I have been married to John Smith for five years, yet I have never conceived. He once told me he had a medical condition and begged me not to resent him for it. I believed him. Until today.

Lying in a hospital bed, my abdomen wracked with pain, I watched as John stepped out to buy me lunch. A nurse entered moments later, preparing an injection. She sighed and muttered under her breath, her voice laced with disapproval.

"I just don’t understand you. Every time you get pregnant, you still let your husband be so... intense. And now, another miscarriage."

Her words sent a chill down my spine. Another miscarriage? The seven times I had suffered severe abdominal pain and heavy bleeding in the past five years—were not menstrual cramps, but miscarriages? My breath caught in my throat. My hands clenched the hospital sheets as realization dawned.

John had no medical condition. He never had a problem with fertility. He just never wanted me to bear his child.

A wave of nausea hit me as I forced myself up, my body trembling from the pain. I had to find out the truth. Steeling my nerves, I reached for the door, but just as I was about to step out, I heard his voice from inside the doctor's office.

"Mr. Smith," the doctor said, his tone grim. "The bleeding was excessive this time. I'm afraid your wife may never be able to conceive again."

John's reply was chillingly indifferent. "It doesn’t matter. I never intended for her to bear a child of the Smith Family. I only married her to silence the public—to stop them from tarnishing Yurie’s reputation. It hasn’t been easy for her, raising a child alone in the Smith Family. No one else can take the heir’s place."

Yurie. His sister-in-law. It all clicked at once. Every act of tenderness, every whispered promise, every night we spent together—nothing but a lie. Then what was I to him? A pawn?

——

The doctor flipped through some reports. "Mr. Smith, Madam was three months pregnant this time. You terminated it again, in the same cruel manner."

I gripped the doorframe as my vision blurred.

Three months...

"If it continues like this, she may never bear a child again," the doctor warned. "At worst, this could cause irreversible damage to her health. And the medication you’ve been giving her to stop the bleeding—it’s harmful."

John scoffed. "It’s worked so far, hasn’t it? She always thinks it's just her period."

"But, Mr. Smith, don’t you want a child of your own? You're so devoted to your sister-in-law... aren't you afraid—?"

"Afraid?" His voice darkened. "I failed to make Yurie love me back then. The least I can do now is give her the best life possible."

"But, Sir—"

"Rachel has me. Isn’t that enough?" he interrupted. "Make sure the infertility diagnosis is flawless. She must never find out."

The doctor fell silent. After all, this was the Smith Family’s private hospital.

A cold, suffocating emptiness swallowed me whole. I had carried his child—our child—more than once. And he had killed them. All of them.

My body trembled uncontrollably. The man I had respected, loved and trusted with all my heart had been slowly destroying me from within. It explained everything—the times when his usual gentleness gave way to an almost ruthless fervor at night. I had thought he was merely overwhelmed with stress. I had never rejected him.

How foolish I had been. He never wanted our child to live. As long as the only descendant of the Smith Family was Yurie Scott’s son, she would retain control and he would ensure no one threatened that future.

I had considered taking precautions, but I never doubted his infertility reports. He had made them too convincing.

Whenever I suffered heavy bleeding, I blamed my fragile body. I never suspected the truth. He would always hold me in his arms, whispering sweetly, "Rachel, it's normal for women to have irregular periods. I'll go buy you painkillers."

Painkillers. The very pills that stopped the bleeding from my miscarriages. Tears blurred my vision as I stood frozen outside the doctor’s office, my world collapsing around me.

John had never loved me. He had only ever loved her.

If it hadn't been for the excessive bleeding this time, the pain would have been unbearable and I wouldn’t have been rushed to the hospital. Otherwise, how much longer would I have remained in the dark?

Hearing the sound of chairs scraping against the floor in the doctor’s office, I turned and fled back to my hospital room, my heart pounding. I caught my reflection in the glass as I passed. My face was ghostly pale, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on my forehead. The sight of myself like this hurt more than the physical pain.

Trembling, I crawled into bed, but the tears would not stop. When I heard the door open and John’s footsteps approaching, I hastily wiped them away, forcing myself to suppress the agony clawing at my chest.

“Rachel, what’s wrong? You look even paler.”

His voice was filled with concern as he stepped closer, holding a thermos bucket in his hands. He opened it and poured out steaming osmanthus congee—my supposed favorite.

“Maybe I caught a chill from the window,” I murmured.

He immediately got up, closed the window and then carefully wiped a spoon before scooping some porridge and blowing on it gently.

“Rachel, you’ve been so weak lately. I bought this just for you. Once you’re better, I’ll take you out for a proper meal, alright?”

His voice was as gentle as ever, as if he hadn’t just been in the doctor’s office, speaking those cruel words.

The spoon touched my lips, but my stomach churned with nausea. Seeing me hesitate, he didn’t push, only smiled patiently.

“Rachel, be good. You haven’t eaten all day.”

“If you keep this up, I’ll be heartbroken.”

His brows furrowed as if he truly felt distressed for me, but his eyes held something else—something unreadable.

Once, I would have been touched by his kindness. He had always been so attentive, so meticulous in his care. I had foolishly thought it was love. But now, I knew better. It was all just a means to keep me under his control.

“John, I don’t want to eat.”

I lifted my gaze, meeting his eyes directly. For a brief moment, a flicker of something crossed his expression. He quietly set the spoon down, stirring the porridge as if deep in thought. Then, as swiftly as it had come, the hesitation vanished, replaced by his usual gentle smile.

“Rachel, I know you don’t like taking medicine, but how else will you recover?”

His voice was soothing, coaxing.

“I already mixed the painkillers into the porridge. Just eat a little, alright? You’ll feel better soon.”

His tone was patient, but the spoon pressed against my lips more insistently. His eyes darkened with quiet resolve—I knew he wouldn’t let me refuse.

Tears welled up again, slipping silently down my cheeks. With no other choice, I parted my lips, allowing the porridge—along with my own tears—to slide down my throat.

The baby was already gone. Without the medicine, I might continue to bleed. I couldn’t afford to die. John, do you have even a shred of real love for me? If not, then why won’t you just let me go?

Once he was satisfied, he wiped away my tears with gentle fingers. “Rachel is very brave. After taking the medicine, you’ll be fine. Don’t be afraid.”

I laughed bitterly in my heart. The side effects of the hemostatic medicine were severe—he knew this better than anyone. Hanging onto life while enduring excruciating pain.

Soon, my limbs grew cold, sweat dripping down my skin in waves. A sharp, unbearable ache settled at the small of my back, as if invisible hands were clenching and releasing me in torment.

The pain persisted, creeping into my bones. A new fear took root inside me—what if I didn’t make it this time?

Curling up under the blanket, I tried to find warmth, but my body wouldn’t stop trembling. In my dazed state, my hand accidentally knocked out the IV needle, the sharp sting barely registering in my mind. I had felt pain like this before.

I wanted to cry out, to scream, but I was too weak. Just as I was slipping further into the abyss, the covers were suddenly lifted and I realized—the sheets beneath me were drenched.

A nurse’s frantic voice rang out, slicing through my haze.

“The patient’s condition is unstable! Dr. Lane, hurry!”

As the world blurred around me, I felt myself slipping into darkness, clinging onto a fragile thread of consciousness.

John held my hand tightly, his expression unreadable, his emotions shrouded in an indescribable haze.

Dr. Lane’s voice was cold, laced with a subtle reprimand. “Mr. Smith, your wife barely escaped death this time. If the nurse hadn’t found her in time... she might not be here right now. She will have a high fever for the next few days—you’d better take proper care of her.”

I felt the warmth of John’s face against my hand. I wanted to pull away, but my body was too weak to resist. I could only lie there, allowing him to do as he pleased.

“No... I will protect her. She won’t die.”

His voice wavered, the faintest tremor betraying something unfamiliar—was it fear? Desperation? Or was it just my imagination?

Perhaps it was a dream. After all, John had never loved me. If I had died, wouldn’t that have set him free to be with the woman he truly cherished?

Still, deep inside, a foolish part of me clung to a shred of hope, though I knew it was impossible.

This time, John didn’t dare leave. He stayed beside me, unwavering, tending to me through the night. He pressed a cool, damp towel to my burning forehead, soothing my fever. Occasionally, I felt the roughness of his unshaven face brushing against my skin. For a fleeting moment, my heart wavered.

Then, as if in a trance, I heard him murmur, “Yurie, don’t worry. No one will take your child’s place.”

In my fevered dreams, I wept bitterly. I had loved him in silence for three years before we married and for five years after. And yet, in this moment, every ounce of my love collapsed like a broken dam.

There was no turning back. Every ounce of tenderness he showed me was merely a shadow of the love he reserved for someone else.

***

When I woke from my nightmare, I found John asleep beside me. His brows were furrowed, as if he were deep in troubled dreams.

For a long moment, I simply stared at him before slowly reaching for my phone. My fingers trembled as I typed a message to my best friend in Brooklyn.

[Didn’t you always want me to join you in starting a business? I’ll come find you in a week.]

John’s grip on my other hand was firm, making it difficult to type. Sweat beaded on my forehead as another wave of pain rippled through my body. I clenched my teeth, lying still, waiting for it to pass.

Then, an untimely chime rang out from his phone.

At first, I ignored it. But when the notifications continued, my curiosity got the better of me. His phone had no password—he always said, “I’m open with Rachel. You can check my phone whenever you like.”

I had trusted him. I had never once taken him up on the offer. The screen lit up, revealing our wedding photo as the background. We looked so happy, smiling like a couple deeply in love. If I hadn’t known better, I might have believed it myself. But then my eyes fell on a series of scheduled reminders and my heart clenched.

[January 22 – Yurie’s birthday. Buy her the one-of-a-kind gemstone necklace.]

Tomorrow. He had planned in advance. He was going to see Yurie tomorrow. My hands moved on their own, clicking into his notes, my mind momentarily forgetting the pain wracking my body. Because the pain in my chest was far greater.

[April 5, 2023 – Today, Yurie looked at me. Is she still unable to let me go? If she had married me from the start, I would have given her all my happiness. But it’s fine. I can still do that now.]

[June 13, 2023 – Yurie fell today. She’s always been frail. I can’t let her go to such places again. I’ll hire more caregivers for her.]

[July 19, 2023 – Tomorrow, my nephew starts school. I must remember to prepare gifts for both mother and child.]

[September 27, 2023 – Today, my nephew accidentally called me ‘Dad.’ It was just a single word, but it made me happier than I expected. Yurie, does this mean we’ve spent enough time together to count as family now?]

A cold chill spread through me, numbing every nerve. I had been nothing but an afterthought. A placeholder. A name he kept in his life, while his heart had always belonged to someone else.