BOOK 1

Chapter 1

Kathleen gave her husband ten years of devotion, her career, and even carried his child—only to be repaid with betrayal. On a whim, spurred by his mistress's cruel comment, he forced her to abort their seven-month-old baby. When her world collapsed, Kathleen didn't cry—she packed. Leaving behind the man who saw her as disposable, she rebuilt her name in a distant country, rising to global acclaim in scientific research. But as her star rose, her ex drowned in regret, begging for forgiveness. Too late. She'd already learned: a woman's worth is not measured by the man who fails to cherish her.

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My husband killed our seven-month-old baby over a joke his secretary made.

Lying weakly in the hospital bed, I found myself staring at her newest post on Moments.

"Only the unloved are the side-chicks. Side-chicks don't deserve kids. Only true love does."

The photo? Very telling. She was wearing a crop top, and Ezekial, my husband, was gently resting his hand on her stomach like it was something sacred.

I didn't scream. Didn't cry.

I quietly started packing. Booked a plane ticket. Eight days from now, I'll be gone.

…

On the third day after the miscarriage, Ezekial finally showed up at home.

I gave him a quick glance, then went back to eating my food.

If this were before, I'd have rushed over, showered him in concern, probably called him a hundred times these past few days begging him to come home.

Now? Just speaking to him feels pointless.

Seeing me ignore him, Ezekial stood frozen at the door, frustration flashing across his face.

"Kathleen, what the hell are you doing over there?"

"Come put my clothes up, now!"

Right. The old me would've dropped everything to help him change out of his clothes, fetch his slippers like it was my sworn duty.

Back when I thought a guy like him was too good to lift a finger—yeah, even when I was pregnant, I catered to his every absurd need.

I slowly lifted the red date tea beside me, took a sip, and said quietly, "I'm not feeling great. Do your own stuff from now on."

"You didn't cook for me?"

He stared at the table like it offended him. The dishes, as usual, were lavish. But there was only enough for one person. No second pair of chopsticks.

That was new.

Even if he crawled back at 3 a.m., I used to have something warm waiting for him on the table.

That sudden realization got under his skin.

"Kathleen! Don't think just 'cause you were pregnant you can—"

He choked mid-sentence, his eyes darting away.

Guess it finally hit him. Our baby's gone... and it was all his doing.

Seven months in, our child already had a little face. I felt it kick all the time, its heartbeat right under my skin.

My hand instinctively went to my belly—empty now.

"Kathleen… the baby's gone. Why aren't you reacting?"

He blocked my path, confused, like he didn't get why I wasn't throwing a tantrum.

That look? First time I've ever seen it on him.

The old me would've been screaming, probably tearing the place apart.

"You were the dad. You had the right to decide its fate, too. You didn't want it… so it was a mistake. And mistakes shouldn't be born."

I kept my voice steady—tried to, anyway.

But the truth? My chest still aches. Feels like someone carved out my heart.

That baby… it was part of me. Shared my blood, fed off my body.

I wanted that child more than anything.

But Stella was right—kids without fathers who love them are doomed from the start.

I didn't want mine to be born into misery.

I just hope… maybe in another life, they'll end up in a home where they're actually wanted. With real parents who care.

Seeing how cold I was, Ezekial finally dropped the tough guy act. He stepped closer and softened his tone, resting his hands on my shoulders.

"Kathleen, don't be mad… the baby would've come out messed up anyway. You know if people found out, the whole Lysander stock would've tanked!"

"And from now on, stop using that makeup crap! Thank God for Stella—if she hadn't warned me that makeup could mess up a fetus, I wouldn't have known!"

"Seriously, things aren't like they used to be. Tech is everywhere, and women are more fragile than they think. That stuff absorbs straight through your bellybutton and messes with the baby's DNA. That's just how it works now!"

The more Ezekial talked, the colder I felt inside.

I knew my baby was healthy. No issues, no abnormalities.

Seven months into the pregnancy, ten checkups—all perfectly fine.

Even the doctor joked once, saying, "You might not have a great husband, but at least your baby listens."

And now, my baby's gone.

Ezekial didn't trust the reports. He said the doctor's words were just things I made up in my head.

But he forgot—every single time I asked him to come with me to the appointments, Stella always had something "urgent" going on.

Either she "got hurt" or messed up some project, and Ezekial had to go clean up her mess.

Seriously? A CEO spending half his time fixing a secretary's screw-ups?

We fought constantly, always because of Stella.

Stella, the girl we sponsored. She didn't even get into college—barely scraped by high school.

Ezekial felt sorry for her and bent all the rules just to bring her in.

He kept saying, "Without me, Stella wouldn't even have food on the table."

"She's bright," he said, "She only failed because of her background."

Funny thing is—I came from the mountains too.

Same background, same struggle. But I made it to university, met Ezekial there, and we even went to grad school together.

Then Stella showed up.

And just like that, everything changed. He lost his damn mind.