My Husband Wants Me to Carry the Dead Woman's Child
Chapter 3
[Getting a dead woman pregnant? It’s actually pretty simple. Just transplant her womb into a living body. Let the living carry the dead.]
Seeing my seemingly serious reply, the comment section was crowded.
[Are you insane? A dead person’s uterus is just rotting tissue—how would that even work? It’d kill the host!]
[This is beyond stupid. Anyone who believes this needs help.]
[What kind of horror movie plot is this?]
Dennis, though, didn’t hesitate. He replied instantly. [Thank you! If this works, I’ll pay a hundred million.]
He didn’t care how absurd my reply was. As long as there was even a chance to bring Macey’s child into the world, he would do anything. After all, the cost was nothing to him. Just one disposable woman he never loved.
Moments later, Dennis burst out of the study, eyes wild with adrenaline. “Ann! Let’s go—right now. Full-body checkup today.”
“Actually—better idea. You should be admitted. Stay for full treatment, prep your body properly. Don’t worry about packing—I’ll bring you anything you need!” Without waiting for a reply, he scooped me into his arms and carried me out the door, as if every second mattered.
In all the six years I’d known him—three years of dating, three years of marriage—he’d barely ever touched me. And now? He held me nonstop the entire way to the hospital, carrying me like I was precious cargo.
Denny didn’t realize this, of course. But this would be the last time he ever laid hands on me. One week from now, I’d disappear from his world completely.
At the hospital, he placed me gently onto the bed and kissed my forehead like a doting husband.
“I’ll go handle your admission paperwork, okay?”
He rushed out before I could respond, heading straight for the doctors’ offices.
I followed quietly, careful not to be seen—just in time to hear how he really saw me.
“Don’t waste my time with ethics. You’re the best hospital in the country,” Dennis snapped at a doctor, his voice low and charged with excitement. “Uterus transplant surgery—you have the tech. When can you do it? I’ll donate three entire buildings to your department.”
“Mr. Cunningham, this goes against everything we stand for,” the doctor shot back. “Implanting a deceased uterus into a living woman would trigger full-system infection. It’s completely unethical—and medically impossible.”
“Money isn’t the issue,” Dennis' voice rising with impatience.
“Mr. Cunningham,” the doctor cut in. “This is a hospital. Not an execution chamber.”
SLAM.
A loud crash echoed from the office as Dennis pounded his fist on the desk.
The next moment, Dennis’s voice dropped to something gloomy, “Dr. Anderson, don’t forget—I have the power to end your medical career. Wherever you go, whatever hospital you try to join, I’ll destroy it.”
“I’ve come to you about Macey so many times. You know what she means to me.”
“Anyone who tries to stop me from having a child with Macey... deserves to die!”
Silence fell across the room.
Finally, Dr. Anderson let out a weary sigh and asked, “Even if I were willing… does your wife agree to this? Why her? Why risk her body?”
“She’s your wife, Mr. Cunningham. If you’re that determined, find a death row inmate or someone who—at the very least—makes this slightly less horrific, morally speaking…”
Dennis cut him off with a cold laugh. “And what makes a death row inmate worthy of lying next to Macey on an operating table?”
“Anna lives in my house. Spends my money. Wears the title of Mrs. Cunningham. The least she can do is fulfill a wife’s basic duty.”
He said it like he was talking about a couch. Like I was something he bought—and now wanted to repurpose.
I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood.
Three years of sleeping beside this man. Three years of thinking we were building a life. And none of it meant anything?
Why did it have to be me? Even when the doctor offered alternatives—other bodies, other options—Dennis refused. He was set on using mine. In that moment, I knew, with terrifying clarity—he never loved me.
Dennis' affection was staged. The tenderness? A lie. Even that wedding vow—“I’ll spend the rest of my life treating you right”—was nothing but a lure to pull me into his trap.
Right then, my phone buzzed with a new message. It was from my college friend who finished installing the cctv back at the basement.
He’d attached a photo too. Macey’s corpse.
[The woman in the photo... looks a lot like you.]
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