Dear Ms. Hayward, your abortion procedure is scheduled for three days from now.

That night, I drifted into a hazy sleep.

Suddenly, I found myself standing in a frozen wasteland. The blizzard raged with terrifying force, the cold cutting straight to my bones. My whole body went rigid, and just as I was about to collapse, a gentle warmth spread from my belly. A soft, childlike voice called out beside my ear: "Mommy..."

I trembled, instinctively reaching to embrace it.

The little orb of light was so small—I could hold it completely in both hands—yet it was so warm. So warm that tears nearly spilled from my eyes.

"I'm sorry..."

I whispered the apology, and then tiny, warm fingers gently wiped the tears from my face.

The child's voice was impossibly tender, filled with infinite longing and reluctance to part.

I tried to grasp those little fingers, but the child's form grew fainter and fainter.

No!! In that moment, my heart felt like it was being carved out. I desperately tried to hold on—

"Baby!!"

I jolted awake from the nightmare. A dull ache throbbed in my lower belly, but before I could gather my thoughts, a gentle male voice reached me:

"Nightmare?"

James sat at the edge of my bed, his face full of concern.

"Why are you here?"

He smiled helplessly. "This is our home. Why wouldn't I be? Linda, you—"

Before he could finish, a child's shrill cry cut him off.

The next second, the door slammed open and a five-year-old boy charged in like a cannonball. "Daddy!!"

It was Delia's son, Charlie Abbott.

The boy had complained that not having a father made him a target for bullying. Without hesitation, James let him call him "Daddy" and treated him like his own son.

Charlie hugged James from behind. James asked, "Didn't we agree you'd wait outside like a good boy?"

The child glared at me with venom in his eyes. "I was scared the bad woman would bully Daddy!"

Then, before anyone could react, he scrambled onto the bed, jumped up, and stomped down hard on my stomach.

"Ahh!"

I'd barely slept the night before. My head was spinning, and in that split second, there was no time to dodge.

His foot landed squarely on my lower abdomen. Searing pain tore through me. My back arched involuntarily, cold sweat breaking out across my skin.

"Linda!"

James yanked Charlie away and grabbed my shoulders, his face urgent. "What's wrong?"

I couldn't speak through the pain. Black spots swam across my vision. My belly felt like it was being twisted apart.

I tried to call for help, but a woman's shrill voice drowned me out: "Charlie! James—"

Delia rushed in. Seeing Charlie sitting on the edge of the bed looking dazed, she immediately pulled him into her arms. "Charlie, what happened? Did you get into trouble again?"

Charlie burst into tears. "I didn't do anything! I didn't even step on Auntie, but she screamed so loud!"

James's hands on me went still.

Delia's eyes instantly reddened. "James, maybe we should just forget about what we discussed before."

"Charlie and I are all alone in this world... We just can't compete..."

Her voice cracked. Her expression was pure devastation—as if she'd suffered a thousand injustices.

She didn't finish, but James understood her meaning immediately.

"Don't talk nonsense," he said firmly. "I told you I'd take care of you both. I won't go back on my word."

His cold gaze fell on me. "Linda, are you really so desperate to keep me that you'd frame a child?"

His grip tightened around my wrist—so hard I heard my bones creak. But the worse pain was in my belly.

The little life connected to my blood was slipping away. I thought of last night's dream—

Instinctively, I clutched at James's sleeve, my voice weak and trembling. "Help me... my stomach hurts so much..."

But James's face remained cold. "Stop pretending. In my past life, you gave birth to our son just fine. Nothing's going to happen this time either."

The pain was so intense I couldn't form words. Perhaps my expression was too agonized to ignore—James seemed half-convinced and moved to help me up.

But Delia grabbed his arm. "James, let me take a look. I've been through childbirth before. I have experience."

She pushed Charlie into James's arms. He seemed about to say something, but the boy's whimpering cut him off. James cradled the child carefully, patting his back as he drifted toward the window, murmuring soft reassurances.

Delia approached me and slowly pulled back the covers. Her eyes widened in what looked like surprise.

Bright red blood was seeping from between my legs, soaking through my nightgown.

She smiled. "Oh my, there's nothing wrong at all! Linda, you're being so dramatic."

James's expression turned icy.

"Linda, I knew you were faking it!"

Delia gave him a coy smile. "Wives are meant to be pampered, aren't they? If she's this delicate, you'll just have to spoil her a little more."

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

Then her face shifted to something pitiful. "Though I heard epidurals and C-sections can affect the baby. For Charlie's sake, I just gritted my teeth and pushed through."

James scoffed. "She's not getting an epidural. My son will be well-behaved. She'll deliver naturally without any of that."

Pride dripped from every word. A flash of jealousy flickered through Delia's eyes.

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

Despair, endless and absolute, crashed over me.

When I woke again, the sharp smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils.

A wave of pain tore through my lower body. I groaned involuntarily—and someone gripped my hand tight.

"Linda!!"

Mom. Dad.

My mother's usually immaculate hair was disheveled, her eyes swollen and red. When she saw me awake, her voice broke. "Linda, it's okay. It's going to be okay..."

It took me a moment to register where I was—lying on a gurney being rushed toward the operating room.

"Doctor, the patient is hemorrhaging!"

"We may not be able to save the baby. 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—"

"Hospital policy requires the patient's husband for emergency procedures of this nature. It may affect her future fertility."

The doctor's urgent commands, my mother's pleas, my father's furious voice—all tangled together in chaos.

I lay there gasping, fighting wave after wave of agony. Then I heard my father on the phone with James.

"James Stevens! Get to this hospital. Now!"

The voice on the other end sounded surprised. "Dad? Is Linda throwing another fit about going to the hospital? Ever since she got pregnant, she's been paranoid, always convinced something's wrong with the baby."

"It's just pregnancy. A friend of mine was unclogging toilets, changing lightbulbs, and hauling packages when she was months along."

"Linda is just too delicate."

Each word was an accusation. My father's rage finally boiled over. His voice came out through gritted teeth: "If you don't get here right now, the Hayward family will never let this go."

James had built his company himself, but many of his connections had come through my father. There was a hesitation on the other end of the line.

But just then, a woman's startled cry came from the other end of the line.

"Oh no! James, Charlie just threw up..."

"Let me see!" James's voice turned urgent, then hurried: "Dad, you really need to stop spoiling Linda so much. Something's come up here—I have to go. I'll talk to her properly tonight."

Click.

The dial tone echoed through the corridor. After a long moment, my father ground out through clenched teeth: "Proceed with the surgery. Her husband is dead to me. Any problems, I'll take responsibility. I'll sign whatever needs signing."

Cold anesthetic crept into my veins. My eyelids grew heavier, but my body felt lighter and lighter, as if it might float away.

When I woke again, I lay still for a moment, lost. My hand drifted to my stomach. Just an hour ago, there had been a tiny life here, connected to me by blood and bone.

Now there was nothing.

"Linda."

My mother watched me with worried eyes. I managed a weak smile. "Mom, I'm okay."

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

I reached for my phone. The call log was empty. Only my chat with James showed any activity—a few cold messages.

All sent this morning.

[Don't forget—three days from now, civil affairs office. Divorce.]

[Still not responding? You think ignoring me will change anything? Linda, this divorce is happening whether you like it or not.]

[Sometimes I really wish Delia and Charlie were my family. Charlie's been raised so well. I can't imagine what kind of person our son would've become with you raising him.]

I stared at those final messages for a long time.

Then, slowly, I typed: [Okay.]

I hit send. Without hesitation, I deleted his contact.

The hospital's fluorescent lights were blinding. Clutching the miscarriage report, I walked alone down the corridor toward the room where they kept what remained of my child. I needed to bring him home. Give him a proper burial.

The maternity ward was full of couples. Expectant mothers glowed with joy, their partners hovering close.

I held the small box in my arms, and it felt like my heart had been sealed inside it along with that tiny body.

"James, thank you so much for today." A sweet, honeyed voice cut through the air.

I looked up.

Our eyes met.

James was holding Charlie's hand. Delia clung to his arm.

Standing together, they looked like a real family.

James glanced at me, and his expression shifted. His gaze dropped straight to my flat stomach.

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

Delia laughed lightly. "Looking for James? Oh, Linda, you really don't need to keep such close tabs on him. I just felt a little unwell, so he accompanied me to the hospital. That's all."

"Is this really necessary?" James's voice dripped with impatience. "Following me around like this? 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 terrible luck to end up in your womb."

"Didn't I tell you? Our child was perfectly healthy. A genius, even—got into a top university at sixteen."

Yes. In his version of things, in that past life he claimed to remember, we had a brilliant, healthy child.

So why had it turned out like this?

I clutched the small box tighter against my chest.

I'd heard that children who die before their time become trapped in the cycle of rebirth, unable to find peace.

So I'd ordered this box specially made—carved with lotus flowers—and arranged for a monk to chant sutras for forty-nine days.

I hoped he would have another chance. That in his next life, he would find parents who truly loved him.

"Daddy."

A child's voice broke through my thoughts. Charlie was staring at the box in my arms, and suddenly his hand shot out to grab it.

"I want that box!"

"Don't touch it!"

I slapped his hand away hard and pulled the box tight against my body.