After the Hundredth Loss, My Fiancé Went Mad With Regret

Nigel Farley, if you ever learned that the person who saved you all those years ago was me.

Would you regret it?

There wasn't a trace of warmth in my voice. "I'd rather die than marry you."

"Not marry me? Then who exactly do you think you'd marry?"

He gave a short scoff. "No more of that spiteful talk. Start the livestream."

And just like that, the livestream began.

Maisie Henson operated and narrated at the same time.

Then, without warning, she stepped to my side and yanked back the surgical drape.

My whole body lay exposed on the screen.

She traced her laser pointer over me the way a butcher points out cuts of pork on the block.

"Some of you in the chat are curious, so let me take a moment to explain."

"There's a scar here. That's because the patient once had a miscarriage."

"Teacher Henson wants to stress this point especially. A woman has to learn to respect herself. Otherwise, how is she any different from an animal?"

The ghost-white light poured down over me, and all at once the air in the operating room felt unbearably cold.

She ignored my trembling body and walked back to her spot above my head.

"Lecture's over. Back to the operation."

The saw finally stopped, and a piece of bone was pried free.

A violent shudder tore through me.

Under pain that extreme, my body was no longer my own.

Warmth spread out from beneath me.

There was nothing I could do but feel that wet patch widen, inch by inch, soaking into the surgical sheet.

The smell drifted through the air.

Maisie stopped again and turned the camera toward the wet stain.

"Oh dear, the patient's lost bladder control. This usually happens when the pain gets extreme and the sphincter gives out. It's a normal physical response."

Nigel Farley raised a hand and blocked the lens. "Don't let it dirty your eyes. Keep going, I'll take care of it."

He changed me out of the soiled clothes, his movements gentle and unhurried.

In the days after the miscarriage, I could barely take care of myself, and he had done exactly this, patiently washing and changing my clothes for me, every single day.

Those days had been warm. But now, all I felt was cold.

His hands paused. He looked up and saw my face soaked with tears.

My breath was thin as thread, but I still forced out a whisper of sound.

"I... hate... you..."

His expression froze, and a flicker of panic crossed his eyes.

I stopped looking at him. My gaze drifted up to the surgical light, so white it stung.

I seemed to see that year in senior year, and him in a school uniform that gleamed white.

Asking if I wanted to be with him.

The wind shook the wisteria loose, and I flushed and said, "Okay."

If I could do it over, I would never have agreed.

Maisie's narration went on.

"Now, we've finally reached the critical step. Removing the brain tissue."

The inside of my skull went empty.

A stern, ethereal voice from ancient times rang through my mind.

【The contract is void. All that was taken from this body before, from this moment on, shall rot away, one by one.】

The next second, my consciousness lifted, light as air, and every sensation was gone.