His First Love Killed our Baby

I sent my husband the message, and his phone rang back almost immediately.

Before I could even get a word out, he started in on me.

"What now? I checked the hospital system—you're already there, aren't you? Aren't the doctors and nurses enough to take care of you? You really had to call me when I'm at my busiest? When are you ever going to stop acting like a child?!"

"Other women don't act like this when they're pregnant, you know."

"Once the baby's born, what excuse will you have then? Jeez, Ivory, you gotta get a grip!"

I was about to defend myself when I heard Vivian's pretentiously soft voice in the background, trying to calm him down.

"Hey, Marcus, maybe Ivory misunderstood me. Why don't I explain it to her? I don't want you two fighting because of me. I know you're working hard, and you don't have time to take care of her. I can help with that for a few days."

Marcus's voice softened in a way I had never heard him use with me.

"No, you're still recovering yourself, and you still find the energy to care about me. She's the one who's always making everything unnecessarily complicated."

And just like that, he hung up again, without another word for me.

My anger, my pain—both felt so small against his indifference.

Since I got pregnant, I never asked him for anything. I knew how busy he was, so I handled it all—taking care of myself and managing the house.

And yet, there he was, tearing me down in front of the woman who had killed our baby!

A bitter taste rose in my throat, my breath trembling as I tried to hold back everything building inside.

Numbly, I sent him another message. I wanted to explain that I wasn't just being difficult. I wanted to tell him that I had thought long and hard about leaving. About the divorce.

But when I hit send, all that came back was a red exclamation mark.

My husband had blocked me.

My fingers hovered over the screen, while a bitter smile pulled at the corners of my lips.

Later, when the nurse came to change my bandages, I casually asked about the security cameras near the elevator in the parking lot.

It turned out, they'd been broken for two days, still not fixed.

No wonder Vivian, that bitch, had the guts to act innocently in front of my baby's father!

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my teeth clenched to stop the pain from the blood-soaked bandage pulling at the cut across my stomach.

After half an agonizing hour, the nurse finally left.

And that's when I heard my husband's voice outside the door.

"If you want to go see her, go ahead. I can't stand the sight of her. Every time I see her, she starts something. I'll just wait here."

Then, the door creaked open, and the woman who killed my baby stepped inside. That bitch even had the nerve to smile at me!

The little strip of gauze wrapped around her finger was like a silent taunt.

She didn't even wait for me to confront her—she came to me first, daring to show her face.

I must've looked pathetic—pale, weak, and broken in front of the woman responsible for my child's death.

The grief, the anger—it rose up all at once, making my whole body shake.

Before she could get any closer, I shouted, the words tearing from my throat.

"Did you come here to show off? To laugh at me?! Get lost!"

I forced myself up from the bed, my hands gripping the mattress as I threw the pillow at her with everything I had.

The sudden motion ripped at my wound, and blood immediately soaked through the fresh bandages.

Her expression shifted instantly, and tears started spilling from her eyes as she rushed out of the room.

I heard my husband's furious voice from outside.

"She dared to yell at you? That's it. I'm going in there and making her apologize!"

He stormed toward the door, already halfway inside before Vivian stopped him, her voice trembling as she cried.

"N-No... Let's just go. I don't want you two fighting because of me…"

Her voice faded as they walked away, and I sank back onto the bed, feeling like the last bit of life had been drained from me.

My husband only had to take one more step—just one—and he would've seen that I wasn't making any of this up at all, that I was actually bleeding in pain.

But he didn't check on me. Instead, he walked away with his first love, not even bothering to check my records when he had the chance.

The line between love and indifference had never been this painfully clear.