My Husband Killed Our Unborn Baby to Save his Beloved Woman

In less than twenty-four hours after surgery, every slight movement sent a searing pain through me.

Bella Powell, Teresa's mother, called me. ""Dolores, stop lying in bed! Get back home right now! It is a family dinner to celebrate Teresa's successful surgery this evening. Stop acting like you're dead."

My hand shook as I held the phone. "Mom, I just had surgery…"

"Shut up! Don't call me 'Mom.' Marrying Theo didn't make you one of us. You know your place in this family. Teresa just had a transplant and wants to have the soup you make. If I don't see that soup on the table by six, you can get out of the Powell family!"

The call ended abruptly.

I glanced at Theo. He was sitting nearby and engrossed in his documents.

He had heard everything, but he didn't even bother to look up.

"Theo, I…"

"If Bella wants you back, then go back." Theo turned another page and said in an indifferent tone, "Besides, Teresa wants to see you."

"But I just had surgery…"

"It was a minor procedure. Teresa's transplant was far more serious." He finally looked up at me, and his gaze was icy cold. "Teresa had a hematopoietic stem cell transplant. It was a major surgery. Your discomfort will pass if you just push through."

I looked at him and suddenly felt it was laughable.

In the past, when I had painful menstrual cramps, he had cancelled a meeting where he was discussing million-dollar deals to rush home, made me some warm soup, and warmed my stomach with his hands.

He used to say, "Dolores, you're my precious. I can't stand seeing you suffer even a bit."

It turns out that was only because I hadn't yet needed to sacrifice for Teresa.

When it came to Teresa, I was nothing more than a means to an end, a tool without feelings.

I forced myself out of bed and returned to the Powell villa, still weak from surgery.

The villa was brightly lit, filled with cheer.

I was the only dark cloud.

I tied on an apron and stood in the kitchen.

Recovering from surgery continued intermittently, and cold sweat soaked through the clothes on my back.

While chopping vegetables, waves of pain shot through my abdomen.

Two hours later, I served the steaming soup in the dining room.

The family was gathered around the table happily. They formed a picture of warmth.

As I entered, all laughter abruptly ceased.

Teresa, in silk pajamas, looked healthy. She was not like someone who just had a transplant at all.

She called out sweetly, "Theo, I want some soup."

Theo immediately stood up, took the bowl from my hands, blew on it gently, and brought it to her lips.

Teresa took a sip and suddenly frowned. "It's hot!"

With a flick of her hand, half the bowl of scalding soup spilled onto the back of my hand.

I gasped in pain—my skin burned and turned red.

Before I could react, Bella rushed over.

She grabbed my arm and shook me sharply. "You are careless! Are you trying to scald Ruben to death?"

She inspected Teresa's hand over and over again.

Though there was no visible mark, she shed tears as she felt so sorry for Teresa.

My father, Kevan Powell, frowned and slammed his spoon onto the table. "Can't you do anything right? Go wait outside until you've calmed down and learned some sense!"

I clutched my red, swollen hand and instinctively looked at Theo.

He was my husband.

Even if he no longer loved me, surely he would say something for the sake of the baby we just lost.

But he didn't.

Theo was focused on blowing gently on Teresa's fingers. "Does it hurt? Let me take you to put on some ointment."

As for me?

He didn't spare me even a glance.

I was like invisible trash, despised by all.

The door slammed shut behind me, cutting off the warmth and laughter inside.

Outside, it was snowing heavily.

Snowflakes landed on my shoulders and quickly melted into icy water that seeped into my clothes.

I sank onto the cold ground, my legs trembling from exhaustion and pain.

My heart began to beat erratically and pound against my chest.

Through the large windows, I saw Theo helping Teresa have fish, meticulously deboned.

Teresa smiled blissfully and planted a kiss on his cheek.

What a perfect couple they made!

And what was I?

Was I just a stepping stone in their love story?

Was I a supporting character destined for sacrifice?

A bitter taste rose in my throat.

I pressed a hand to my chest, coughing weakly as tears mixed with melting snow.

In that moment, I felt overwhelming shame—not for who I was, but for how desperately I'd wanted their love.

I was ashamed of having begged for belonging in a family that never saw me as one of their own.

I was ashamed of groveling like a dog, seeking a semblance of family affection.

I realized that I was so pathetic.

I saw them as family, but how did they see me?

My vision blurred with tears. For a moment, I thought I saw my mother's face in the falling snow—gentle, sorrowful, as if urging me to stop suffering in silence.