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.

The sharp crack echoed through the corridor. Charlie froze for a split second before bursting into wails.

A flicker of shock crossed James's face, but he immediately hardened his expression. "What do you think you're doing?"

"He's just a child! Why are you taking it out on him?"

I clutched the box to my chest, glaring at James with every ounce of hatred I possessed. "James Stevens, I hate you. I hate you!"

Each word dripped venom. The taste of blood filled my mouth. He seemed stunned that I—always so compliant—would say such things. His brow furrowed. "Linda, you're being completely unreasonable."

Without another word, he pulled something from his pocket. "I'll trade you this for that broken box. Happy now?"

It was an exquisite longevity lock pendant.

I'd once mentioned wanting to buy one for our baby. He'd dismissed it, told me to focus on the pregnancy and stop overthinking.

"Isn't this what you wanted to give the child? Take it—"

Before he could finish, Charlie's crying turned shrill. "Daddy! That's mine! You ordered it for me!"

Embarrassment flickered across James's face, quickly masked. "I'll get you something even better later."

"NO! You can't give away my things!"

Charlie charged at me, shoving me with all his strength. Caught off guard, I crashed to the floor. The box flew from my hands.

"Give it back!"

My pupils contracted. Despair clawed at my throat as I watched Charlie snatch the box and sprint to the end of the corridor. With one vicious motion, he hurled it down the garbage disposal chute.

I lunged after it like a woman possessed, but James seized me, his grip iron-tight.

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

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

James latched onto this like a weapon. "Your doctor's here. Do you really want to keep embarrassing yourself?"

"Linda, I'm telling you now—I will never accompany you to another prenatal checkup!"

"And once you give birth, that child is mine. You'll never see him again!"

The doctor went still. The words slipped out before she could stop them. "Prenatal checkup? But Ms. Hayward already miscarried..."