My Husband Made Me Miscarry, Now He Crawls Back in Tears

My brother's condition finally stabilized, but he still lay in a deep, unbroken sleep. Our scheduled trip abroad was only a week away.

I had already been quietly gathering evidence against Hector. That routine surgery—the one that should never have been life-threatening—had turned my brother into a vegetable because someone increased the anesthesia. Whether it was malice or recklessness, Hector and Hillary would both pay!

Just as these thoughts churned in my mind, my phone lit up with a call from an unfamiliar number.

"Meredith."

It was Tristan's voice—cold, firm, leaving no room to refuse. "Tomorrow is Grandma's eightieth birthday. Be there."

He hung up before I could say a word. He assumed I would come—and he was right. Grandma was the only person in the Palmer family who had ever truly cared for me.

The next day, I walked into the Palmer household in a black dress. From the gate, I saw Hillary linked arm in arm with Tristan, both poised and practiced like a perfect couple welcoming guests. The moment she saw me, she hustled over and clasped my hand with exaggerated warmth.

"Sister, you finally made it! I was worried you'd refuse... After all, today we're announcing some good news."

I froze for a heartbeat, then glanced at Tristan. He avoided my gaze, muttering in a low voice,

"Grandma has always wanted a great-grandchild... Hillary and I just want to make her happy."

I slipped my arm free of Hillary's grasp and said flatly,

"Whatever you're planning has nothing to do with me. I'll see Grandma, then leave."

Without waiting for their reaction, I walked into the banquet hall.

Grandma sat supported by Samantha, Tristan's mother, smiling warmly as she accepted the guests' blessings. I knelt beside her, lowering my voice. "I wish Grandma longevity as boundless as the East Sea, and health as everlasting as the Southern Mountain."

Just as I was about to present my gift, Samantha snatched the box from my hands. She opened it, and with a shrill laugh, she jeered, "Mountain ginseng? We have warehouses full of them. Did you bring this to poison the old lady?"

"What nonsense!"

Grandma frowned and gently reclaimed the gift box, patting my hand with her thin fingers.

Everything Meredith picks comes from the heart. She's just being thoughtful."

Her eyes softened with love and guilt.

"Tristan has been confused lately and wronged you. Grandma will make him answer for it."

I wanted to protest, but her happiness made me hold my tongue. I whispered instead, "Thank you, Grandma."

She seemed ready to say more, but Hillary suddenly cut in. She pushed my hand away and pressed Grandma's palm onto her own lower belly, her smile radiant.

"Grandma, guess what surprise Tristan and I prepared for you?"

eyes widened, then lit up with joy. "Hillary, are you... pregnant?"

Hillary blushed and nodded. "Almost three months now. We checked and it's a boy."

"How wonderful! Hillary, you're our family's blessing!" Samantha hugged her, beaming. Then she glanced at me with thin cruelty. "Unlike some people who haven't even managed to keep a child after so many years." She turned to Tristan, voice sharp, "You'd better take good care of her. If anything happens again, don't bother coming back to this house."

Tristan nodded solemnly. The three of them walked off together, laughing, as if I no longer existed.

"Meredith," Grandma said softly, her eyes full of pity. "The Palmer family has wronged you—Tristan, he..."

I cut her off with a shake of my head and forced a smile. "I'll handle my relationship with him. You just eat well and live to one hundred."

I shook my head, forcing a smile.

"I'll deal with him myself. You just need to eat well, rest well, and live to a hundred."

My words made her chuckle, and she said no more.

After settling Grandma, I turned back toward the banquet. Hillary stood at the center of a glowing crowd, basking in the admiration, as if she were already the rightful Madam Palmer.

I clenched my fists, not with jealousy, but with cold hatred.

"Enjoy your happy days while you can," I muttered to myself. "They won't last."

Just then, Tristan suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind. "I'm so glad you finally came to your senses," he whispered.

I stiffened, instinctively struggling to pull away, until his whisper brushed against my ear:

"I know you've suffered for me. Next week is our seventh anniversary. I'll make it up to you."

He kissed my forehead tenderly. I fought down the nausea rising in my throat and let him hold me—without pushing him away.