You Were My Greatest Regret, Husband

Today was supposed to be a routine prenatal check-up.

But instead of taking me to the usual clinic, Ethan brought me to a private ward tucked away in the hospital’s restricted section.

Surrounded by advanced, almost clinical-looking equipment, a cold unease seeped into my chest.

Ethan gently patted my head and spoke with soft reassurance.

"I'm only thinking of the baby’s well-being. I don’t want anything to go wrong. These tests are necessary. Thank you, my love, for enduring all of this."

A needle—almost half the length of my forearm—was slowly inserted into my abdomen. I shuddered violently, the pain sharp and immediate.

I begged the doctor for anesthesia, but Ethan stepped forward with an apologetic look.

"Can you bear it just a little longer? Anesthesia might risk the baby. You’re a strong mother, Samantha. For Grace’s sake, please hold on."

The pain grew so intense that everything began to blur. In the haze, I finally realized the truth: this wasn’t a standard prenatal procedure.

It was an amniocentesis—he was having a genetic test done.

He wanted to know if the kidneys of the baby inside me were compatible with Henry.

Time crawled. When the needle was finally withdrawn, I collapsed on the bed, completely drained.

Without even glancing at me, Ethan followed the doctor out, leaving me alone in the sterile ward.

I stared blankly at the dark puncture mark on my stomach. A black hole, both literal and symbolic.

Tears ran freely down my face, but inside, I was already calculating, remembering.

Ethan and I had known each other since childhood. We were engaged young.

He had always been my protector—indulgent, patient. I was reckless and emotional, and he always took my side.

Whenever I got into trouble, he was the first to shield me, calling himself my knight, saying he would always guard his princess.

But that changed when I turned twelve. That was when the uninvited guest arrived.

Ruth Wheeler showed up at our doorstep, claiming her mother had died and she had no choice but to seek out her biological father—my father.

That night, I remember my father falling to his knees before my mother, and my mother sobbing endlessly.

Eventually, Ruth was accepted into the household as my sister.

I resented her and often poured out my frustrations on Ethan.

He once cornered her in an alley and gave her a warning—for me.

Back then, I believed he loved me more than anyone in the world.

But now, that same man had become the one who hurt me most deeply.

I don’t know how long I lay there before he returned. My tears had dried, leaving only emptiness.

Ethan looked elated. He rushed over, hugged me tightly, kissed me repeatedly, and said with joy in his voice:

"Our baby is healthy—so healthy! I’m so relieved. Samantha, this time, I’ll protect her, truly. I won’t let anything harm her ever again!"

His words were hollow, and I felt only bitterness.

So this was the result he wanted—the child is a successful match for Henry, isn’t she?

His efforts to "protect" me, to keep me well—it was all so he could harvest another life.

As we prepared to leave the hospital, fate delivered a cruel twist.

In the outpatient hall, we ran into Ruth.

The little boy clinging to her hand was full of energy, skipping and laughing.

The last time I saw him, he was pale and frail, clinging to life.

And now, lively and healthy—paid for my daughter's life.

I must’ve stared too long, too hard. Ruth suddenly turned and met my gaze.

A smile flickered across her face, and in the next second, she let out a scream and collapsed.

The crowd swarmed in immediately, and before I could react, Ethan tore his hand from mine and rushed to her side.

In full view of everyone, he scooped her up into his arms and sprinted toward the emergency room.

The little boy ran after him, crying loudly:

“Dad, I don’t want Mom to get hurt!”

Only after the doctor examined her and reported that it was just a mild sprain did Ethan finally breathe easily.