My Child and I Had to Sacrifice for the Child of My Husband's Lover

The long-haired woman who pushed the door open stopped him. “Don’t hang up yet. I need to remind Mom of a few things.”

I broke out in a cold sweat when the phone camera focused on the long-haired woman. Every hair on my body stood on end, as if thousands of ants were gnawing at me.

“Mom, she’s almost eight months pregnant. Make sure you remember all the precautions I told you.”

She went on and on, emphasizing points to my mother-in-law. But I couldn’t take in a single word, still reeling from the immense shock.

How could Marcello’s mom be her? After closing the monitoring app, I pulled up Rachel Gonzaga’s WhatsApp. Staring at her profile picture, which was identical to “Marcello’s Mom’s.”

I chuckled a few times. It turned out Lorenzo hadn’t cheated after marriage. He approached me solely for this child’s heart.

This trap, threatening both my life and my child’s, had been set two years prior. When I graduated and was looking for a job, I submitted my resume to the prestigious Gonzaga Corporation.

Many more qualified classmates were rejected, yet I received the job offer alone. Just as I marveled at my incredible luck, an even bigger opportunity landed in my lap.

Lorenzo chose me, a new hire with mediocre credentials, limited skills and an unrelated major, to be his assistant.

Half a year later, I became best friends with Rachel, the Gonzaga Family’s only daughter.

When I thought fate was finally compensating me for the hardships of my first 23 years, Lorenzo proposed.

I had to admit, he and Rachel worked together seamlessly. From the day I joined the company for three years, they maintained a distant, professional relationship.

Even while watching Lorenzo kiss me passionately at our wedding, Rachel showed no emotion whatsoever. The only time I saw her visibly shaken was when I shared the news of my pregnancy with her.

Thinking of this, I quickly scrolled through her social media feed. The timeline froze on February 14th of this year.

On Valentine’s Day, she posted a photo of a pregnancy test with the caption: “This long journey is finally coming to an end.”

I was immersed in the joy of becoming a mother at the time. I hadn’t realized that photo was one I’d sent to Lorenzo.

After all the clues matched, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of fear. Just then, a wave of aching pain washed over my lower back and belly.

As if sensing my turmoil, the baby kicked my belly with all its might. The thought that this tiny life, which had shared every moment with me for seven months, was merely a vessel to sustain someone else’s existence.

Tears fell steadily down my cheeks. The faces of Lorenzo and Rachel, that despicable couple, kept flashing through my mind.

Steeling myself, I gently stroked my belly and whispered, “Baby, it’s my fault. I failed to protect you. But I’ll never let them succeed.”

After deciding to terminate the pregnancy, I searched for nearby hospitals. Since the beginning of my pregnancy, Lorenzo had arranged prenatal checkups at an international hospital affiliated with Gonzaga Corporation.

Seeing the staggering price list at the first appointment, I pulled Lorenzo’s arm and tried to leave.

He fondly ruffled my hair. “Honey, I work hard to earn money for you and the baby. As long as the child is healthy, spending a little money is nothing.”

Though he joined the company a few years before me and became Gonzaga Corporation’s youngest general manager, I knew he had worked a hundred times harder than others, without the support of a family.

Looking back now, everything he showed me was a meticulously woven deception. He claimed he chose the best hospital for my prenatal care.

But he was also to keep a constant eye on me, the vessel carrying the heart that would keep Marcello alive.

I just booked an induced abortion for tonight. The locked bedroom door was forcefully pushed open.