I Tied My Wife to the Operating Table, Eight Months Pregnant

My wife was eight months pregnant, and as an obstetrician, I personally tied her to the operating table.

My wife was trembling in fear, clutching a paternity test in her hands, desperate to prove the child was mine.

“Nathan, I know you’re under too much pressure and on edge. I promise you—no matter what we face, I’ll get through it with you. Please… please spare our baby!”

My parents were kneeling on the floor, begging me.

“That’s your own flesh and blood! Why would you do this?”

Cameras from the reporters outside the glass window were aimed straight at me.

“A brilliant doctor raises a scalpel against his own eight-month-pregnant wife—why?”

I ignored all of them and brought the scalpel down coldly.

Bright red blood spilled across the floor instantly.

Seeing the lifeless baby, I finally let out a smile, then took out my phone and called the police.

When the officers arrived, I had just finished wiping the blood from my hands.

The operating room doors swung open, and the sight of all that blood made everyone gasp in horror.

My parents were still on their knees, their foreheads split open from begging, yet I tossed the bloody remains in my arms onto the floor in front of them as if throwing away trash.

My mother took one look and shrieked before collapsing on the spot.

My father raised his hand as if to hit me, then clutched his chest in pain.

“What did we do to deserve a monster like you?”

But I didn’t seem to feel anything—I simply watched them with cold, emotionless eyes.

The entire room reeked of blood, yet I began to laugh.

The police immediately raised their guns at me, fully alert.

“Why did you tie your wife—who’s only two months away from giving birth—to the operating table? She could have delivered safely!”

“We’ve already looked into your background. You and your wife met in college. Everyone said you were the perfect couple. After the wedding, she spent years trying to conceive your child, even harming her own health just to get pregnant. And yet you killed your own baby—why?”

I looked at my wife lying unconscious on the table, and the smile on my lips slowly faded.

Yes. We were the couple everyone envied.

After we married, Emily spent two years undergoing intense fertility treatments just to give me a child. She took countless hormone injections that damaged her body.

And when she finally became pregnant, she was afraid of disturbing my work—she never even asked me to accompany her to checkups, and still managed to run our home perfectly.

Everyone around me envied me for having such a devoted wife.

Today marked exactly eight months of her pregnancy. We agreed I would handle her checkup personally and then go choose baby clothes afterward.

But once we got to the hospital, Emily insisted she didn’t want to use my connections to take up other patients’ resources, so she registered under another doctor instead.

Even my mother praised her endlessly, saying having Emily as a daughter-in-law was the greatest blessing of my life.

I smiled without answering and let go of Emily’s hand.

After her checkup, she waited two full hours outside my office just so she wouldn’t interrupt my work. She stood there until her legs were swollen.

When I finally walked out, she handed me the results with a gentle smile.

“Nathan, the doctor said the baby is growing really well. In just two more months, we’ll get to meet our child!”