"I still think Gia wouldn't joke about the child…"

On the other side of the door, Millie’s sweet voice interrupted Peter’s tirade, her words dripping with mock humility and innocence.

Peter responded with disdain, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm. "Oh, don't I know Gia? She’s done countless things to manipulate and deceive and yet, my little baby, you’re the only one who can’t see it."

Relieved to have met Peter’s expectations, Millie allowed a sly, satisfied smile to creep across her face as she threw herself contentedly into his embrace, secure in his approval.

Peter's words made my heart surge with both anger and bitter curiosity.

I pricked up my ears to continue listening, when, suddenly, a frantic knock rattled the door of the duty room. The male nurse burst in, his face pale with worry.

“Doctor Peter, there’s a pregnant woman with a uterine hemorrhage who needs immediate help!”

For a fleeting moment, a rush of hope swept through me.

Could it be me? Could I still be saved?

Peter, the embodiment of confidence and composure, faltered. He stammered, fingers fidgeting and crushing the edges of a medical file in his hands.

“How is that possible? Tonight, five deliveries, four of them successful, only…” his mind churned, clearly shaken.

“Could it be Gia?” Millie gasped, her face blanching in sudden panic as she bolted toward the emergency room.

But when Millie reached the operating room, her expression twisted into one of sour disappointment as she eyed the unfamiliar face lying on the table.

The male nurse clarified quickly, "Doctor Peter, this is a high-risk case just brought in from emergency. You’re the only one here with the skill to handle it."

A bitter smile crept onto my face as I mocked myself for ever believing in Peter’s devotion.

Outside, Peter had steadied himself, his hands now deftly grasping the hemostatic forceps, poised and in control. He was back to being Doctor Peter, the well-regarded obstetrician at Central Hospital, known for his expertise and calm under pressure.

His reputation had been built on a career of skillful interventions, saving countless women and children from the brink of death.

The walls of his office and study were littered with plaques, certificates and banners lauding his achievements.

It all felt absurd now.

I, his own wife, had died under his care, my life slipping away due to his own rigid, misguided judgments.

Then came the call from the operating room, a jubilant voice crying out, “Mother and baby are safe!”

The tension of the emergency ebbed, replaced by the quiet satisfaction of another life saved.

Peter, perhaps softened by the successful delivery, appeared to fall into a daze. His gaze shifted absentmindedly toward my ward, though he couldn’t see the slow, crimson trickle pooling beyond the closed door.

If only he had stepped closer, he would have found my lifeless body marked by the silent testimony of blood, a wound deep enough to condemn.

But Peter’s small flicker of attention was cut short. Millie’s voice, sugary and possessive, broke the moment, as she sidled up to him with a coy smile, slipping her arm around his. She tugged him playfully toward the single restroom nearby.

Peter frowned, his expression a show of resistance and he gently pushed her back, as if trying to maintain some professional decorum. But it was all undone by the indulgence in his eyes, a fondness so blatant it drowned his weak refusal.

“Millie,” he said softly, as if justifying himself, “I am a doctor. Whatever Gia may have done, I must ensure she delivers safely. After that…” He trailed off, his gaze meeting hers. “After that, you’ll get what you want. Just wait a little longer.”

Millie’s face darkened, the anger sparking in her eyes barely concealed as she buried herself in his chest. Yet, in her calculated way, she soon pulled back and left a deep red mark on the side of his neck, a brazen claim of possession for anyone who cared to look.

Peter’s expression changed as he looked closer, seeing something new. His gaze lowered to the vivid mark she bore on her cheek—a bright red impression, as though from a slap, marring her otherwise flawless skin.

“What happened to you?” he demanded, his voice darkening. “You were fine just moments ago!”

His face clouded with worry and without hesitation, he took her hand and stormed off down the hall, concern blazing in his eyes. Millie’s voice dropped to a syrupy murmur, filled with false humility. “It’s nothing, as long as it makes Gia feel better.”

The tone of her words was enough to make bile rise in my throat. The implication was clear, though Millie hadn’t even stepped near my room. I realized with a cold, sinking certainty that the mark on her cheek was nothing more than lipstick, a fabrication crafted to appear as a slap.

Even so, Peter didn’t doubt her for a second.

Caught in her web, Peter’s anger turned toward me. But he never reached my door. Distracted by Millie’s whispered reassurances and feigned vulnerability, he succumbed to her manipulations with ease. She leaned into him, her lips pressing against him until his attention blurred, lost in her embrace.

Only a single wall divided us. On one side, my life fading away, an agony he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—acknowledge. On the other, my husband and his lover entwined, passionate, oblivious.

My heart ached, feeling as if it were being torn from within and my spirit swirled, helplessly trapped between the two.

Hatred surged within me—deep, resentful, consuming. How foolish I had been to believe, to give so much of myself for a man so utterly undeserving.

Tears pricked the corners of my lifeless eyes, slipping down in silent, mingling with the blood that had already sealed my fate.

Just as he was about to cross a line he couldn’t return from, Peter gently nudged Millie aside with his elbow.

He took a few hurried steps to the sink, splashing cold water over his face, letting it trickle down as he clenched his fists. He twisted his arm inward, gripping it tightly in a visible attempt to regain composure.

Millie, her eyes glistening with tears, wrapped herself around his waist from behind, her voice a broken whisper.

“Peter, why won’t you… Do you think I’m filthy?”

Peter whirled around, his breathing still heavy with frustration.

“How could I ever think that?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m carrying so much right now, Millie. Just give me some time. I’ll make sure you’re never seen as just a mistress.”

Peter tenderly brushed her hair back from her forehead and pulled her close, his lips trailing soft kisses across her face.

Millie’s smile turned cold as her gaze shifted to where I lingered, her expression daring me to react, triumphant in her perceived victory.

I could only stare, feeling a rising sense of disbelief.

So, in Peter’s mind, I was a burden, a responsibility he had to bear. But to him, Millie was someone precious, someone he had to shield from any pain.

It was tragic, really. Millie hadn’t even spared herself any pain; she was her own worst tormentor.

From the moment she discovered I was Peter’s wife, she began her subtle, cruel taunts. Every time I came to the hospital for my prenatal checkups, she would find a reason to be there.

She would don his pristine white coat, wield his favorite fountain pen and always call him Peter with such sweetness that could turn stomachs, making sure everyone within earshot was fully aware of their closeness.

Once, I had gone for a routine ultrasound and Millie had taken it upon herself to pose as the technician. I felt sharp discomfort as she carelessly used an unlubricated probe, which left me with inflammation and almost caused a miscarriage.

Furious, I filed a formal complaint with the hospital, hoping for justice.

But without concrete evidence, it was deemed “iatrogenic” and I was left without any recourse.

Rather than sympathy, Peter saw me as a jealous woman bent on creating trouble. His annoyance was palpable.

And by then, I was nearing the end of my pregnancy, too worn down by the endless clashes with my mother-in-law, the fatigue of my swollen body and Peter’s shifting affections to argue.

Yesterday, I arrived at the hospital for delivery and felt a sense of dread trickle down my spine. My eyes fell upon the head nurse—and it was Millie, her gaze too eager and self-satisfied.

An unsettling foreboding weighed down on me.

As I feared, when Millie came to give me an infusion, she pretended as if she couldn’t find a vein. She jabbed the needle in and out of the back of my hand, with an almost deliberate cruelty, piercing deeper until a sharp pain shot up my arm as she struck a nerve. My hand began to swell, the veins bulging and the pain radiating through my fingers, leaving them numb and aching.

With the operation fast approaching, I couldn’t bear it any longer and complained to Peter. But instead of understanding, his face twisted with anger. He snatched the delivery bag and, without warning, smashed it down onto my swollen hand, making me gasp in pain.

“You’re the first to lodge a complaint, aren’t you?” he spat, his voice filled with venom.

“All because of some petty jealousy, you threw boiling water at Millie when she was just trying to help you! She hasn’t even uttered a word against you.”

He glared down at me, a cold fury in his eyes. “She made one small mistake with the needle and you’re acting so high and mighty? Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you can act out however you please. You don’t get special treatment just because you’re my wife! Just give birth to the child on your own!”

The rage in his voice was unmistakable, his contempt clear. “Does it hurt? Good. Maybe now you’ll remember this.”

Under Peter’s orders, a male nurse came forward and strapped down my arms and legs. Millie leaned over, gagging me with a cloth so I couldn’t protest.

Panic surged through me and I mumbled desperately through the cloth, pleading with Peter. “I’m not afraid of pain,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper, “I’m afraid of dying with the baby! How can I possibly deliver a four-kilogram baby naturally? This is your own child!”

Peter only sneered, a smirk of disbelief crossing his face. “A giant baby? Dying with the baby? Do you think I’m that easily fooled?” he scoffed.

“Stop pretending. If you manage to give birth safely, then bow to Millie and apologize, maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider forgiving you.”

With that, he turned and ordered the others to take me to the delivery room. Then he took Millie, who feigned distress, out of the room with him, claiming she needed medication.

Moments later, I could only imagine what was happening in the other room. They had lost themselves to their passions and Peter now cradled the exhausted Millie, his eyes filled tenderness.

“Gia should have learned her lesson by now,” he murmured. “You don’t need to deal with her anymore. Have another doctor handle the operation and we can leave together after work.”

Just then, a male nurse burst into the room, his face pale with dread. “Doctor Peter, it’s bad! Something’s gone terribly wrong. Your wife, she’s in critical condition!”