Love's End Leads to New Beginnings

Just as he was about to cross a line he couldn’t return from, Peter gently nudged Millie aside with his elbow.

He took a few hurried steps to the sink, splashing cold water over his face, letting it trickle down as he clenched his fists. He twisted his arm inward, gripping it tightly in a visible attempt to regain composure.

Millie, her eyes glistening with tears, wrapped herself around his waist from behind, her voice a broken whisper.

“Peter, why won’t you… Do you think I’m filthy?”

Peter whirled around, his breathing still heavy with frustration.

“How could I ever think that?” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m carrying so much right now, Millie. Just give me some time. I’ll make sure you’re never seen as just a mistress.”

Peter tenderly brushed her hair back from her forehead and pulled her close, his lips trailing soft kisses across her face.

Millie’s smile turned cold as her gaze shifted to where I lingered, her expression daring me to react, triumphant in her perceived victory.

I could only stare, feeling a rising sense of disbelief.

So, in Peter’s mind, I was a burden, a responsibility he had to bear. But to him, Millie was someone precious, someone he had to shield from any pain.

It was tragic, really. Millie hadn’t even spared herself any pain; she was her own worst tormentor.

From the moment she discovered I was Peter’s wife, she began her subtle, cruel taunts. Every time I came to the hospital for my prenatal checkups, she would find a reason to be there.

She would don his pristine white coat, wield his favorite fountain pen and always call him Peter with such sweetness that could turn stomachs, making sure everyone within earshot was fully aware of their closeness.

Once, I had gone for a routine ultrasound and Millie had taken it upon herself to pose as the technician. I felt sharp discomfort as she carelessly used an unlubricated probe, which left me with inflammation and almost caused a miscarriage.

Furious, I filed a formal complaint with the hospital, hoping for justice.

But without concrete evidence, it was deemed “iatrogenic” and I was left without any recourse.

Rather than sympathy, Peter saw me as a jealous woman bent on creating trouble. His annoyance was palpable.

And by then, I was nearing the end of my pregnancy, too worn down by the endless clashes with my mother-in-law, the fatigue of my swollen body and Peter’s shifting affections to argue.

Yesterday, I arrived at the hospital for delivery and felt a sense of dread trickle down my spine. My eyes fell upon the head nurse—and it was Millie, her gaze too eager and self-satisfied.

An unsettling foreboding weighed down on me.

As I feared, when Millie came to give me an infusion, she pretended as if she couldn’t find a vein. She jabbed the needle in and out of the back of my hand, with an almost deliberate cruelty, piercing deeper until a sharp pain shot up my arm as she struck a nerve. My hand began to swell, the veins bulging and the pain radiating through my fingers, leaving them numb and aching.

With the operation fast approaching, I couldn’t bear it any longer and complained to Peter. But instead of understanding, his face twisted with anger. He snatched the delivery bag and, without warning, smashed it down onto my swollen hand, making me gasp in pain.

“You’re the first to lodge a complaint, aren’t you?” he spat, his voice filled with venom.

“All because of some petty jealousy, you threw boiling water at Millie when she was just trying to help you! She hasn’t even uttered a word against you.”

He glared down at me, a cold fury in his eyes. “She made one small mistake with the needle and you’re acting so high and mighty? Just because you’re pregnant doesn’t mean you can act out however you please. You don’t get special treatment just because you’re my wife! Just give birth to the child on your own!”

The rage in his voice was unmistakable, his contempt clear. “Does it hurt? Good. Maybe now you’ll remember this.”

Under Peter’s orders, a male nurse came forward and strapped down my arms and legs. Millie leaned over, gagging me with a cloth so I couldn’t protest.

Panic surged through me and I mumbled desperately through the cloth, pleading with Peter. “I’m not afraid of pain,” I begged, my voice barely a whisper, “I’m afraid of dying with the baby! How can I possibly deliver a four-kilogram baby naturally? This is your own child!”

Peter only sneered, a smirk of disbelief crossing his face. “A giant baby? Dying with the baby? Do you think I’m that easily fooled?” he scoffed.

“Stop pretending. If you manage to give birth safely, then bow to Millie and apologize, maybe, just maybe, I’ll consider forgiving you.”

With that, he turned and ordered the others to take me to the delivery room. Then he took Millie, who feigned distress, out of the room with him, claiming she needed medication.

Moments later, I could only imagine what was happening in the other room. They had lost themselves to their passions and Peter now cradled the exhausted Millie, his eyes filled tenderness.

“Gia should have learned her lesson by now,” he murmured. “You don’t need to deal with her anymore. Have another doctor handle the operation and we can leave together after work.”

Just then, a male nurse burst into the room, his face pale with dread. “Doctor Peter, it’s bad! Something’s gone terribly wrong. Your wife, she’s in critical condition!”