Samuel paused and sighed. "I have no choice. Lydia will wake up soon, and if we perform a hysterectomy now, it’ll raise her suspicions."
"She’ll have to endure it. I’ll compensate her later, but I cannot allow Lydia to get pregnant again."
Just then, Samuel’s phone rang. He hit the speaker button, and a man’s excited voice echoed through the morgue.
"Mr. Lopez, I’ve received the five million. Don’t worry; I’ll leave New York immediately. I won’t let your wife know you were the one who had her pushed down the stairs. Hehe."
At that moment, footsteps approached.
Ignoring the pain in my leg, I staggered back to the ward.
Thinking of my dead child, I clutched my chest, trying to hold in the anguish as tears fell on my bandaged leg.
So, it wasn’t an accident that I was pushed down the stairs. It was my dear husband clearing obstacles for the woman he loved and their child.
My child was saved, but he was smothered to death by his biological father!
To Samuel, we—mother and child—were nothing but stumbling blocks.
"Lydia, you’re awake?"
Samuel walked in holding a baby and sat beside me with a smile. "Look at our child. Doesn’t he look just like us?"