After My Stepdaughter Killed Our Child I Escaped

My stepdaughter, Hannah, handed me a bowl of a harmful concoction during her coming-of-age celebration. Everyone around us knew it was her "prank," yet no one stepped in—even my husband, Zachary, just watched, indifferent and cold.

With a forced smile, I accepted the bowl and drank it. Almost immediately, a stabbing pain shot through my lower abdomen. As I drifted in and out of consciousness, I heard Hannah's spiteful tone.

“Do you really think having a child will make you my mother’s replacement?” she sneered. “The only reason Dad married you is that I needed a free babysitter.”

“If you even think about taking my mother’s place, you can get lost!” she snapped.

Clutching my stomach, I took a deep breath. “No need to worry. You’re an adult now, and I’ve done my part. Tomorrow... I’ll leave.”

Hannah hesitated briefly before laughing mockingly. “Oh, stop pretending. You went through all that to marry my dad, and I should believe you’ll just walk away?”

“With my mother’s face, you couldn’t even wait a hundred days after she passed before slithering in; shameless!” she accused, her voice dripping with contempt. Feeling too weary to argue, I paled and turned away. The drink burned down my throat, bringing with it waves of agony. Warm blood started to seep from me.

With trembling hands, I reached for my phone, trying to dial emergency services. But Hannah knocked it away. "You think you can head to the hospital? Dream on!"

"I won't let someone like you contaminate our family's bloodline! You'll never have a child in this lifetime," she declared.

As pain surged through me, a servant who had always been kind couldn’t hold back. "Miss, she’s bleeding non-stop. If she doesn’t get to the hospital, it could be fatal."

"Shut up!" Hannah snapped, hitting the servant across the face. "Who gave you the right to call her 'Madam'? The only woman of this house is my mother!"

Spoiled and indulged, Hannah had grown arrogant over time. Looking at the child I’d raised, I felt a deep emptiness in my heart.

Noticing my trembling gaze, Hannah yelled, “Don’t look at me like that!”

"If you do, I'll make sure you regret it!" Her face twisted with youthful fury, she resembled a cornered animal ready to lash out.

I lowered my eyes, hiding my disappointment and tears, and walked away silently. The bleeding didn’t stop, and I realized I urgently needed hospital care. But the heavy blood loss left me weak; after a few steps, I collapsed.

Hannah smirked as she watched me helpless, then turned to head upstairs. I watched her retreating form, recalling the times I held her as a baby. Back then, she was a fragile infant, her mother having died in childbirth, her cries barely audible. I felt an overwhelming urge to protect her the moment I saw her.

Marilyn, Zachary's mother, noticed my resemblance to Reya and offered me an enticing deal to marry Zachary. Driven by the desire to care for this vulnerable girl, I had accepted, pouring all my love into raising her. Yet after years, she showed no affection, only deep-seated animosity.

I laughed bitterly, accepting help from a servant, and managed to get to the hospital. In the sterile, antiseptic surroundings, I learned I had lost the baby and would likely never conceive again. Tears fell, but soon relief came over me. At least another soul wouldn’t suffer.

On the way back from the hospital, I encountered Zachary. Seeing him reminded me of the cold detachment in his eyes during the celebration. He had observed Hannah’s cruelty without intervening, and after I fell, he had retreated to his study, shutting himself away.

Now, he lounged, reading the newspaper, barely acknowledging my presence. “Today’s incident wasn’t Hannah’s fault,” he said. “You married me for money at my mother’s offer to take care of her.”

“Her spoiled, arrogant demeanor is on you,” he casually remarked, dismissing Hannah’s nearly fatal actions and shifting blame onto me.

I lowered my gaze, hiding any emotion. After a long silence without response, he unusually glanced my way. “Is your health improving?” he asked.

“Our child is gone,” I replied.

Zachary glanced at me, then stood, loosening his tie as he approached. “It’s better this way. It keeps things less complicated,” he said, the meaning behind his words unmistakable.

Though his mother had initially proposed the marriage, it was Zachary who agreed. It was all due to my striking resemblance to Reya, a face he cherished despite feeling nothing for me. He spent every night with me, refusing any precautions, leading to my pregnancy. Being an orphan, I couldn’t bring myself to terminate it, so I carried the child until today.

But today, on the day of my miscarriage, he still intended to share a bed with me?