My Husband Wants Me to Carry the Dead Woman's Child

Married for three years and my husband had never once touched me.

I assumed he was impotent. Out of respect for his dignity, I kept quiet, living like a widow in my own marriage. Until the day I discovered what he was hiding in the basement: the corpse of his first love.

He gently stroked the matted strands of her decaying hair, his face full of longing. "Macey, no one could ever replace you. I know your biggest wish, when you were alive, was to have my child."

"That’s why, until you carry our baby, Anna won't be allowed to get pregnant."

That night, I logged into one of the forums my husband frequented and posted anonymously: [Guys, I think I found a way to get a dead woman pregnant.]

——

[You’ve been married three years and your dad still won’t hand over the company?]

The speaker was Dennis’s childhood friend, Nick Donnovan.

Dennis flicked his lighter, clearly irritated. “He’s stubborn as hell. First, he said I had to settle down to get my stake in the company. Now he’s saying no heir, no shares.”

“Only Macey deserves to have my child. Once she’s pregnant, I’m divorcing Anna.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got some serious self-control. Ignoring a woman like Anna for three years? But… how do you even…” He didn’t get to finish.

Dennis’s tone softened as he interrupted. “I’ve kept Macey in good condition. Her body’s still… intact. As long as I can extract viable eggs…”

“I’m ready to invest another billion if that’s what it takes. I will make this happen.”

“That medical report I tricked Anna into giving me—her oxytocin levels are high. The experts said she’s biologically perfect to be a mother.”

To mother a child born from a corpse? I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood, just to keep from screaming.

I couldn’t believe it. The man I slept beside every night had tricked me into a sham marriage… just to raise a dead woman’s child.

He had gone with me to every check-up for three years, pretending to care. In reality, he was evaluating my suitability—to raise her baby.

“What if she finds out?” Nick asked.

Dennis sneered. “Her? She’s an idiot. It’s been three years and she’s never even discovered the basement.”

“And even if she does? Anna’s the kind of woman who’ll believe anything you tell her. What’s she gonna do—get jealous of a corpse?”

“Besides, I’ve got ways of handling her. Just like I did with that nosy cat of hers.”

The blood rushed to my head in an instant.

Last year, my British Shorthair suddenly vanished. Dennis said the cat had run off. Now I knew the truth—it had wandered into the basement. And he… did something to it.

Dennis kept talking, every word more disturbing than the last. But I couldn’t hear him clearly anymore—my mind had gone numb, my thoughts a fog.

For three years, I thought he was sick. I thought we were in this together and that with time and patience, I could help him heal. But it wasn’t his body that was broken—it was his mind. His heart already rotten to the core.

From the day we got our marriage certificate, I’d been nothing more than a prop—A stand-in wife to show off to his family. A future mom… for his dead girlfriend’s child.

I pulled out my phone and posted anonymously on his favorite tech forum—the one he checked religiously.

I used to think his obsession with that site was just a nerdy hobby. Now I saw it for what it was: every single thing in his life revolved around Macey.

The woman he never once mentioned to me.

Well—except for once. It was during one of our rare moments of physical contact. He was drunk, pushed me against the wall, rough and clumsy.

I thought it was messy, desperate foreplay.

But then he slurred, “Macey…” I laughed it off. Thought he was just being kinky, role-playing maybe.

Then he cupped my face, stared at me—and in an instant, sobered up.

Expressionless, he shoved me aside and walked straight into his study. Didn’t say another word.

Now everything made sense. All the pieces fit.

Even pretending to be Macey wasn’t enough. To him, I wasn’t worthy. Not to touch. Not to share a bed with. Not even to exist as a substitute.

I crouched behind the coffin, fighting every instinct in my body not to cry.