Instinctively, I clutched at the hem of Ivan's shirt, my voice barely a whisper. "Help me... my stomach hurts so much..."

But Ivan's expression hardened. "Stop faking it. In your last life, you delivered a healthy boy just fine. Nothing's going to go wrong this time either."

The pain was so intense I couldn't form words. Maybe my expression was convincing enough, because Ivan wavered, half-believing, and moved to help me up.

But Glenda grabbed his arm. "Ivan, let me take a look. I've been through childbirth before—I know what I'm doing."

She pressed Cooper into Ivan's arms. He seemed about to say something, but the boy's whimpering cut him off. Ivan cradled the child carefully, drifting toward the window, patting his back and murmuring softly.

Glenda came closer. Slowly, she peeled back the blanket—and her eyes went wide.

Dark crimson blood was seeping from between my legs, soaking through my nightgown.

Then she smiled. "Oh my, it's nothing at all! Stella, you really are delicate, aren't you?"

Ivan's face went cold, just as she'd intended.

"I knew it, Stella. You were faking."

Glenda flashed a coy smile. "Isn't a wife meant to be pampered? She's just a little sensitive, Ivan. You should comfort her more."

"If she can't handle this much pain, imagine what labor will be like. You'd better book her an epidural in advance."

Then her expression shifted to something pitiful. "Though I've heard epidurals and C-sections can affect the baby. For Cooper's sake, I gritted my teeth and pushed through it all on my own."

Ivan scoffed. "Who's giving her an epidural? My son was perfectly well-behaved. No drugs, no interventions—smooth natural delivery."

Pride dripped from every word. A flicker of jealousy passed through Glenda's eyes.

By then, my consciousness was slipping. In the last moment before everything went dark, all I saw was Glenda pulling him toward the door.

Despair—absolute, bottomless despair—crashed over me.

When I opened my eyes again, the sharp sting of antiseptic filled my nostrils.

A wave of pain tore through my lower body, and I groaned before I could stop myself. Then someone seized my hand and held on tight.

"Stella!!"

Mom. Dad.

My mother's usually immaculate hair was in disarray, her eyes swollen and raw. The moment she saw me awake, her voice cracked. "Stella, it's okay. It's going to be okay..."

It took me a beat to register what was happening. I was on a hospital bed, being rushed down a corridor toward the operating room.

"Doctor, the patient is hemorrhaging!"

"The baby is likely lost. Where's her husband? We need his signature for the procedure."

"She's my daughter—I can sign! Doctor, please, you have to save her—"

"Per hospital policy, for an emergency procedure like this, we need the patient's husband present. There may be implications for her future fertility."

The doctor's urgent instructions, my mother's desperate pleas, my father's barely contained fury—all of it tangled together in a deafening knot.

I lay on the bed gasping for air, riding out wave after wave of searing pain. Then I heard my father on the phone with Ivan.

"Ivan Vance! Get yourself to this hospital. Now."

On the other end, Ivan's voice was tinged with surprise. "Dad? Is Stella throwing a fit about going to the hospital again? Ever since she got pregnant, she's been paranoid—always convinced something's wrong with the baby."

"It's just a pregnancy. A friend of mine was a few months along and still unclogging her own toilet, changing lightbulbs, hauling packages."

"Stella's just too high-maintenance."

Accusation after accusation. My father finally snapped. I heard him speak through gritted teeth: "If you don't get here right now, the Hayward family will never let this go."

Ivan had started his own company, but a significant portion of his connections had come through my father's introductions. On the other end of the line, there was a moment of hesitation.

But just then, a woman's panicked cry came through the phone.

"Ivan! Cooper just threw up—"

"Let me see!" Ivan's voice turned urgent. Then, hurried: "Dad, you really need to stop coddling Stella. Something's come up on my end. I have to go. I'll talk to her tonight, I promise."

Click.

The dial tone echoed down the corridor. After a long silence, my father ground his teeth. "Do the surgery. Her husband might as well be dead. Whatever happens, I'll take responsibility. Give me the consent form—I'll sign it."

The anesthetic slid cold into my veins. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier, but my body felt lighter—weightless, almost—as if I were dissolving into nothing.

When I opened my eyes again, there was a moment of hollow confusion. My hand drifted to my lower abdomen. An hour ago, there had been a tiny life here, connected to me by blood and bone.

Now there was nothing.

"Stella."

My mother was watching me, her face creased with worry. I managed a weak smile. "Mom, I'm fine."

I later learned I'd been unconscious for two days and a night.

I reached for my phone. The call log was empty. The only activity was in my message thread with Ivan—a few cold texts, all sent that morning.

[Remember to go to the courthouse in three days. Divorce.]

[Still not answering me? You think ignoring this will make it go away? Stella, this divorce is happening whether you like it or not.]

[Sometimes I really wish Glenda and Cooper were my real family. Cooper is so well-behaved. I can't even imagine what kind of child our son would turn into with you raising him.]

I stared at that last message for a long time. Then, slowly, I typed: [Okay.]

I hit send. Without a second of hesitation, I deleted him from my contacts.

The fluorescent lights in the hospital were blinding. Clutching the miscarriage report, I walked alone down the corridor to collect what remained of my child.

The maternity ward was full of couples. Every expectant mother glowed with joy, their partners hovering close.

I held the small box in both hands. My heart felt as though it had been sealed inside along with that tiny body.

"Ivan, I really owe you this time." A sugary-sweet voice drifted toward me. I looked up—and locked eyes with them.

Ivan was holding Cooper's hand. Glenda clung to his arm.

Standing together, they looked exactly like a real family.

Ivan's gaze swept over me. His expression shifted the instant it landed on my flat stomach.

He strode toward me, irritation written across his face. "What are you doing here?"

Glenda smiled. "Are you here looking for Ivan? Goodness, Stella, you really do keep him on a tight leash. I just wasn't feeling well, so I asked him to come with me to the hospital. That's all."

Ivan's jaw tightened. "Is it really necessary to monitor my every move? You're pregnant—you shouldn't be running around hospitals for no reason. Don't you know that's bad for the baby?"

His lip curled. "That child must have the worst luck in eight lifetimes, ending up in your womb."

"Didn't I tell you? Our child is perfectly healthy—brilliant, even. Got into a top university at sixteen."

Right. In his version of things, in our past life, we'd had a smart, healthy child.

So how had it come to this?

I tightened my arms around the small box without thinking.

I'd once heard that children who die before their time become trapped in the cycle of reincarnation, never finding release. So I'd had a beautiful wooden box custom-made, carved with lotus blossoms, and arranged for a monk to chant sutras for forty-nine days.

I hoped he could have a next life. I hoped he'd find parents who would love him.

"Daddy."

A small, shrill voice cut through my thoughts. Cooper was staring at the box in my arms. His hand shot out to grab it. "I want that box!"

"Don't touch it!"

I slapped his hand away—hard—and clutched the box to my chest.

The sharp crack echoed through the corridor. Cooper froze for a split second, then burst into wailing sobs.

A flash of shock crossed Ivan's face, but he immediately hardened his expression. "What do you think you're doing!"

"He's just a child! Why are you stooping to his level—putting your hands on him!"

I clutched the box to my chest and glared at Ivan, my eyes burning. "Ivan Vance, I hate you. I hate you!"

Each word dropped from my mouth like a stone. The taste of blood coated my tongue. He seemed stunned—never once had I, who'd always been obedient, spoken to him like this. His brow furrowed instantly. "Stella, you're being completely unreasonable."

With that, he pulled something from inside his jacket. "I'll trade you this for that worthless box. Happy now?"

It was an exquisite longevity lock pendant—a traditional charm meant to protect a child.

I'd mentioned it to him once, that I wanted to buy one for the baby. He'd only told me to focus on resting and stop worrying about nonsense.

"Isn't this what you've always wanted to give the baby? Here, take it—"

Before he could finish, Cooper cut in with a shriek. "Daddy, that's mine! You had it custom-made for me!"

A flicker of embarrassment crossed Ivan's face, but he composed himself quickly. "Daddy will pick out something even better for you later."

"No!! You can't give away Cooper's things!"

Cooper charged at me and shoved me with all his strength. I wasn't braced for it. My body slammed into the floor, and the box flew from my hands.

"Give it back!"

My pupils contracted to pinpoints. Helpless, I watched Cooper snatch the box and sprint to the end of the corridor. He hurled it into the garbage disposal chute with everything he had.

In that moment, something inside me snapped. I lunged after it—but Ivan seized me, his grip like iron around my arms.

"Enough! It's just a box! Were you going to hit Cooper? That piece of junk belongs in the trash! Now apologize to Cooper and Glenda!"

The commotion drew hospital staff. My attending physician rushed over.

Ivan spotted her and immediately latched onto a new weapon. "Your doctor's here. Are you really going to keep embarrassing yourself?"

"Stella, let me make this clear. I am never coming to another prenatal appointment with you."

"And that's not all. Once you deliver this baby, the child is mine. You will never see him again."

The doctor froze. The words left her mouth before she could stop them. "Prenatal appointments? But Ms. Abbott already had a miscarriage..."