to a video.

He still thought I was crying because I'd lost the baby, and he gathered me close, gentle as ever.

"Don't be so upset. You're recovering right now, you can't cry."

"I've gotten you time off. Just rest and get well."

I set the tablet down, pulled out of his arms, turned over on the bed, and squeezed my eyes shut.

The Derek after our marriage was nothing like the cool, distant man he'd been before.

He'd turned gentle and thoughtful.

For a while I thought that was love. It never occurred to me that from the very start it was guilt.

"I've spoken to Gillian Lambert. Call her if you need anything. I'll go make you some shredded-meat porridge."

"You've hurt your body. You need to take care of it."

After Derek left, I opened the tablet again and used my phone to take photos.

The tears streamed down my face all over again.

Four years of marriage, and this was the eighth failed pregnancy.

I'd thought it was my body that was the problem, that all these years I'd been drinking the recovery tonic tea to fix myself.

The bitter medicine was hard to swallow, but I thought of Derek, thought of the child that never stayed.

I forced myself to drink down bowl after bowl of it.

Four years, three times a day, never missing a single dose.

So it had all been a joke.

It wasn't my body. It was a person's heart.

Around noon, Derek came back.

"Charity Henson, are you awake? I brought the porridge."

I opened my eyes and looked at him. He hadn't come alone. There was a woman with him.

She came forward, greeting me warmly.

"Hello. I'm Vivienne Lawson, Derek's classmate from college."

"I just got back to the country yesterday and wanted to see my old friend. I had no idea you were in the hospital."

"I came in a rush and didn't bring a gift, so please don't take it the wrong way."

Vivienne. So this was the Vivi Derek talked about. Strikingly beautiful. She had exactly the kind of face a man might not be able to forget.

I lowered my eyes and hid the hatred in them.

Seeing that I didn't answer, Derek picked up the thread himself, easily.

"Charity isn't like that. She won't mind."

Under the blanket, my hand clenched tight.

I did mind. Not that she hadn't brought a gift. I minded her, all of her.

Derek didn't notice my expression. He kept talking as he opened the thermal container.

The lid came off, and a familiar smell filled the whole room.

Vivienne leaned in.

"That smells wonderful. I never would've guessed, Derek — you can cook this too?"

"I skipped breakfast this morning. Just the smell of it makes my mouth water."

Derek gave a soft laugh.

"Have some."

Vivienne waved her hands quickly.

"No, no, I couldn't. This is for your wife. How could I eat it?"

Derek put the bowl into her hands.

"You've never had it. Try it. I'll just make her another batch."

There was something forceful in the way he did it.

This was a Derek I'd never seen.

To me, he was always considerate.

When I was sick and couldn't eat, he'd say, then don't eat for now.

When I had my period and didn't want the ginger tea, he'd say, then just lie down for a while.

But with Vivienne, he was forceful.

He wouldn't let her sit there hungry.

Under the blanket, my hand slowly loosened.

The bowl of porridge had gone to Vivienne. And this man had gone to Vivienne too.