He Let Me Die, Then Knelt for My Love

I was lying alone on the freezing surgical table, waiting for the post-miscarriage procedure, when I scrolled past a trending post on a local online forum.

The title read: 【If you marry the boy who only has eyes for you, how cute will your babies be?】

The poster had recorded every little thing with giddy devotion: how the boy drove across the entire city at midnight just to buy her sour plum juice.

Even the wallpaper color for the future nursery had sparked a lively debate in the comments.

Every line brimmed with sweet, breathless hope for a family of three.

Then I saw the IP address and the username, and my eyes burned.

It was me. Seven years ago.

Seven years later, the man who had promised to make me the happiest mother in the world was downstairs in obstetrics with his first love, there for her pregnancy support treatment.

And me—threatened miscarriage from long-term depression, thirteen desperate calls to him, every single one declined.

I signed the consent form for the procedure with steady hands and left a reply under my own old post.

【Don't have the baby. In the end, you'll be the one dying on the table.】

……

“What are you crying about? You're worse than a hen that can't lay eggs, sitting in the seat of Mrs. Farley for nothing!”

Rachel Farley's shrill voice echoed down the empty corridor.

The procedure had just ended. My legs felt like dead weight, and I had to brace myself against the wall to stay upright.

Wallace Farley was standing right behind her.

He wore a tailored suit, brow drawn tight, and the look he gave me was nothing but impatience.

“Jacqueline, stop acting half-dead. Addie's still upstairs getting pregnancy support treatment. Do you really have to jinx things right now?”

I stared at the man in front of me, feeling nothing.

Seven years ago, I'd nicked my finger slicing vegetables, and his eyes went red with worry. He ran out that same night just to buy me ointment.

Now, a piece of me had just been torn from my body.

He thought I was bad luck.

I swallowed the taste of blood in my throat. My voice came out scraped raw. ：“I called you thirteen times.”

“Addie was throwing up nonstop. You think I had time for your nonsense calls?” Wallace scoffed. “Besides, it was just a threatened miscarriage. Not like you were going to die.”

Just a threatened miscarriage.

I looked down at the ultrasound printout crumpled in my fist.

There had been a tiny dark spot on it once. Our baby. The one we'd been waiting for.

“Wallace, please don't blame Jacqueline. It's all my fault……”

A sugary, pitiful voice floated over.

Adeline Henson appeared in an oversized maternity dress, a nurse supporting her by the arm.

Her cheeks were glowing. She didn't look the slightest bit sick.

Rachel's face transformed instantly, all warmth and fuss, as she hurried over to take Adeline's other arm. ：“Oh, my precious grandchild! Why did you come downstairs?”

Adeline walked up to me. Her gaze dropped to the ultrasound in my hand, and something vicious flickered behind her eyes.

Then her ankle buckled, and she pitched straight toward me.

I stepped back on instinct.

“Ah!” Adeline cried out, though she'd barely grazed her knee against the floor.

But Wallace rushed at me like he'd lost his mind and shoved me hard out of the way.

My back cracked against the cold wall, and a tearing pain ripped through my abdomen where they'd just operated.

“Have you lost your mind, Jacqueline?! Addie is carrying my flesh and blood!” Wallace roared, eyes bloodshot.

I curled up on the floor, cold sweat soaking through my hospital gown.

Adeline leaned into Wallace's arms. The moment his attention was elsewhere, the stiletto heel of her shoe came down hard on my fallen ultrasound.

And she ground it—that slip of paper that held my child's life—into the floor.