Eight Lives Lost My Husband Died for Her

"Don't cry. As long as you and the baby are safe, a scar is nothing. I'd have given up the whole hand and it still would've been worth it."

That scar, once a symbol of his love, now stung like a needle pressed against my chest.

I reached out and traced the scar between Brad's thumb and forefinger.

"Does this still hurt?"

He blinked, caught off guard, then curled his hand closed.

"That stopped hurting a long time ago. Why are you suddenly asking?"

I lowered my gaze and said softly, "I just started thinking about the old days."

"You were so good to me and the baby back then."

Brad smiled, that indulgent smile of his, and wrapped both hands around mine.

"Silly girl. Am I not good to you now?"

"From the moment you got pregnant, I swore to myself I'd lay down my life to keep you and our child safe."

His eyes reddened as he spoke, his voice thick with sincerity. "Babe, I know I shouldn't be leaving you right now."

"But she's my mother. She raised me all on her own. I can't bear the thought of her going through surgery overseas by herself."

"You've always been so understanding. You get it, don't you?"

I looked into those anxious, hopeful eyes and nodded.

"Of course."

"Her condition is serious. I'd never stand in the way of you taking care of her."

Brad let out a breath of relief.

"Marrying a woman as kind and reasonable as you is the greatest blessing of my life."

He gazed at me, his face full of tenderness, his eyes brimming with the same devotion I'd seen a thousand times before.

But I wasn't moved by it anymore.

I couldn't help wondering. All that love I'd been so proud of—how much of it had been real, and how much had been a lie?

When had it started between him and that woman?

While I was lost in those thoughts, my mother-in-law walked in.

She must have overheard our conversation. The moment she stepped through the door, her eyes were already rimmed with red.

"Jill, I'm sorry. I'm getting old, and I haven't been any help to you. Instead, I'm causing trouble at the very time you need someone by your side."

Her voice cracked. Tears pooled along her lower lashes.

I looked at her, a tangle of emotions knotting in my chest.

In all the years since the wedding, Jean Delgado and I had always gotten along well. Every year on her birthday, I remembered the date before Brad did, starting on her gift a full month in advance. When she mentioned that the old family house was falling apart, I emptied my savings without a second thought and hired a crew to renovate it into something beautiful. Last year, when she broke her leg and ended up in the hospital, I was the one at her bedside every single day—sponge-bathing her, feeding her, handling the bedpan.

She had held my hand that day, tears streaming down her face. "Jill, you are the best daughter-in-law in the world."

"If my son ever does anything to wrong you, I'll be the first one to make him pay."

I had believed her.

I thought sincerity would be repaid with sincerity.

I never imagined that the same woman who swore she'd have my back would leave during my maternity recovery to help her son take care of another woman going through hers.

How absurd.

I looked at her and managed a small smile. "Mom, don't say that. Your health comes first. I'll be fine here."

Jean nodded, visibly relieved.

"Good. Good girl."

"Don't you worry. Once I've recovered, I'll come straight back and take care of you and the baby properly. I won't let you suffer one bit."

I gave a quiet laugh and said nothing.

Brad booked their flights for the next morning.

Early the following day, he and Jean showed up at my bedroom door with their luggage. They fussed over every detail—reminding me to keep warm, warning me not to touch cold water.

Maybe they genuinely worried. Or maybe they just wanted to put on a thorough performance.