After I was rescued from the kidnappers, Thorian Tudor kept his promise and made me his wife.

Seven years of grueling IVF treatments, and at last, we were blessed with a child.

Two weeks before my due date, while he was at a care center taking fatherhood classes, I was quietly erasing every fragment of my personal information.

Just as I thought I’d finished, a message from his childhood friend flashed across my phone, unraveling the fragile peace I had built.

The message read, [With a doting father like Thorian, the baby and I are bound to be happy.]

Attached was a photo of him cradling a practice baby doll, leaning in to kiss Breanna Alpin, her pregnant belly prominently displayed.

I glanced down at my own nine-month belly, the weight of betrayal pressing harder than the life growing inside me.

Silently, I signed the consent form for an abortion.

The surgery papers and a divorce agreement went into an envelope.

A registered letter that would reach him exactly in half a month.

…

After dropping the letter into the mailbox, I lingered outside the door, lighting a cigarette as the cool evening air bit at my skin.

Thorian was already home, standing in the kitchen with an apron tied neatly around his waist, focusing on the simmering pots.

Hearing me enter, he turned quickly, his face lighting up. He stepped over to hang my coat, take my bag, and gently kiss the side of my head.

The rhythmic scrape of the spatula and the savory aroma swirling through the air blurred the lines of reality, pulling me into a haze of recollection. It felt like time had rewound for a moment, and I was living in the comfort of yesterday.

We had built a love story spanning ten years and spent seven of those as husband and wife. In those early days, he insisted on cooking dinner every night, no matter how long or grueling his workday had been.

His gaze always held a warmth that felt like home, as he’d said that sharing dinner together made us a family.

His words had once moved me deeply, etching themselves into my heart. But sadly, that promise had crumbled long ago, and the dinners that once made us a family became a distant memory.

Thorian came over like an overgrown puppy, wrapping me in a warm embrace and guiding me to the dining table.

It was beautifully set, adorned with all my favorite dishes, flickering candlelight, and elegant wine glasses.

“You can’t have wine. So, I warmed some milk for you instead.”

The warm cup of milk was handed to me, and as he lowered his head, his apology was sincere but empty.

“I’m sorry. The courses were too packed, and I didn’t have time to take care of you. How was your checkup today? Is the baby okay?”

His words, once comforting, now felt like a cruel reminder.

It wasn’t the packed courses but the empty space I no longer occupied in his heart.

I turned away from the kiss mark on his neck, lifting the glass of milk to my lips, drinking it all in one go.

But all I could feel was the dull, aching throb of pain, pain that spread from my belly to my heart, a reminder of the choice I had made.

Thorian’s face shifted with surprise, his eyes widening as he immediately checked to ensure I was all right. But soon, a smile returned to his lips.

“A little bit of wine is fine,” he said gently. “The doctor said pregnant women can be emotional before delivery, but it’s okay. I understand.”

He pulled out a chair for me to sit, serving soup with tender care and expertly picking out fish bones.

Then, he proudly showed me the baby clothes he had carefully picked out. He asked me to look at each piece, his excitement palpable.

The soft blue of the clothes caught my attention, and I instinctively ran my fingers along the label inside.

The words “boy” stared back at me, and my smile faltered.

Because deep down, I knew I was carrying a girl.

During the IVF process, Thorian had been clear about his wishes. He had specifically requested a girl, hoping she would be like me, spoiled and adored, raised as the happiest little princess in the world.

Just then, my phone buzzed again.

Breanna had sent another message. [I bought too many clothes for a boy while shopping and picked out some ugly ones for the dad to throw away. They should be in the trash now.]

The photo circled the very clothes Thorian had shown me earlier.

A sharp pain twisted in my stomach as though the child inside was fighting against the drugs, struggling in silent protest.

I clutched my belly, the sensation like a giant hand squeezing the life out of my lungs.

The pain twisted inside me, pulling me into a tight curl.

Thorian froze, his face pale with alarm as he rushed to lift me and settle me onto the sofa.

“Did the alcohol affect the baby? Don’t move; I’ll call the doctor right now!”

I grabbed his arm, holding it tightly as I pressed his hand gently against my belly, trying to find some comfort in his touch.

“Don’t go, it’s not…”

An ugly scar marred my lower abdomen, a reminder of the wound I’d suffered when I hesitated to save Thorian.

I had covered it with a delicate feather tattoo to spare him the weight of his guilt.

Every night, when his lips brushed against the ink, he became particularly tender, as if the touch somehow softened the past.

But that very scar became the barrier between us; over time, he pulled away, and we were left with no choice but to try IVF.

Thorian ran his fingers over the scar on my palm, his dark eyes clouded with unspoken thoughts.

He lowered his head and kissed the feather, his lips soft against the ink, before apologizing once more.

“Baby, I’m sorry. I should’ve been here with you today.”

“Don’t worry, okay? I’ve taken care of everything for us. From now on, I’ll handle the baby and change the diapers, and I’ve already picked a name; Sarah, Sarah Tudor.”

“Our little Sarah, don’t make mommy upset, okay? Let’s sleep together with Daddy.”

He gently pressed my face into his shoulder, patting me softly as if I were a child, his voice a tender whisper.

As I turned my head, I caught a glimpse of his phone on the table, its screen lighting up.

A message from Breanna appeared, catching my eye. [Sarah, Thorian, and Breanna’s relationship is really something. It’s such a shame the boy’s clothes can’t be used, but don’t worry, they’ll go to your girl instead.]

Tears soaked into his shoulder, my body trembling as I fought to hold back the sharp, dying ache of the baby inside me.

With shaky hands, I placed mine over his, pressing it against my back.

“Okay.”

I didn’t want the baby. I didn’t want him anymore.

Halfway through the night, I woke to a fresh wave of pain, only to find Thorian was already gone.

The house was empty, and I struggled to call a cab.

By the time I was being rushed to the hospital, I ran into Thorian, who was with Breanna, accompanying her for a checkup.

He carried the bags, looking like an ordinary, worried husband escorting his wife to the doctor.

He reassured Breanna, who seemed to be both complaining and acting cute on the chair.

Meanwhile, he scribbled notes, hanging on every word the doctor said.

When the doctor finished, they leaned in for a kiss, radiating the kind of love that made them appear inseparable.

“If you regret it, there’s still time,” the doctor said, studying my face closely.

The pain in my abdomen felt like a storm tearing through my insides.

I clutched my chest as if my heart might shatter at any moment and dialed Thorian’s number.

He frowned, staring at the phone for a long moment before he gently hushed Breanna and answered my call.

“Baby, are you awake? Are you hungry?”

His voice was still warm, the same tenderness he always had as if he wasn’t sitting beside Breanna, comforting her.

I gripped the bed rail, my fingers tight and knuckles white, my voice cutting through the air like ice.

“Where are you?”

He paused, his eyes scanning the room, instinctively searching for something.

The throng of patients passing by blocked my view, leaving me in a painful limbo.

His voice returned, lower now, laced with laughter.

“What, do you miss me? I’m at the office. I’ll come back when I’m done and bring you your favorite crab roe buns. Okay?”

He’d try to buy my forgiveness with crab roe buns each time he broke a promise.

But what he didn’t know was that the only time I truly enjoyed them was when I couldn’t have them.

After all these years, the crab roe buns had lost their appeal, especially the ones he brought when he was late.

“My stomach hurts so much, Thorian…”

Breanna’s soft voice drifted through the air.

Thorian knelt quickly in front of her, his expression laced with concern.

He didn’t even seem to hear the doctor, who was urging me to make a decision before both mother and child would be in jeopardy.

“Alright, enough. I have things to do. Stop calling me all the time.”

Thorian ended the call abruptly, his tone sharp and without hesitation. He scooped up Breanna and hurried toward the doctor, their figures retreating together like a heavyweight crashing down on my chest.

It was as if the world around me spun in dizzying circles.

I still clutched the note he left on the bedside when I woke up.

[I need to handle an urgent matter at the company first. Call me when the baby wakes up. Dinner is in the kitchen. Be good.]

I dialed his number, but he was too busy with Breanna to answer.

As the pain intensified, threatening to pull me under, I grabbed the doctor's hand, my grip desperate.

“I want a partial anesthesia abortion... I want to say goodbye to the baby... just one last time.”

...

When I finally opened my eyes, I found myself in a hospital room.

Thorian was sitting by my side, his hand wrapped gently around mine, his eyes closed as he rested.

When I stirred, he jolted awake, his gaze heavy with sorrow and worry.

“Farah, why didn’t you tell me about the premature birth? If I hadn’t been here... I wouldn’t have even known the baby had been born…”

His words cracked through me, pulling the memories of the C-section and the abortion back to the surface.

Images flooded my mind: the baby, full-term, struggling under the weight of the medication, its tiny body still and lifeless.

It felt like a nightmare, slowly squeezing the air from my lungs.

Tears slid down my face in silence, my throat burning as I fought to hold back the sobs.

“…Where’s the baby?”

“In the observation room.”

The doctor had said that, although the baby was too far along, there was still a slim chance it could survive the abortion, but not for long.

It felt like a sharp blade was driven straight into my heart.

I clenched my fist, willing myself not to break, not to cry in front of him.

But Thorian didn’t leave my side, constantly changing my bandages and tending to me like a caring father, his touch gentle and precise.

His smile, warm and full of love, painted him as the man I never thought I would see.

“I had my assistant bring everything over. The baby’s room is ready, and you’ve worked so hard, my wife. I swear I’ll never put you through surgery again…”

His voice flowed over me, comforting and sweet, until he reached my lower abdomen with the hot towel.

Suddenly, he froze, his expression shifting to one of pure shock.

Grabbing my hand in panic, his eyes darted to mine, filled with confusion. “Farah… where’s your tattoo?”

I had asked the doctor to remove it during the abortion, but I hadn’t expected it to leave him so speechless.

I had expected to feel the weight of heartache, the sting of sorrow.

But as the tattoo slowly faded away, the painful memories of those nights when I begged for affection, only to be met with impatience, seemed to melt with it, revealing the raw scar beneath.

My heart, once heavy, felt lighter as if a burden had been lifted from my chest.

I met Thorian’s gaze, my voice steady but cold. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

Embarrassment flickered in his eyes for a brief moment, and he quickly averted his gaze as though trying to escape the truth.

He lowered his head, his hands nervously beginning to wrap me up.

“What are you saying… how could I not like it?”

Flustered, he quickly found a wheelchair and gently pushed me toward the nursing center.

The nurses and doctors greeted us warmly as we made our way down the hall.

They smiled and commented on how perfectly matched Thorian and I were, praising him for being such a responsible father. They insisted that we’d surely have the happiest family with someone like him.

Thorian smiled back, humble yet proud, his chest swelling with quiet pride.

But when I asked him to fetch me some pain medication and the room was left empty with only me inside, I was alone with my thoughts.

Outside, the voices of the nurses and caretakers shifted. Their tones grew lower, more conspiratorial.

“What the hell, so all those affectionate looks were just for a mistress?”

“Thorian’s wife is clearly Farah; it’s in the registry book.”

“There are even pictures. Mr. Tudor always accompanies Miss Alphin to her classes. Was it all just for this mistress? How disgusting!”

It was at that moment, as if on cue, Breanna appeared.

Breanna tossed a stack of photos onto the bed in front of me, her gaze cold, her attitude dripping with disdain.

“I didn’t expect you to still have the nerve to show up here. This is our baby’s room, mine and Thorian’s.”

The photo she flung down showed Thorian reverently kissing Breanna’s belly, his lips a soft, almost worshipful touch against her skin.

Her radiant smile pierced my chest like a jagged needle.

I quickly turned my head, desperate to avoid the sight, but Breanna wasn’t finished. She clung to me, her presence suffocating.

"Don’t think that you've earned any special favor just because you saved Thorian back then. Thorian hates dirty people more than anything. The moment you offered yourself, delaying everything, you were already tainted..."

"You’ve been married for seven years, so what? He still won’t even look at you, let alone touch you. He spends every day with me to release his pent-up energy. He even said it to me in bed."

"He thinks you... are filthy."

Her gaze pierced through me as if she was stripping me bare.

For a moment, I was transported back to that suffocating afternoon, panic rising in my chest as I realized I had run myself into a dead end, all for Thorian’s escape.

When I was rescued, the photos taken by the kidnappers became damning evidence, and their testimonies were used to smear my name.

I denied everything with desperation, but Thorian simply cried, holding me tightly and solemnly vowing to take responsibility for me.

At that moment, I foolishly believed that our love was invincible, that nothing could tear us apart.

But I never anticipated that this would only mark the beginning of seven years of suffering.

It felt like a giant hand was squeezing the very air from my lungs, the pain so suffocating that I could barely breathe.

My fingers tightened around the wheelchair handle, my knuckles white with the effort.

"Get out," I commanded, pushing with every ounce of strength I had, but she simply yanked it back, effortlessly.

She seized my hand and pressed it to her swollen belly.

"I’ll tell you a secret," she sneered, her voice dripping with malice. "I’m not pregnant."

I stared at her, disbelief flooding me, but her eyes were contemptuous, sharp, and unyielding.

"Thorian could never bear to see me suffer like that. Our child is inside you. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted, to bear his child?"

Her gaze was a weapon, slicing through me with ease, leaving me feeling like a fish stranded on dry land, gasping for air, helpless and exposed.

"You’re shameless," I muttered, my words barely audible.

The moment my hand grazed her, she suddenly groaned in pain, crumpling to the floor in a heap, blood spilling out in a pool beneath her.

"My baby, my baby…" she sobbed.

Behind her, Thorian stood, his face as dark as a storm cloud, fury radiating off him.

In an instant, he grabbed me by the neck, slamming me into the wall.

"Farah," he hissed through clenched teeth, his voice low and dangerous, "If her baby dies, I’ll make you pay with your child!"

The pain from the knife wound flared up, dizzying me with its intensity.

My heart felt as though it had been hollowed out completely, leaving nothing but an aching emptiness.

I watched Thorian lift Breanna and walk away, his back turned to me, each step taking him farther from where I stood. Bitterly, I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, feeling like a forgotten shadow in the distance.

Then, my phone buzzed, pulling me back to reality.

[Identity deactivation procedure has started. It cannot be undone. It will be successfully deactivated in seven days.]

The words hung in the air as if the final nail had been hammered into the coffin of my existence.

After that day, I returned home, my movements mechanical as I packed to leave.

Thorian had spent hours at the hospital, calling me several times to remind me to rest and to check on the baby.

I had heard the news: Breanna had miscarried, but now, she held the baby that had once been mine.

I pretended not to hear it, tossing the emergency kit I had so carefully prepared for him into the trash without a second thought.

I dismantled the study he had once asked for, cutting up the movie discs and music CDs I had painstakingly collected just for him, as though severing the last ties between us.

When I received the notification that the deactivation had been completed, I set fire to all of our photos, watching them curl and blacken in the flames, feeling each piece of the past burn away with them. I was preparing to leave, to step out of the suffocating remnants of what we once shared.

Then, Thorian returned.

He glanced at the fire pit casually, almost as if he didn’t care about the destruction I’d just set in motion, before placing a box of crab roe buns in front of me.

"Farah, that day... I was wrong. I shouldn’t have let my emotions control me and said such hurtful things. I made you suffer."

He paused, running a hand through his hair. "The baby’s condition hasn’t been good these past few days. He’s been in the ICU. You can blame me, resent me all you want, but the baby... he’s innocent."

His voice softened, and the words seemed to reach the deepest part of my heart, pulling at the edges of the damage we’d caused. "Come with me to the hospital, at least to see him. Please?"

The cold edge of my phone pressed sharply into my palm, sending an icy chill straight to my bones.

I knew why he was here. The baby’s organs were failing, and with double the amount of medication, the bleeding was heavy. He wouldn’t survive.

Thorian’s fingers brushed against my belly with an almost tender touch as he slipped a rose-colored ring into my hand, his silent plea hanging between us like the last breath before a storm.