Had a Miscarriage While He Was Dating Her Secretary

In the early stages of my pregnancy, I endured unbearable abdominal pain and begged my husband to take just ten minutes to bring me to the hospital. Instead, he accused me of disrupting his date with his little secretary.

Not only did they mock me with cruel words, but they also locked me inside the house. By the time medical staff broke the lock on the door, the child was already gone, covered in blood.

That day, as I lay alone in the hospital bed, I saw a newly posted update from his little secretary. Her words read, “I only tripped in the corridor, but he insisted on staying with me and even bought me a new house. Is this what they call the boss’s reluctant love?”

In the photo, Dwayne Doyle, my husband, was pictured with her, signing for the house. Devastated, I handed him the miscarriage report as a housewarming gift, and only then did he show regret.

——

After drafting the divorce agreement, I stared at the ceiling, clutching the blood-stained hospital gown, now soaked with my tears. That day, I lost my own child. Yet, while I was drowning in sorrow, my husband lay in someone else’s arms and only returned home early the next morning.

When he arrived, his first action wasn’t to comfort me but to grab the medicine bottle on the table and begin examining it.

When he found out I hadn’t taken the anti-fetal medicine on time, his expression darkened instantly, and he scolded me, "Tricia, how many times do I have to tell you? Your health is poor, and you must take anti-fetal medicine every day!"

With that, Dwayne grabbed the medicine bottle and stormed toward me. I raised my head mechanically, still clutching the barely legible abortion report in my hand. My dry eyes, long emptied of tears, held only exhaustion and sorrow.

His frustration grew when I didn’t reach for the medicine bottle he offered. He snatched the abortion slip from my hand, crumpled it like waste paper, and tossed it into the trash can. In a tone laced with irritation, he continued, "Are you upset because I didn’t take you to the hospital?"

"The light in Annie’s corridor was broken, and she’s just a girl who doesn’t know how to fix it. As her boss, isn’t it my responsibility to help her?"

"I know you’re angry with me, but I have work to do. I can’t always be by your side. Besides, you take anti-fetal pills every day—what could possibly go wrong?"

Dwayne spoke self-righteously as if I were the unreasonable one who didn’t understand his priorities. Yet, I had taken anti-fetal medicine on time every day despite my weak health, and still, tragedy struck.

I met his gaze and asked coldly, "Where’s the money in the card?"

Perhaps he hadn’t expected this question, as a flicker of guilt passed through his eyes. Without hesitation, he pulled out a limited-edition secondary card and threw it in my face.

"Isn’t it just a little money? Why are you making a fuss? I’ll return it to you!"

He didn’t even bother fabricating an excuse to deceive me. But I knew the truth—knew that the money hadn’t vanished on its own. Dwayne had used it to buy a house for his little secretary.

What made it even crueler was the irony: Dwayne suffered from asthenozoospermia. For five years, I endured painful ovulation injections to give him this child. In the end, my body was wrecked, and he repaid me with betrayal.

When I was rushed to the hospital, the baby still had a chance to survive. But as I prepared to pay for the miscarriage procedure, I discovered that all the money I had painstakingly saved for the baby was gone.

In a panic, I called Dwayne repeatedly, begging him to come to the hospital. Despite my desperate pleas, he never showed up. My blood soaked the hospital bed as I struggled to breathe, and in the end, the doctors had no choice but to perform an abortion.

One day ago, that card could have saved our child’s life. Now, like our eight-year relationship, it has become nothing more than worthless garbage.

Dwayne, oblivious to my silence, assumed I wouldn’t press the issue any further. He handed me the medicine bottle and said impatiently, “Take the medicine already.”

I didn’t reach for it. Instead, I watched indifferently as the bottle rolled under the sofa, unmoved and unwilling to respond.