Chapter 1

Eight months pregnant, the doctor handed me a report saying my baby was deformed.

My husband, Justin Johnson, didn't hesitate. "Abort it. The sooner, the better."

That afternoon, I scrolled through my best friend Vivian White's Instagram. She posted: [He finally got rid of the burden for our baby.]

The photo showed Vivian's slightly rounded belly and Justin's profile.

I let out a cold laugh and sent the screenshot to Margaret Johnson, my ruthless mother-in-law. I typed: [Margaret, your grandson got plotted.]

Less than ten minutes later, Margaret stormed into Vivian's place with her people.

Looking at Justin and Vivian, I'd like to see who the real burden was today.

*****

I was eight months pregnant.

The doctor handed me a report, stone-faced. "The baby isn't developing right. It's serious."

My mind buzzed and then went blank.

Justin, my husband, stood beside me and took the report. He glanced at it, his voice flat. "Abort it. The sooner, the better."

There was no comfort or hesitation, as if he were deciding a trivial matter that had nothing to do with him.

My heart sank in an instant.

The doctor glanced at Justin, frowned, but said nothing.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. "Justin, this is our baby."

"A deformed child would be a burden on us for life," he cut me off, his voice icy. "Nina, listen to me. We're still young. We'll have healthy kids later."

I looked at Justin's familiar face, but now it felt unfamiliar. This was the man I'd loved for five years and married for two.

*****

That afternoon, I went home like a ghost.

Justin said he had an emergency at work and dumped me at the hospital entrance.

I lay in bed, tears quietly slipping down my cheeks.

My phone screen lit up with an Instagram feed update notification.

I tapped it blankly, and when I saw the poster's profile picture, my heart clenched. It was my best friend, Vivian.

She'd posted a photo. In the picture, she wore a beautiful maternity dress, her belly slightly rounded, a happy smile on her face.

A man's hand gently stroked her belly. I knew the watch on that hand all too well. It was the gift I'd given Justin for his birthday last year. The background was our bedroom.

The caption caused a piercing pain in my heart. [He finally got rid of the burden for our baby.]

So in their eyes, my unborn baby was nothing but a "burden."

A terrifying thought flashed through my mind. They faked that so-called deformity report together to kill my baby this way, so that they could make room for their bastard.

A metallic taste of blood rose in my throat, and I shook all over with rage. Tears vanished instantly, replaced by a biting chill and all-consuming hatred. I wouldn't let Justin and Vivian get away with this.

I didn't cry or throw a fit. Instead, I calmly saved the screenshot of Vivian's Instagram feed. Then I dug out a number from my contacts.

It was my mother-in-law, Margaret, the woman who ran the Johnson family with an iron fist, ruthless to the core. All she cared about was the Johnson family legacy: her future grandson.

I opened her chat and sent the screenshot. Then I typed out a line, word by word.[Margaret, your grandson got plotted.] The message was sent.

Less than ten seconds later, Margaret called. "Nina, what the hell is going on?"

I leaned against the headboard, my voice calm but icy. "Margaret, you know Vivian's address, right? Justin is there now."

A furious roar and the sound of something crashing rang out on the other end. "Fine, seriously. They've gone too far." The call ended.

I looked out the window as the sky darkened. The real drama was about to start. Thinking about Justin and Vivian, I wondered who'd turn out to be the burden that needed to be "gotten rid of" today.