Chapter 2
The voices from the study continued, each word piercing into my heart like an ice pick.
“The cord blood from six babies will be enough to last Joey ten years,”
W
Stephen said, Sction clear in his tone.
His assistant flattered him in return, “Only you could’ve planned this so perfectly–using Ms. Cabrina’s stem cells and your sperm to create
Ms
embryos and implant them in your wife. Flawless.”
Then his voice dropped slightly, “But Mrs. Delami’s been having unstable blood pressure lately. Carrying six embryos is putting a lot of strain on her body.”
Stephen let out a light scoff. “As long as she doesn’t die, it’s fine. Joey can’t afford to wait for another round of chemotherapy.”
“I began shaking all over. My fingernails dug into my palms so deeply I almost drew blood.
So in his eyes, even my life wasn’t worth more than Joey’s next treatment?”
“How are the six embryos developing?” Stephen suddenly asked.
His assistant answered promptly, “Number 3 is the healthiest–it’s AB blood type, exactly what Ms. Cabrina needs. But…” he hesitated, “Mrs. Delami’s uterine wall is dangerously thin. Continuing with sextuplets might cause major hemorrhaging.”
“Just focus on protecting Number 3,” Stephen said coldly.
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“The rest don’t matter.”
My legs buckled beneath me, and I almost collapsed on the spot.
“Mr. Delami, what if Mrs. Delami finds out the truth…”
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“Then what?” Stephen sneered. “Her father made Joey sick in the first place. This is just karma.”
The assistant suddenly chuckled. “Mrs. Delami really is naive. She’s been pregnant for six months and hasn’t noticed anything. She actually believes it’s possible to get pregnant with sextuplets naturally.”
“The less she suspects, the better,” Stephen said lightly.
Then, Dylan Howie, the secretary, suddenly lowered his voice. “Mr. Delami, what do you think Mrs. Delami’s reaction would be if she found out the prenatal medicine you’ve been giving her every night is laced with hormones that stimulate
This book had been added on your bookshelf.
“Come to think of it,” the secretary sneered, “her belly’s so bloated she can barely walk without gasping. At that charity gala, the other society ladies were laughing behind her back, calling her a sow.”
Stephen actually chuckled at that. “She’s never been presentable to begin with. If it weren’t for Joey, I wouldn’t even touch her.”
One mocking word followed another. Every syllable sliced into me like a blade.
I staggered back a couple of steps, my face drained of color.
I thought, “He hated me that much?”
When I was vomiting so violently I was bringing up bile, I bit down on a towel, so I wouldn’t wake Stephen.
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When my legs were so swollen I couldn’t fit into any shoes, I held onto the wall and hobbled to the hospital.
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When I was hospitalized with placental bleeding, I sweated through the pain, afraid he’d find me bothersome—so I didn’t even dare ask for a second painkiller.
All that agony–I endured it because I loved him. I was willing to suffer for him. But in their mouths, all my pain was simply because I had a “strong constitution” and could “handle it.”
I still remember our honeymoon, when Stephen placed a gentle hand on my flat stomach and said, “I can’t wait to have our own child.”
I thought he was looking forward to our future. I had no idea he was already planning this betrayal.
“If she can’t eat, give her a nutrient drip. Don’t delay fetal development.” He’d been saying that a lot lately.
Every time I saw the cold fluid dripping into my veins, and he looked at me with what I thought was concern I now knew it was never for me.
Only for the children—his and Joey’s.
I closed my eyes, wiped the tears off my face, and pulled out my phone. “Doctor,” I typed, “schedule a termination surgery for me. As soon as possible.”
By the time I steadied myself against the wall and walked out of the corridor, the voices from the study had ceased.
In the living room, only Stephen and the butler remained. Stephen was looking down at his phone.
When I made a sound with my footsteps, he quickly tucked his phone
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away. An unnatural expression flashed across his face.
“Jessica?” Stephen looked at me, raising an eyebrow. His eyes landed on the phone gripped tightly in my hand.
“Still awake this late?”
I stared at his hypocritical face, swallowing down the nausea in my throat. “Just getting a glass of water from the kitchen,” I said calmly.
“I had the butler make some bird’s nest soup. Eat a little before bed,” he said in a strange tone of forced warmth. “It’s good for the babies.”
Once, that kind of “concern” would’ve touched me. Now, it just felt
ironic.
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.” I declined flatly and turned toward the
stairs.
Stephen suddenly stopped me, his warm palm resting on my six–month- pregnant belly.
“Come to the hospital with me tomorrow. Joey’s heard that you’re pregnant with sextuplets. She’s been wanting to meet you.”
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