I was in labor with twins—my second pregnancy—and it was a difficult birth. With the last bit of my strength, I called my husband, Franco, the so-called "renowned gynecologist" who should have been by my side.

What I heard on the other end wasn’t comfort—it was barking. A chorus of panicked howls.

His voice was cold and distant. "I'm performing a C-section on Leanna's dog. There are eight lives in her belly. You’ve only got two."

Then, with a scoff, he added, "What, you can’t give birth without me? Leanna has depression. If her dog dies, she won’t survive either."

Before I could reply, he hung up—and blocked my number.

Our son Alec, only a child, ran off to find Franco and begged him to help me. But he was in a rush, cradling a shivering dog in his arms, too busy escorting it to the pet hospital.

Without a care, he shoved Alec aside.

My son stumbled, fell to the ground, and chased after him in tears—only to be struck and killed by a speeding truck.

My unborn twins died in my womb, suffocated due to the delay in surgery. And I, from severe blood loss, was left unable to bear children ever again.

Losing all three of my children broke me. I wept until I could no longer breathe.

When Franco saw the three urns and the divorce papers, he completely lost it.

——

After emergency surgery, I had barely been wheeled into my room when Franco barged in with Leanna clinging to him.

He stormed up to me, grabbed my arm, and yelled, "Mara, you're nearly thirty. Why are you being so dramatic about giving birth? You needed me there?"

"Leanna's dog nearly died! Do you have any idea how serious that was? And you—jealous and petty—made such a scene that the hospital director insisted on a C-section and forced me to come back for you?"

His gaze dropped to my deflated stomach. He sneered. "Didn’t you deliver naturally anyway? Don’t act so weak. I’m a doctor—I know what a natural birth looks like. With your body, you could’ve run a marathon right after. This act just disgusts me."

As he pulled me, the stitches from the C-section tore open again. The pain was blinding, my body soaked in cold sweat.

I was deathly pale, my voice hoarse as I whispered, "The babies... they didn’t make it. It was a difficult birth..."

Before I could finish, Leanna burst into tears.

"I’m sorry, Mara, this is all my fault. Maple had complications too, and I didn’t know who else to call. I had to ask Franco. Please don’t blame him—don’t keep him from seeing his kids because of me..."

Franco glared at me, then gently pulled her into his arms.

“She’s making a fuss over giving birth—what’s the big deal? It’s not even her first child. Still acting all pure like she's never had one. I spoiled her too much.”

Then, as if switching masks, he turned to Leanna and softened.

"Don’t listen to her. Maple gave birth to eight puppies on her first try. She's the one who’s strong and amazing."

Looking at them, it felt like a thousand needles stabbed straight into the softest part of my heart.

So this was it. In his eyes, Leanna’s dog... was more important than our children.

"You came just to show off that the dog gave birth safely?" I choked out, my voice trembling with grief.

Leanna wiped her tears and gently clutched my wrist.

"No... I came to ask for your help, Mara."

I yanked my hand free. "I just lost my children and nearly died. I don’t have anything left to give."

"Mara!" Franco snapped. "It’s just a small favor—don’t be so heartless!"

"You had twins. Your prolactin levels are double. Maple can’t produce milk yet. We need some to feed her puppies—"

I grabbed the glass from my bedside and hurled it at him. "Get out!"

Leanna wailed, "If Maple’s puppies die, I don’t want to live either!"

Suddenly, Leanna grabbed the fruit knife from the table and slashed at her wrist.

Franco panicked, lunging to snatch it away. In his haste, the blade slashed a deep gash into my thigh.

Blood gushed out instantly, but he didn’t even notice.

He was too busy cradling the now-fainting Leanna in his arms, whispering words of comfort, completely unaware of the wound he had just inflicted on me.

In the chaos, the black medical case beside the bed was knocked over. It popped open slightly—just enough for a splash of bloodied water to spill out.

Leanna shrieked and buried herself deeper into Franco’s embrace. He, in turn, kicked the box away in disgust.

But that box held the bodies of the twins—our babies—who had died before they could even open their eyes and see the world.

Tears poured down my cheeks. Ignoring the pain in my leg, I crawled toward the box and tried to protect it with my arms.

But my desperate attempt only infuriated Franco.

He kicked the box further away and coldly called for hospital staff to dispose of it.

“No! Don’t! Please!”

I sobbed so hard it felt like my insides were being torn apart. I clutched the box tightly to my chest, trembling all over.

Franco paused, then muttered with a frown, "Mara... are you having postpartum depression or something?"

He didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and left, holding Leanna close as he walked away, leaving behind nothing but the echo of my cries in the cold hospital room.

—

It was a long time before he returned.

This time, he brought a postpartum meal and awkwardly cleared his throat.

“I overreacted earlier,” he said. “But you shouldn’t have lied to me while I was operating on Maple.”

He sighed, as if the whole thing had been a minor misunderstanding. “Leanna only developed depression because she fell in love with me. I feel responsible for her. But I only see her as a sister. All those things I said—just to comfort her. You understand, right? You’re always the understanding one.”

It had always been this way.

If Leanna was unhappy, he would mess with me or Alec just to make her laugh. Then he’d bring us a small treat, a hollow apology, thinking it would make everything right.

I looked at the lipstick stain on the hem of his shirt and gave him a small, numb smile.

It was over. I felt nothing but bitter emptiness.

However, he seemed to take that as forgiveness.

He changed the subject, his tone light. “So? What about the babies? Were they both boys? Or two girls? Maybe one of each?”

He waved over a nurse, beaming. “Bring them in. I want to see my kids.”

The nurse hesitated. She glanced at me, then at him. “Dr. Davidson... your children, they..."

Just then, his phone rang.

Of course, it was Leanna.

He answered immediately.

“Franco...” she cooed. “Maple just spit up some milk... is she going to die?”

“Don’t be scared, Leanna. I’m coming right now.”

He hung up and rushed out of the room, so fast he forgot his coat.

The nurse called after him indignantly, “Dr. Davidson! Your wife just had a C-section!”

But Franco had already vanished down the hallway.

I grabbed the nurse’s arm before she could follow.

“I don’t need his pity,” I said quietly. “Can you... take me to see my son?”

Alec was waiting. On the eighteenth floor—in the morgue.

I held my abdomen where the fresh wound throbbed with each breath and staggered toward the cold farewell room.

There, beneath the sterile lights, lay my son.

Alec looked so peaceful.

Tears splashed onto my hands as I pulled his tiny body into my arms.

“My sweet, silly Alec... did it hurt? I’m sorry, Mommy didn’t protect you.”

“I miss you so much. You were always so obedient, so kind. How could you bear to leave me behind?”

“Why didn’t you take me with you? Are you scared, all alone out there?”

“It should’ve been me. I chose the wrong father for you. It’s all my fault.”

I sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. But Alec would never smile at me again. He would never hug me, never wipe away my tears with his little hands.

The warm, radiant little sun in my life had turned into a cold, pale moon.

I didn’t know how long I sat there crying—until my tears ran dry. That’s when a notification lit up my phone screen.

It was a public post from Leanna.

The photo showed two people kissing tenderly, their fingers interlocked.

The caption read. [Congratulations, Dr. D, for passing my final test! I’ve always been your first choice, again and again. Even without a title, I’m willing to grow old with you.]

My gaze fell on the wedding ring in the photo—one I knew all too well. It stabbed into my chest like a blade.

But none of it mattered anymore.

The children I loved most were gone forever.

'Franco... I don’t want you anymore.'

—

When I woke the next morning, a bowl of hot porridge sat on my nightstand.

A string of messages from Franco lit up my phone.

[Mara, something urgent came up. I’m going on a short business trip. I left you breakfast and hired a top-tier maternity nurse and a care worker to look after you.]

[By the way, the maternity ward is really short on beds. Since you had a natural birth, don’t take up the hospital bed any longer. As my family member, you should understand—it reflects badly on me. Please check yourself out.]

[Be good. I’ll bring back gifts for you and the babies.]

I stared at the high-end maternity nurse standing in the doorway and felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat.

Sure enough, the next thing I saw on my phone was another show-off post from Leanna.

[Feel better soon, my little pups! Daddy even took two whole days off to care for you~ You’re so lucky to have a daddy who loves you this much!]

The photo was of Franco, crouching patiently as he bottle-fed a puppy.

My nails dug deep into my palms. My heart grew heavy.

I dismissed the nurse.

Despite the doctor strongly advising I stay hospitalized for at least a month, I refused.

I had a funeral to prepare—for three children.

—

Three days later, I dragged my weakened body to the funeral home.

When I came out, I was holding three still-warm urns—the last warmth they would ever give me.

“Let’s go home, my babies.”

Back at the house, I placed the three white porcelain urns neatly on the coffee table. Beside them lay a divorce agreement.

The house was eerily silent. I glanced at the photo wall in a daze.

A new picture had been added just a month ago: a family portrait taken on Alec’s seventh birthday. The three of us were smiling, frozen in time.

Now, my tears splashed heavily onto the urns.

I sent Franco a text. [Let’s get a divorce.]

It took him a while to reply.

[Don’t be dramatic. I’m away on business. We’ll talk when I’m back.]

Then he sent a photo—three tiny gold lock pendants.

[Mara, look! Aren’t these cute? I picked them for the kids. I got one for you too. It’ll be a surprise!]

The kids?

Coming from his mouth, that word was pure mockery.

All three of our children were dead—because of him.

And now he had the nerve to act like some doting father?

I stared closer at the gold pendants, and rage surged through me like a tidal wave.

Those exact pendants had been on the necks of Leanna’s puppies just yesterday.

Eight puppies. One gold lock each.

So even this shallow gesture of “love for the children” had been repurposed—from her dogs?

Tears blurred my vision.

I took one last look around the house that had held ten years of my marriage. Then I picked up the urns, turned my back, and closed the door behind me without hesitation.

Half an hour later, I parked outside Leanna’s apartment complex.

There they were—Franco and Leanna—pushing a stroller, walking their dogs, basking in the sunshine like the perfect couple.

A security guard chuckled as they passed.

“Wow, you two really spoil your pets. That bottle you’re using to feed the dogs—I didn’t even buy one that expensive for my daughter. Costs more than a month’s salary!”