My child had just been born when he was rushed to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit due to a congenital disorder. While others urged me to give up, only my husband, Matheo Washington, stood by my side.

“This is our child, a little life. No matter what, we can't abandon him.”

However, when I went to the ICU to visit my baby, I accidentally overheard a conversation between Matheo and the doctor.

“Mr. Washington, aren’t you worried that your wife will find out about the baby switch?”

“If I don’t switch the babies, do you think Livia would agree to let her child donate bone marrow to Stephanie’s child?”

“If she hadn’t ended up in my bed, Stephanie would have been Mrs. Washington. Let her child atone for her own sins!”

Later, during the bone marrow donation surgery, the child tragically passed away. I left behind divorce papers and walked away, never expecting Matheo to lose his mind afterward.

---

“Miss Tucker, based on the biological samples you provided, we can confirm that this child has no genetic relation to you.”

Hearing the doctor's words felt like being struck by lightning; I stood frozen in shock, my face going ghostly pale. Three days earlier, Stephanie Marshall had accidentally pushed me down the stairs, causing a preterm birth. It felt like I’d walked through the gates of hell during childbirth.

But just after I gave birth, my husband, Matheo Washington, told me, “The baby has a congenital disorder and has been rushed to the ICU.”

“But... the doctors say he needs a bone marrow transplant.”

Matheo’s eyes were full of conflict as he spoke, “Livia, finding a suitable bone marrow donor is incredibly difficult, but the child Stephanie just gave birth to is a perfect match.”

He took my hand, trembling with excitement, “Stephanie explained it was an accident, pushing you.”

“If you agree, I’ll have her child donate bone marrow as an apology.”

But how could Stephanie’s actions have been unintentional? She’d been involved with Matheo for years. Three years ago, after a spiked drink, I accidentally ended up in Matheo’s room. People said I orchestrated the whole thing, that I climbed into his bed on purpose. Stephanie believed I had stolen the man she loved and constantly fought against me. It was only after we married that I realized the person in his heart was my sister, Stephanie.

But now, none of that mattered; after all, it was a part of me. Lying on the bed, I closed my eyes and nodded, “Okay.”

Until I went to the ICU to visit the child and saw Matheo’s demeanor change as he discussed plans with the doctor.

“Leave this illegitimate child in the hospital, and once Stephanie’s child recovers, send him to an orphanage.”

“Mr. Washington, aren’t you afraid your wife will find out about the baby switch?”

“I promised Stephanie; her child is meant to be the heir of my family.”

“If I don’t switch the babies, do you think Livia would willingly let her child donate bone marrow to Stephanie’s child?”

“If it weren’t for her ending up in my bed, Stephanie would be in Livia’s place.”

“As long as this child exists, I can’t forget the shame Livia brought me by ending up in my bed.”

A chilling sensation ran through me, my eyes welling up, a deep pain twisting in my heart. It turned out that throughout our marriage, Matheo’s love was nothing but a facade. It was all to pave the way for my dear sister, Stephanie!

It had all been premeditated, even my premature labor. The husband I trusted the most switched our children just to save his mistress’s illegitimate child. No wonder Stephanie, who was always at odds with me, suddenly showed such kindness and volunteered to help my child. They had been plotting against me and my child from the very beginning.

I found myself wandering back to the hospital room, deep in thought. Matheo was there, holding a coffee thermos, concern etched on his face as he noticed I was only wearing the thin hospital gown.

“Your hands are freezing,” he said, taking them in his own, his voice tinged with worry. “Livia, you’ve just had a baby, and you need to stay warm while you recover. I hate seeing you like this.”

I glanced up at his face full of tenderness and warmth, yet an icy chill ran through my limbs. It was hard to reconcile this with the man who had, standing at the ICU doors, put our child’s life on the line.

He showed me a video on his phone. “Look, honey, our baby.”

The video displayed a chubby little infant in an incubator, surrounded by tubes, eyes firmly shut, breathing shallowly. Watching the fragile figure whose life hinged on machines, I felt nothing but emptiness.

Seeing my lack of reaction, Matheo placed a hand over mine. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ve already consulted with the doctor about scheduling the surgery. Everything will be alright for our baby.”

His gaze was filled with gentle reassurance, but I knew it was all a facade. He’d been deceiving me all this time. I recalled his conversation with the doctor at the ICU, and my heart squeezed tightly.

“Matheo, there’s no rush for the surgery. Can we wait a few more days?”

Unexpectedly, his demeanor shifted, his face hardening at my suggestion.

“Livia, why are you making this difficult again?”

“The baby’s been in the ICU for three days, unable to breathe independently. Delaying the surgery only prolongs his suffering.”

“Trust me, once the surgery is over, he’ll recover, and we’ll finally be a happy family.”

He pulled out a document from his bag. It was a consent form for the bone marrow donation, with his and Stephanie’s names printed boldly on it.

I bit my lip, turning away to hide my tears, though inside, a cold dread spread. Yet Matheo remained unaware, continuing on, “This is our chance, Livia, so don’t worry.”

“Our child will be fine.”

I forced a bitter smile. To Matheo, was our child truly so expendable, only a pawn in a transaction of life?

Just days after the surgery, the pain in my abdomen was almost unbearable, yet I couldn’t bear the thought of our child being treated so carelessly. I squeezed Matheo’s hand desperately, begging, “There’s no immediate rush for the surgery, just a brief delay.”

But he stood firm.

With a frown, he said, “Livia, you’re experiencing postpartum anxiety.”

“See the baby after the surgery.”

The doctor restrained me and administered a sedative before I could say a word. Darkness enveloped me swiftly, leaving no time for questions.

When I stirred awake, Matheo was at my side, his face alight with joy.

"Livia, the operation was a success!" he declared. "Our baby can finally have a chance at a normal life like other children!"

His excitement was evident, yet his smile was a dagger to my soul.

"Once Kori pulls through the critical stage, we can bring him home!" he added enthusiastically.

Holding his hand tightly, I nervously asked, "And what happened to the other child?"

Matheo's expression faltered as he acknowledged my reference to the child swapped with Stephanie Marshall's. He looked down, wiping imaginary dust from his knee, and spoke softly, "That child wasn't as lucky. He didn't survive the bone marrow extraction and passed away on the operating table."

His words were as casual as a whisper, trivializing the loss of a child's life with scarcely a pause. The pain in my heart twisted into a tighter knot.

Only then did the full gravity of the situation hit me. Matheo had knowingly ordered the doctor to sedate me, ensuring the donation surgery proceeded without my awareness.

Unaware of my inner turmoil, he proceeded to hand me our child's birth certificate. The name section was unmistakably marked, "Kori Marshall."

Seeing that name, I chuckled bitterly. Not only had he chosen our baby's name without my input, but he also seamlessly intertwined his affection for Stephanie into it. "Kori" was a reflection of his longing for "Stephanie."

Still basking in the thrill of their child having a name, Matheo declared, "Livia, our family's legacy lives on."

The image of their child growing up enveloped in love, while my own was forever frozen in time, pierced my heart like a blade.