Chapter 1
On the way to the hospital to give birth, my husband, Asher Blackwell, suddenly took a phone call.
He claimed it was an emergency, so even though my water had already broken, he left me on the side of the road and told me to get a cab myself.
While I was trying to flag down a ride, I was hit by a truck driver who had fallen asleep at the wheel.
It was an instant death. Both my unborn child and I were gone.
When my mom came to collect my body, she broke down so many times she nearly fainted from grief.
At that very moment, Asher's first crush, Grace Holloway, posted an update on Twitter: [Our baby girl almost didn't make it. Thank God you showed up in time. Thank you for making me feel safe. I'm truly, truly happy.]
The post included a photo of their fingers interlocked, and a French bulldog lying in a pet hospital birthing room, having just delivered puppies.
After I was sent to the funeral home, my mom, exhausted and heartbroken, dragged herself to Asher's place and used sign language to ask why he had abandoned me.
He couldn't even pretend to care, slamming the door in her face and saying, "She was such an independent woman. She could've handled giving birth on her own. But Grace has depression. Without me, she'd die."
*****
"Asher, I hate you." As my mom collapsed to the ground, my soul echoed her fall, voicing the only thing I wanted to say to Asher Blackwell in that moment.
I'd been married to Asher for four years, but I'd been in love with him for twelve.
Honestly, I was just lucky to end up as his wife.
Asher was the future heir of the Blackwell family, and he was in love with Grace Holloway, a D-list actress.
His grandmother, Harper Blackwell, was furious. She'd always had a thing against people from showbiz, so she tore them apart.
She used her shares in the family business to force him to marry me, the girl who'd grown up in the Blackwell residence.
I knew he was only marrying me just to appease Harper, but I was so happy that I lay awake for several nights.
Asher was always so distant, and after we got married, we barely spoke. Even our first night together only happened because I practically begged him for it.
But I was grateful for what I had. At least he was with me, and our baby boy was almost here.
When I learned I was pregnant, I was afraid he'd think I'd use the child to tie him down.
So I tried my best to show him I could handle everything alone. I went to all the checkups by myself, set up my medical file, packed my hospital bag, and picked the hospital on my own.
The only thing I ever asked of him was to be there with me when I gave birth.
I told him, "I'm scared of dying. I'm scared I'll never see you again."
He hugged me and laughed, tapping me lightly on the forehead. "Don't say things like that. I'd never let anything happen to you. We're going to raise our child together."
But the most beautiful dreams were always the easiest to break.
In the end, to him, I was just a reluctant choice, a decision made out of necessity after weighing his options.
My one and only request was utterly worthless in front of Grace. It was nothing but a joke.
My poor baby boy never got the chance to open his eyes, to catch even a glimpse of this vibrant world before he died, lying cold on the ground.
He was thrown out of my body by the impact. I couldn't even bear to imagine how much it must have hurt for someone so tiny, hitting the ground like that.