Chapter 1

I was on the verge of losing consciousness from the pain when I heard Belle Everly crying from outside the delivery room.

"Morgan, I'm scared..." she cried.

Then came my husband, Morgan Sterling's voice, as gentle as the day he asked to marry me three years ago.

"Don't be scared. I'm here," he said.

His arms had once held me like that. On the day I said yes to his proposal, on the day I wore my wedding dress, and on the day I told him I was pregnant.

But now, while his wife was hemorrhaging and fighting for her life in the delivery room, he was outside guarding another woman.

*****

I wanted to laugh, but I didn't even have the strength for that.

"The mother's blood pressure keeps dropping! Blood loss is over 800 milliliters!" The doctor's urgent voice pierced my ears.

The medical terms cut into my consciousness like shards of glass.

I could feel something warm flowing out of me. It carried a rusty scent. It was blood, and the oxygen that was rapidly slipping away from my baby.

"Where's her family? We need a signature!" The nurse's voice came from far away.

I saw someone push the door open, and for a moment, the hallway light spilled in. Through that sliver of brightness, I saw Morgan's back.

His suit jacket was draped over his forearm, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing his wrist. His arm was around Belle's shoulders.

Belle was in a hospital gown, leaning into his arms, her face delicately pale.

She'd always been like that. Just fragile enough and needy enough to draw him in.

The door swung shut, swallowing the light and leaving me in darkness.

"Your family..." the nurse began, but her words died in her throat.

I could read the truth in her expression.

In that moment, memories came flooding back. I remembered the first afternoon I met him and how his eyes sparkled when he saw my designs.

I remembered our wedding night when he told me, "I married you because you look like her," and how I just acted like I didn't hear it.

I remembered all those nights for the past three years when I waited for him to come home.

All those memories seemed to boil down to one question: Just what was I waiting for?

"Give it to me," I said, my voice so hoarse it barely sounded like myself.

"What?" The nurse replied.

"The consent form. I'll sign it myself," I said.

The nurse was stunned for a moment, then turned to fetch the form. The heart monitor's beeps sped up, like it was counting down to something inevitable.

I stared at the ceiling's harsh white light, which made it impossible to keep my eyes open.

I'm sorry, my baby, I can't wait any longer.

The pen was pressed into my hand, and my hand shook so badly I could barely hold it. The line on the form blurred in my vision as I wrote my name, letter by letter.

Each letter was shaky and uneven, like scars carved into the paper.

The moment I finished signing, my hand suddenly stopped shaking.

I lay back down, feeling something slip from the corner of my eye into my hair.

"Prioritize saving me," I said.

From today on, I'll live for myself and no one else.

When the delivery room door burst open again, I was drowning in the worst pain I'd ever felt in my life.

But it wasn't physical pain. By now, I was numb to that.

Instead, the pain was a nameless ache flooding out from my chest, like something inside me had been yanked out, leaving nothing but a huge, empty hole.

"Push! The baby's stuck!" The doctor shouted.

I clenched my teeth, forcing out every bit of strength I had. My nails bit into my palms until blood welled up.

Then I heard that cry. It was weak and intermittent, like the mewling of a kitten.

"He's out! It's a boy!" The nurse called out.

She held up that tiny, wrinkled little bundle in front of me. His eyes were shut tight, and his fists were clenched.

He let out two cries, then fell silent, as if he already knew this world wasn't worth making a fuss over.

I reached out, my fingertips brushing his blood-smeared cheek. He was warm to the touch.

"My baby..." My voice cracked as I muttered.

Then the heart monitor blared out a shrill, continuous beep.

The nurse was the one who told me what happened afterward. She said the bleeding wouldn't stop after I gave birth, and the doctors had no choice but to remove my uterus.

Morgan signed the consent form to save me, but since the surgery needed both our signatures, he had to wait for me to sign it myself.

She said I blacked out right after signing, and they fought for six hours to keep me alive. She said the baby was healthy, weighing five pounds and six ounces.

But what she left out was that Morgan didn't step into the delivery room until after I'd lost consciousness. By the time he finally came in, the surgery was already over.

My uterus was placed on a cold, stainless steel tray and carried out past him in the hallway. He just stood there, watching as it went by.

The nurse said his face turned ghostly pale in an instant.

I never saw it. And honestly, I never wanted to.