My Husband Framed Me After Childbirth,Now He’s Begging a Grave for Forgiveness — Novel

About

Samantha Pruitt thought she was stepping into a life of love and luxury when she married Cyril Sanchez. But on the day she gives birth to their daughter, everything shatters. Accused of betrayal and abandonment, she is thrust into a nightmare where her husband turns against her, weaponizing his sister’s jealousy to strip her of everything she holds dear. With a staggering bride price looming over her and a feverish baby in her arms, Samantha finds herself trapped in a web of lies and manipulation, where every ally seems to have vanished.

As Cyril's cold demeanor hardens and his sister Ruth revels in her cruelty, Samantha must navigate a world that has turned hostile. Can she reclaim her life while fighting to protect her daughter? Or will the weight of betrayal bury her beneath the expectations of a family that never truly accepted her?

In a tale of resilience and heartache, Samantha faces the ultimate question: how far will she go to reclaim her freedom and safeguard her child's future? The stakes are high, and the road ahead is fraught with danger—can she rise from the ashes of her shattered marriage, or will she remain a victim of betrayal?

My Husband Framed Me After Childbirth,Now He’s Begging a Grave for ForgivenessChapter 1

The day I gave birth to my daughter, my husband threw a paternity test in my face—one that said he wasn't the father.

His voice dripped with wounded outrage.

"Samantha Pruitt, I gave you everything. How could you humiliate me like this?"

"We're done. I want the $88,000 bride price back by the end of the month. Take your bastard and get out. I never want to see either of you again."

I held my sleeping newborn against my chest.

No tears. No begging.

Just a calm nod.

After all, I'd heard everything last night—standing outside the delivery room, invisible, while his precious adopted sister clung to his arm.

"Cyril Sanchez," Ruth Sanchez had whined, her voice dripping with sweetness, "my dying wish is to have you all to myself for one year. Just like when we were kids. Can't you send her away? Just for a little while?"

And my husband—my husband—had gazed at her like she hung the moon.

"Silly girl, don't talk like that. You'll be fine after the appendectomy. And yes—this whole year, I'll be yours alone."

I'd been lying on the operating table when I heard it. Tears slid silently into my hair.

He didn't know.