The doctor’s scolding still echoed in my ears.
When I gave birth to Jasper, I suffered a massive hemorrhage. Though they saved me, the damage was irreversible. Pregnancy became nearly impossible.
Hugo had always dreamed of having a daughter. Even Jasper kept begging for a little sister.
So, I gritted my teeth and endured multiple rounds of IVF. The sight of that 30-centimeter needle was terrifying enough, let alone the agony of it piercing my body over and over again. Only those who have been through it could understand.
I rushed to find him on our wedding anniversary, excitement bubbling in my chest. I couldn’t wait to share the news; I was finally pregnant.
But before I could reach him, a car slammed into mine from behind.
Pain shot through me as warm blood seeped through my dress.
Panic clawed at my throat as I fumbled for my phone, dialing his number with trembling fingers. Desperate. Helpless.
But instead of concern, I heard the sound of laughter. Celebration.
He was at Ava’s birthday party.
And the son I had nearly died to bring into this world, he was covering for them behind my back.
Everything I had done for this family at that moment felt like a cruel joke.