In her eyes, my existence and our deceased seven unborn children were just obstacles on Khalil’s path to happiness.
“Allen, why are you sitting on the floor?”
Adriana walked into the room and hurried over to help me up, her face full of concern.
“It’s nothing. My stomach just felt a little off,” I lied without batting an eyelid.
She gently rubbed my back to ease my breathing.
“You’ve been taking such good care of me lately, darling. If you ever feel unwell again, please tell me. Don’t keep it to yourself. It breaks my heart.”
“Ever since I got pregnant, I haven’t been sleeping well. The doctor said warm milk helps. Once the baby is born, you’ll have to spank him for me—teach him not to let his mommy suffer so much.”
I looked at that cup of milk and felt a sharp pain in my chest.
Will I ever get to meet my child?
Before every miscarriage, Adriana had acted exactly like this—diligently following the doctor’s advice, eating every meal of nutritious food and taking every supplement said to benefit the fetus.
I thought she wanted this child as much as I did.
I never imagined those were the blades she used to kill them.