When My Husband and His Student Did IVF, I Tampered with the Embryo

I was an obstetrician. After being reincarnated, I swapped my husband and our sponsored student's embryo with a healthier one during an IVF procedure.

In my previous life, the student's in-laws had demanded she conceive before marriage to prove her fertility. Desperate and fearful, she begged me to perform a secret IVF procedure. I agreed, blinded by pity and my trust in her as part of our family.

After multiple failed attempts—due to the poor quality of the sperm donor she provided—she couldn't sustain a pregnancy. Her grief turned into rage and she accused me of malpractice. Publicly, she claimed I falsified my credentials, intentionally caused her miscarriage and played God with her life.

I thought my husband would defend me, but he stood against me in court, accusing me of practicing medicine illegally. My world crumbled as I was fired from the hospital, stripped of my license and sentenced to life in prison. There, abandoned by everyone I had ever trusted, I lost my mind. The day I died, slamming my head against the cold, unyielding wall, was supposed to end my suffering.

But death revealed the truth. The poor-quality sperm? It had been my husband's all along. He and the student had conspired against me, their affair predating her pleas for help. The IVF procedure had never been about her future marriage—it was a calculated trap to ruin me and take everything I had built.

They succeeded. My downfall handed them more than a million dollars in compensation, my villa and every piece of property I owned. And now, in this life, I won't let them win again.

***

When I opened my eyes again, sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains of my bedroom, casting warm, golden patterns on the wooden floor. The faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air, a reminder of the diffuser I had always kept by the bedside. My chest rose and fell as I inhaled deeply, the sensation foreign, yet achingly familiar.

I was alive.

The realization hit me like a tidal wave as my gaze landed on the antique mirror hanging above the dresser. My reflection stared back—unscarred by betrayal and despair. The room was just as I remembered, filled with the modest furnishings Isaac and I had chosen together before our lives were consumed by ambition and deceit.

I had returned.

Memories from my previous life surged through me like an unrelenting storm. My chest tightened and I clenched my fists against the soft sheets, the fabric grounding me in this impossible reality.

Jessica.

Her name sliced through my thoughts, dragging me back to that fateful day.

"Mrs. Johnson, you're a highly skilled doctor. Helping me with an IVF procedure should be no problem for you, right?"

That voice. Sweet, melodic and calculated.

I looked up sharply, my heart thudding in my chest. There she stood, our sponsored student of ten years, her youthful face radiating innocence that I now knew masked pure malice. Her dark eyes sparkled with feigned desperation, her slender fingers clutching at the strap of her worn leather bag as though she were a victim in need of salvation.

The air seemed to thicken and for a moment, I struggled to breathe. But I forced a smile, steadying my trembling hands.

"Of course, Jessica," I replied, my voice smooth despite the storm brewing inside me.

She didn't notice my clenched jaw or the way my nails dug into my palm. Memories of my past life screamed at me to act, but I held them at bay. If she wanted to play her game, I would let her. Only this time, I wouldn't lose.

I glanced around the room again, the ache in my chest dulling as the familiar surroundings anchored me. This was my second chance—a gift.

In my previous life, Jessica's story had seemed heartbreaking. She was a student Isaac and I had sponsored, a bright girl with dreams of becoming an engineer. Her hard work and dedication had earned her a scholarship to a prestigious university. She was supposed to be the pride of our household, a symbol of the good we had done in the world.

But all of that shattered when she came to me, eyes brimming with tears, begging for help. Her fiancé's family, bound by outdated customs, demanded she conceive before marriage. She claimed it was her only chance to secure her future.

I had believed her then. Pity and a sense of duty overrode my better judgment. I bent the rules, ignoring the absence of a marriage certificate and arranged for her IVF procedure.

The failure of those procedures was devastating—for both of us, or so I thought. Each failed pregnancy weighed heavily on my heart. The issue, as I discovered later, was the sperm she provided: poor quality, with little chance of producing viable embryos.

I had tried everything—adjusting protocols, consulting international colleagues, even investing in newer, cutting-edge equipment at my own expense. But it was futile. No doctor could have made it work.

When I finally refused to continue, Jessica's sorrow turned into fury. The sweetness in her demeanor vanished, replaced by venomous accusations.

"Dr. Johnson, the head of obstetrics, not only falsified her credentials but is also an incompetent doctor who deliberately caused my miscarriage!" she screamed in the hospital lobby, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Her words echoed in my mind even now. I remembered the icy chill that gripped me as I watched the nurses and patients whispering, their eyes filled with doubt and disgust.

But the deepest wound came from Isaac.

"You can't even have children yourself—you're a barren woman! And now you've gone and killed Jessica's baby!" he had shouted in court, his voice ringing with fury and conviction.

My breath hitched at the memory, the betrayal cutting as sharply now as it had then. My husband—my partner—had turned against me, testifying that I had practiced medicine illegally, providing "evidence" that painted me as a monster in a white coat.

The media had descended like vultures, plastering my name across every headline.

[Heartless Doctor Ruins Lives: Infertile Woman Accused of Malpractice]

[Quack Obstetrician Causes Tragedy for Aspiring Mother!]

The hospital where I had poured my life's work into was vandalized, its windows shattered and walls defaced with hateful graffiti.

And me? I had been reduced to nothing more than a target for the public's rage. Online forums buzzed with comments that called for my death.

[She deserves to rot in prison!]

[She's a killer in a doctor coat!]

[Doctors like her should be banned for life. No, better yet, jailed!]

I had lost everything: my career, my reputation, my freedom. And as I stared into the cold, unfeeling walls of my prison cell, I lost my will to live.