Reborn Wife: A Mother's Fury

Reborn Wife: A Mother's Fury

Gavin

5.0
Comment(s)
575
View
11
Chapters

The last thing I remembered was the cold, sterile operating room. A sharp pain tore through my abdomen, and my husband Ethan's chilling indifference burned into me. "Sign it, Ethan! The doctor says she's bleeding out. They need to perform the surgery to save her!" I screamed, my voice distant and desperate. But he wouldn't. He stood there, arms crossed, saying, "The doctor said there's a risk to the baby. I can't risk my daughter's life." "There won't be a daughter if I die!" I countered, agony blurring my vision. "The baby can't survive if I don't!" Then, my six-year-old stepson, Liam, holding Ethan's hand, pointed at me. "Dad, Sophia said this woman is just faking it. She said if she dies, Sophia can be my new mom and take care of you and the baby." His words hit harder than any physical pain. My own stepson, a child I'd raised since he was two, was wishing for my death. Ethan didn't scold him. He squeezed Liam' s shoulder in silent agreement as Sophia Davis, Liam's beautiful young tutor, stepped into view with a triumphant smirk. They never signed the papers. I bled out on that operating table, my last sight the three of them-Ethan, Liam, and Sophia-already looking like a happy family. A sharp gasp snapped me awake. My eyes flew open. I was in my own bed, morning sun streaming through the silk curtains. My hand went to my stomach. It was still there, a gentle, rounded swell. My baby girl was safe. I grabbed my phone. The date confirmed it: today was the day my life unraveled. The day Liam brought Sophia home. I hadn't died. I was back. The memory of my death wasn't a dream. It was a searing brand, a horrifying premonition. The betrayal, the pain, the cold finality-all of it clear as day. A wave of nausea washed over me, not from pregnancy, but from cold, hard fury. They would not kill me this time. They would not harm my daughter. This time, I would make them pay for a crime they hadn't committed yet. Just then, the doorbell rang. I heard the housekeeper, then Liam's excited chatter. My heart turned to ice. It was starting.

Introduction

The last thing I remembered was the cold, sterile operating room.

A sharp pain tore through my abdomen, and my husband Ethan's chilling indifference burned into me.

"Sign it, Ethan! The doctor says she's bleeding out. They need to perform the surgery to save her!" I screamed, my voice distant and desperate.

But he wouldn't. He stood there, arms crossed, saying, "The doctor said there's a risk to the baby. I can't risk my daughter's life."

"There won't be a daughter if I die!" I countered, agony blurring my vision. "The baby can't survive if I don't!"

Then, my six-year-old stepson, Liam, holding Ethan's hand, pointed at me.

"Dad, Sophia said this woman is just faking it. She said if she dies, Sophia can be my new mom and take care of you and the baby."

His words hit harder than any physical pain. My own stepson, a child I'd raised since he was two, was wishing for my death.

Ethan didn't scold him. He squeezed Liam' s shoulder in silent agreement as Sophia Davis, Liam's beautiful young tutor, stepped into view with a triumphant smirk.

They never signed the papers.

I bled out on that operating table, my last sight the three of them-Ethan, Liam, and Sophia-already looking like a happy family.

A sharp gasp snapped me awake.

My eyes flew open. I was in my own bed, morning sun streaming through the silk curtains. My hand went to my stomach. It was still there, a gentle, rounded swell. My baby girl was safe.

I grabbed my phone. The date confirmed it: today was the day my life unraveled. The day Liam brought Sophia home.

I hadn't died. I was back.

The memory of my death wasn't a dream. It was a searing brand, a horrifying premonition. The betrayal, the pain, the cold finality-all of it clear as day.

A wave of nausea washed over me, not from pregnancy, but from cold, hard fury. They would not kill me this time. They would not harm my daughter. This time, I would make them pay for a crime they hadn't committed yet.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

I heard the housekeeper, then Liam's excited chatter. My heart turned to ice. It was starting.

Continue Reading

Other books by Gavin

More
The Truth About His Mistress

The Truth About His Mistress

Short stories

4.7

I was four months pregnant, a photographer excited for our future, attending a sophisticated baby brunch. Then I saw him, my husband Michael, with another woman, and a newborn introduced as "his son." My world shattered as a torrent of betrayal washed over me, magnified by Michael's dismissive claim I was "just being emotional." His mistress, Serena, taunted me, revealing Michael had discussed my pregnancy complications with her, then slapped me, causing a terrifying cramp. Michael sided with her, publicly shaming me, demanding I leave "their" party, as a society blog already paraded them as a "picture-perfect family." He fully expected me to return, to accept his double life, telling his friends I was "dramatic" but would "always come back." The audacity, the calculated cruelty of his deception, and Serena's chilling malice, fueled a cold, hard rage I barely recognized. How could I have been so blind, so trusting of the man who gaslighted me for months while building a second family? But on the plush carpet of that lawyer's office, as he turned his back on me, a new, unbreakable resolve solidified. They thought I was broken, disposable, easily manipulated – a "reasonable" wife who would accept a sham separation. They had no idea my calm acceptance was not surrender; it was strategy, a quiet promise to dismantle everything he held dear. I would not be handled; I would not understand; I would end this, and make sure their perfect family charade crumbled into dust.

You'll also like

Chapters
Read Now
Download Book