The sharp, twisting pain woke me from a dead sleep. Ethan wasn't home, and his phone was answered by Chloe, my husband' s childhood friend. She dismissed my agony, urging me not to be "so dramatic" before hanging up, leaving me alone to dial 911 through blinding pain. At the hospital, the doctor's words blurred: "Ectopic pregnancy. Ruptured. Internal bleeding. Immediate operation." The nurse couldn't reach Ethan, so I signed the consent form myself, a single tear tracing a path down my cheek. I was truly alone. I woke in a sterile room; the baby was gone. Ethan's voicemail mocked me, calling me "dramatic" and "jealous," accusing me of making "everything about myself." My despair was a vast, silent ocean, and I was drowning. Yet, a cold realization clicked: I was merely a bystander in my own marriage, overshadowed by Chloe and Mrs. Davis. The cold clinical words of my medical report, "Ruptured Ectopic Pregnancy. Emergency Salpingectomy," became my shield. I sent the picture to Ethan. His text, "Is this some kind of joke?" followed by "I'll compensate you for whatever you feel you' ve lost," twisted the knife. Compensate me? As if our baby was a business deal gone wrong. How could he be so blind, so cruel? I typed a single word: "Okay." Then, I turned off my phone, packing up eight years of my life, leaving only a ghost of what we once were.
The sharp, twisting pain woke me from a dead sleep. Ethan wasn't home, and his phone was answered by Chloe, my husband' s childhood friend.
She dismissed my agony, urging me not to be "so dramatic" before hanging up, leaving me alone to dial 911 through blinding pain.
At the hospital, the doctor's words blurred: "Ectopic pregnancy. Ruptured. Internal bleeding. Immediate operation." The nurse couldn't reach Ethan, so I signed the consent form myself, a single tear tracing a path down my cheek. I was truly alone.
I woke in a sterile room; the baby was gone. Ethan's voicemail mocked me, calling me "dramatic" and "jealous," accusing me of making "everything about myself." My despair was a vast, silent ocean, and I was drowning.
Yet, a cold realization clicked: I was merely a bystander in my own marriage, overshadowed by Chloe and Mrs. Davis. The cold clinical words of my medical report, "Ruptured Ectopic Pregnancy. Emergency Salpingectomy," became my shield. I sent the picture to Ethan.
His text, "Is this some kind of joke?" followed by "I'll compensate you for whatever you feel you' ve lost," twisted the knife. Compensate me? As if our baby was a business deal gone wrong. How could he be so blind, so cruel?
I typed a single word: "Okay." Then, I turned off my phone, packing up eight years of my life, leaving only a ghost of what we once were.
Introduction
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Chapter 1
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Chapter 2
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Chapter 3
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Chapter 4
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Chapter 5
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Chapter 6
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Chapter 7
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Chapter 8
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Chapter 9
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Chapter 10
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Chapter 11
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Chapter 12
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Chapter 13
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Chapter 14
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Chapter 15
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Chapter 16
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Chapter 17
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Chapter 18
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Chapter 19
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Chapter 20
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Chapter 21
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Chapter 22
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Chapter 23
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Chapter 24
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Chapter 25
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Chapter 26
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Chapter 27
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Chapter 28
10/07/2025
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