That day, while I endured the agony of egg retrieval at the hospital—bleeding and confined to bed—he was passionately trying to conceive with his first love.
I forced back my tears and said with sorrow,
“I don’t want this child. I’ll fulfill your wish.” Ethan’s pupils widened sharply, staring at me in shock. Then, he glanced at the fruit knife on the coffee table, grabbed it, and plunged it into his arm with a dull thud.
“Hannah, let me make it up to you, okay?”
“Keep the child. I don’t want a divorce.”
Before I could respond, a slim figure rushed over, clutching his wound.
“Ethan, how could you be so reckless!”
She yanked my hair and violently shoved me aside.
“Hannah Sterling, you’re so heartless. No wonder you can’t have children.”
With a crash, I slammed onto the coffee table, pain shooting through my spine like it was snapping.
Sabrina, pulled by momentum, stumbled and fell into Ethan.
As she frowned and held her stomach, Ethan panicked, sweeping her into his arms.
“Sabrina, where does it hurt? I’ll take you to the hospital right now.”
With that, he bolted toward the door, turning back anxiously once he stepped outside.