Chapter 2 When I opened my eyes again, Milton's eyes were red, his shoulders trembling as he clutched a medical report. He looked at me, grief etched all over his face. "Lauren," he said, his voice heavy with sorrow, "the doctor said the surgery caused severe internal bleeding. They tried everything, but… you won't be able to have children anymore." He reached for my hand gently. "Once you're discharged, let's adopt a child, okay?

Having a little one around might help you heal." I was the one who had lost the ability to bear children, yet somehow, he looked more heartbroken than I felt. His performance was flawless, but I didn't bother to call him out on it. After a long silence, I looked at the report in his hands and slowly nodded. I didn't ask him anything about the adoption. Seeing how "understanding" I was, Milton teared up and pulled me into a hug, holding me tightly.

He turned down the nurse who came to help me clean up, insisting on doing it himself. He brought warm water and carefully wiped away the bloodstains from my body. By the time he was done, it was already late into the night. "Lauren, are you still in any pain?" he asked softly. I shook my head and reached up to touch the stubble on his chin. "You haven't slept at all, have you? I'm fine now. Why don't you rest for a bit?" Milton didn't think much of it.

He relaxed and quickly drifted off to sleep. I waited until his breathing evened out before quietly picking up his phone. The wallpaper was still our wedding photo. The passcode was still our anniversary. The irony was bitter. I opened WhatsApp, and the first thing I saw was a photo of Camryn holding a child. Camryn was in this very hospital, and her child was alive, thriving, with my kidney. The more I scrolled through their messages, the colder I felt.

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Back when I was pregnant, Milton was constantly "away on business." I could count on one hand the number of days he spent with me. I didn't want to distract him from work, so I went to every prenatal appointment alone. Even after our child was born, Milton was rarely around. Now I knew the truth. Those business trips were just a cover for him to be with Camryn and her daughter. Thousands of photos filled their chat-every moment of her pregnancy, every milestone documented.

He was with her at every doctor's visit, never leaving her side, his eyes filled with adoration, as if she were carrying something precious beyond measure. After every checkup, he'd give her a lavish gift. "You made it through another appointment safely. We have to celebrate," he'd write. Meanwhile, all I ever got was, "Lauren, thank you for everything. I have to go to a meeting now." They even had a separate album just for their daughter, filled with pictures capturing every little moment.

And my baby? Left to grow cold in a hospital morgue. The difference between being loved and not loved was painfully, unmistakably clear. I put the phone down, numb. That night, I bought a plane ticket to leave the country in a few days and began the process of canceling all my legal documents here. I reached out to my older brother, Caiden Gordon, who lived overseas and asked him to keep it all a secret from our parents for now.

He didn't press me for answers-just assumed I was planning a surprise visit. Lying on my back, I stared blankly at the ceiling. The hospital room was so quiet, I could hear my heart breaking.