After My Husband Switched Our Babies, I Destroyed His Legacy

I found myself wandering back to the hospital room, deep in thought. Matheo was there, holding a coffee thermos, concern etched on his face as he noticed I was only wearing the thin hospital gown.

“Your hands are freezing,” he said, taking them in his own, his voice tinged with worry. “Livia, you’ve just had a baby, and you need to stay warm while you recover. I hate seeing you like this.”

I glanced up at his face full of tenderness and warmth, yet an icy chill ran through my limbs. It was hard to reconcile this with the man who had, standing at the ICU doors, put our child’s life on the line.

He showed me a video on his phone. “Look, honey, our baby.”

The video displayed a chubby little infant in an incubator, surrounded by tubes, eyes firmly shut, breathing shallowly. Watching the fragile figure whose life hinged on machines, I felt nothing but emptiness.

Seeing my lack of reaction, Matheo placed a hand over mine. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve already consulted with the doctor about scheduling the surgery. Everything will be alright for our baby.”

His gaze was filled with gentle reassurance, but I knew it was all a facade. He’d been deceiving me all this time. I recalled his conversation with the doctor at the ICU, and my heart squeezed tightly.

“Matheo, there’s no rush for the surgery. Can we wait a few more days?”

Unexpectedly, his demeanor shifted, his face hardening at my suggestion.

“Livia, why are you making this difficult again?”

“The baby’s been in the ICU for three days, unable to breathe independently. Delaying the surgery only prolongs his suffering.”

“Trust me, once the surgery is over, he’ll recover, and we’ll finally be a happy family.”

He pulled out a document from his bag. It was a consent form for the bone marrow donation, with his and Stephanie’s names printed boldly on it.

I bit my lip, turning away to hide my tears, though inside, a cold dread spread. Yet Matheo remained unaware, continuing on, “This is our chance, Livia, so don’t worry.”

“Our child will be fine.”

I forced a bitter smile. To Matheo, was our child truly so expendable, only a pawn in a transaction of life?

Just days after the surgery, the pain in my abdomen was almost unbearable, yet I couldn’t bear the thought of our child being treated so carelessly. I squeezed Matheo’s hand desperately, begging, “There’s no immediate rush for the surgery, just a brief delay.”

But he stood firm.

With a frown, he said, “Livia, you’re experiencing postpartum anxiety.”

“See the baby after the surgery.”