My Husband Fulfilled His Promise with His First Love but Regrets the Rest of His Life

I've been living in a fairytale of love for the past three years.

Until Ethan's secret social media account posted:

[How powerful is the allure of a first love?]

The picture was of Sophie at the airport, radiant and beautiful.

She had come back to fulfill a promise they made as children.

To marry him, dressed in a white wedding gown.

On the day of their wedding, I was doubled over in pain, begging him to take me to the hospital.

But he coldly said, "Do you really think this will make me look at you? How pathetic, trying to hold on to me with such a cheap trick!"

He slammed the door and left without a second glance.

While they walked down the aisle to the sound of wedding bells, hand in hand, I lost our first child.

Lying on the hospital bed, I felt utterly broken.

***

A voice echoed in my head.

"Host, you've failed the mission. You will be erased."

I rested my hand on my stomach, staring at the ceiling, a tear slipping down my cheek.

I had already given up on him.

"Fine, let me leave this world with my unborn child."

Honestly, I should have let go long ago.

The signs had always been there.

Just two hours before, I had grabbed Ethan's hand.

"Ethan, my stomach really hurts."

By then, the pain had already drenched me in sweat.

If his first love hadn't come back, he would've been attentive like always. He would've touched my belly and asked if I was having period cramps, offered to make me brown sugar tea, or taken me to the hospital.

But today, there was none of that.

Instead, he got up and said coldly, "I'm just going to have a wedding today. We'll still be married."

He sighed.

"I've done all I can, Emma. You're being so unreasonable. I'm really disappointed in you."

Tears welled up as I writhed in pain.

"But... it really hurts."

He ignored me, fixing his tie in the mirror.

Then bam—He walked out, slamming the door behind him.

I took deep breaths, trying to stay calm so the pain wouldn't get worse.

But down below, I felt something wet.

I reached down and my fingers came away sticky.

Pulling back the covers, I froze.

The sheets were covered in blood.

I dialed emergency services.

By the time I reached the ER, I learned that I had been pregnant.

And that I had lost the baby.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling in despair, unable to stop the tears from falling.

A female doctor came over and tried to comfort me.

"It's okay, you're young. You can still have children in the future. Just try not to put too much pressure on yourself. Emotional stress can lead to miscarriage."

No... I won't be having any more children.

"Where's your husband?" she asked.

I let out a bitter laugh. He was at his wedding.

How could I possibly explain something so absurd?

I just smiled weakly at the doctor. "He's working overtime."

"I see. Don't lose hope; you'll have children again one day."

I nodded.

But she didn't know.

I might not be around much longer.