After three miscarriages for Xavier Lowe, I see it—my mother-in-law has three years left, my father-in-law nine years, and my sister-in-law two years.

I say nothing.

After the third miscarriage, my mother-in-law blames me, calling me a curse who "kills" children.

My sister-in-law sneers, saying she almost died in a car crash the year I married Xavier—as if my bad luck dragged her down.

My mother-in-law snaps, "She can't even keep a child. It must be because she's cursed!"

Xavier just stands there, silent. He doesn't say a single word for me. I know that, deep down, he believes that I bring bad luck. Maybe it's also because he already has someone else—his secretary, Yvette Snyder.

His mother has always liked her better, and he clung to her the night I lost my third child.

I don't explain because I know the truth will only destroy them faster.

On my 28th birthday, I catch a glimpse of my own countdown in the mirror. On that day, I take a leave of absence. I go to the funeral home and pick out an urn—pure white, just like the wedding dress I once wore.

Wearing a beautiful floral dress, I text Xavier, asking him to meet me at the lake where we first met ten years ago.

I wait from daylight until nightfall as my countdown ticks to zero.

I die, and he never shows up.

After suffering three miscarriages for the sake of my husband, Xavier Lowe, I started seeing something no one else could—the death countdown hovering in front of people's hearts. The crimson numbers, ticking away in hours, days, and years, were as clear as day.

It made my husband's family look at me like I was some kind of monster, especially after I accidentally blurted out the exact time that would later be Xavier's sister's death. At the time, they just laughed it off and didn't think much about it.

Two years later, she died in a traffic accident due to a brake failure that sent her crashing into a guardrail. There was no alcohol or speeding involved.

I still remember the cold, sterile white sheet pulled over her body. It was freezing cold that day.

Xavier's sister never liked me. I always felt small and unwelcome around her. However, after her death, the Lowes thought I'd cursed her, and they hated me for it with every fiber of their being.

…

Two years later, during a raging thunderstorm, rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows as I collapsed onto the leather couch, clutching my stomach. A searing pain ripped through me, and blood started flowing down my pale thighs.

Then, the wail of the ambulance sirens pierced the air.

"Don't bother. The baby's already gone," I said, my voice chillingly calm.

Xavier slapped me hard. The sharp edge of his wedding ring cut my cheek. "Willow Jones, you wretched woman. You want my whole family dead, don't you? Cursing my sister wasn't enough for you? You had to kill your own baby, too?"

"This wretched woman is going to make our family die out!" My mother-in-law, Olivia Bennett, was about to lose it. "What kind of woman did you marry, Xavier? She's had three miscarriages, and each one of them died!"

The agony in my chest was overwhelming, pulsing in rhythm with the tiny heart that had just stopped beating inside me. My cowardly husband was nothing more than a pushover under his mother's "authority". He didn't come near me or look at me.

My father-in-law, Lucas Lowe, held his head in his hands and sighed. "What did we do to deserve this?"

Why did I have to carry all this pain? I wondered as I lay crumpled on the floor. Inside me, there had been a tiny heartbeat—a life. Now, I watched as the scarlet numbers floating above my stomach hit zero.

My baby was gone once again. This was the fourth time you left me—the fourth time you left this world. My sweet child, you must have been so afraid… so terrified to be born into this world.

As the morning light crept in through the sliver between the curtains, I curled up on the icy bed. I pressed a trembling hand to my flat stomach—the same place that had once nurtured four tiny lives, only to be scraped clean by the cold cruelty of a curettage each time.

I was exhausted. It hurt.

The doctor told me that Xavier's sperm cells were highly deformed. But when I laid the test results on the dining table, Olivia ripped them apart. "If you can't have a child, it's your own damn fault! How dare you blame my son?" she shrieked.

"Why are you still looking for a job? In three months, you'd better be pregnant again, or you'll be out of my son's life for good!" Olivia, like a crazed animal, ripped up my job offer letter.

I wanted to fight back, but then I caught a glimpse of the crimson numbers ticking down over her heart. Oh, it was almost her turn. Fine, I wouldn't argue with her anymore.

Xavier sat there, silent as ever, busy texting his secretary, Yvette Snyder, the entire time.

I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The mirror reflected my dull hair and the glowing red countdown pulsing against my chest.

I checked my own timer. As it turned out, I didn't have much longer than Olivia. We were both dying. For the first time ever, I felt a strange, inexplicable pity for the woman.

Just then, laughter echoed from downstairs. I looked over and saw Xavier wearing the tie I had bought him.

Yvette had come over. She stood on her tiptoes as she fixed his collar. "Stay still. I'll do it," she said sweetly. "It's a little crooked."

The man looked at the slightly crooked tie and chuckled, ruffling her hair. "Yvie, you did great, especially for your first time. You must be tired. Let me take you upstairs to try out the massage chair I bought." With that, they went up the stairs, arm in arm.

Ever since I had multiple miscarriages, my husband, who was now thriving in his career, had started shamelessly bringing Yvette home, claiming it was to discuss work.

Sunlight streamed in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm, golden glow over them. The scene was so picture-perfect that for a split second, I was thrown back to the days when I used to knit scarves for him. That was when I still hoped he might praise me.

But he had thrown that scarf away like a rag because he feared wearing anything I gave him would curse him.

"Yvie, you're here! I'll add two more sets of plates and cutlery to the dining table," Olivia said, passing by with a bowl of creamy seafood bisque. The sound of the porcelain spoon clinking was sharp and jarring.

I watched as Yvette slid into the seat that used to be mine. My husband smiled and handed her a napkin. "Careful, it's hot," he said tenderly.

Olivia smiled warmly. "Yvie, you're too skinny. You need to eat more! If it weren't for you, Xavier's company wouldn't be where it is today."

But they had all forgotten that back when Xavier had nothing, it was my savings that funded his first step. My little photography studio had once earned more than he did. I was the one who helped him start his business, raised money for him, and even sold my photography studio to support his career.

"Could you... accompany me at the hospital again this afternoon?" I asked hesitantly. Xavier froze with the napkin in mid-air, while Olivia sneered and Yvette snickered.

"Mr. Lowe's company is about to go public, so we need to attend some business events," Yvette said, looking at my husband sweetly. "I heard a new restaurant just opened in the western part of the city. We're meeting Mr. Lane there this afternoon. Their foie gras is well-known."

"Yvie's too skinny. Since you're treating clients, you might as well order some nice food," Olivia said.

I spent a long time upstairs, lost in thought. Slowly, I packed up my things from the attic where I now lived. The room that used to be mine and my husband's was now Yvette's and his private office.

He even had the gall to tell me to move upstairs to the attic, claiming it was so he wouldn't disturb me while I slept.

Now, I lived like a ghost under my own roof, peeking out from the shadows, watching them live the life that used to be mine. Xavier was my husband. This was supposed to be my home.

Before he left, Xavier turned and glared at me. His eyes were cold and sharp, like a knife slicing through me. "By the way, don't bother cleaning the office upstairs. Don't think I don't know what you're up to. If anything happens to Yvie, don't say we didn't warn you!"

I stared at the diamond ring on Yvette's finger, remembering how Xavier had called Yvette by her nickname when he came home drunk last night. I watched them walk away, hand in hand, and felt like I had fallen into a bottomless pit. Was that really how he saw me? Like a villain and a murderer.

Our housekeeper walked by, rolling her eyes at me when she thought I wasn't looking. When she noticed the pizza box in my hand, she gasped dramatically. "Oh no, Mrs. Lowe, you're not planning to eat that, are you? That's been sitting out for days! We were about to throw it out.

"Didn't you have your fill at dinner? If you're still hungry, I can make something for you."

Her feigned concern made me frown. I turned her down, biting back the dull ache growing in my stomach. Without another word, I retreated to my room.

It felt like there was no place for me in this house. Even the housekeeper was treating me with sarcasm.

Pain gnawed at every corner of my body. I remembered hearing once that some people could die from a broken heart. Perhaps that was where I was headed.

With trembling hands, I pried open the bottle of pills that could stop my body from shaking. I popped one into my mouth and washed it down with a glass of cold water. Slowly, my stiff body began to relax a little.

Knowing my time was running out, I went to the most renowned funeral shop in town and picked out a balloon urn for myself.

When the urn, carried by the helium balloon, reached an altitude of 3300 to 5000 feet, the humidity sensor would detect the moisture in the clouds. It would trigger the biodegradable cap to open, and my ashes would fall with the rain, returning to the earth.

On my way home, my phone reminded me of the flight tickets for our vacation to Cinnabar Island in June. I had booked them a year ago when Xavier and I made a promise. If I managed to become pregnant, we'd go on a family trip to Cinnabar Island. We'd even take wedding photos there—the ones we never got around to.

After all these years of marriage, I had never seen myself in a wedding dress. It was one of my last wishes before I died—to have my wedding photos serve as my memorial picture, leaving behind the most beautiful version of myself.

…

Xavier stumbled through the door at 4:00 am, reeking of alcohol. He collapsed onto the couch, with a faint lipstick stain on his neck.

However, my heart was already dead. I didn't care who he was with or what he had done.

He curled up on the couch like a child, and for a fleeting moment, I almost remembered why I had fallen for him in the first place. I thought back to when we first met. I was drawn to his innocent, pure, yet irresistibly seductive eyes, and we fell in love.

He had known how I took my coffee—with only one spoonful of sugar, no more, or else I'd wrinkle my nose. He remembered that I couldn't eat the skin of apples, so he'd always peel them before cutting the fruit into heart-shaped slices for me.

He knew I loved horror movies but would always end up hiding behind his arms, yet I still wouldn't turn them off.

We had been so in love once. We had leaned on each other, needed each other. Now, there was nothing left but ruins—pain and love etched into my very bones.

"Honey, can we go to Cinnabar Island next week to take our wedding photos?" I asked softly, lifting his chin to get a better look at his eyes. "After that, I'll go through with the IVF procedure. I already promised your mother. The doctor said the success rate is really high this time around."

He stared at me for a few seconds and smiled. "Right, I guess I still owe you that. Let's go together, then." At that moment, his voice was so gentle that it almost felt like we had traveled back in time to the early days of our relationship. I thought this was the last bit of warmth our shared love could offer me.

Just then, his phone rang. The video call connected, and Yvette appeared on the screen. She was lounging against her pillows in a black lace nightgown, a coy smile curling on her lips. "What island?" she asked, tilting her head. "I love islands!"

I instantly froze. Xavier didn't even try to hide it. If anything, he held the phone higher like he was afraid I would not see Yvette. "Alright. I'll take you there, my sweet Yvie."

"You're taking her with us? Xavier, are you seriously not even trying to hide your affair in front of me anymore?" I demanded.