"If you don’t have this child, then you don’t have it. We’re still young—we can always have another one. No matter what, I will only love you in this life."
A sob clawed its way up my throat. I begged him—pleaded for him to believe me—but he wasn’t listening. With a single wave of his hand, the doctor’s assistants dragged me away.
The cold metal of the hospital bed pressed against my back as I was forcibly strapped down.
"Don’t use anesthesia," Tristan ordered. "Perform the cesarean directly."
Terror gripped me.
I screamed. I thrashed. But I was powerless against them.
I felt everything.
The moment the scalpel sliced into my flesh, a white-hot pain ripped through me. Agony blurred my vision, but the true torment came when I saw them pull my baby from my body.
Too small. Too fragile. Too silent.
My child had no chance of survival.
A wretched cry tore from my lips as I reached out for him, but my arms were too weak. I could only watch, helpless, as his tiny body grew cold in the doctor’s hands.
The pain in my body was nothing compared to the pain in my heart.
Tristan didn’t stay.
The moment they retrieved the umbilical cord blood, he left—rushing to Faye’s side without a second glance at me.