8-Month Pregnant, Hubby Demands I Cook His Birthday Feast

Chapter 7

The fall had been brutal, and the steep hospital stairs only made it worse. My baby didn’t survive.

Before surgery even began, I started hemorrhaging. Faint and barely conscious, I heard the frantic voices of doctors shouting for blood bags. But the nurse’s response was equally desperate: “We’re out of stock, Doctor!”

For a second, I thought maybe death wasn’t such a bad option. At least I wouldn’t have to face my parents after all of this. One wrong choice had ruined everything.

I don’t know who it was, but someone came through and donated blood for me. Slowly, the coldness in my body faded, and warmth began to return. The doctor finally exhaled in relief. “She’s stable. Let’s start the procedure.”

The pain was sharp and endless as they began. I felt like my body was being ripped apart. Jenny’s cruel words—mocking my scars like they were nothing but maggots—echoed in my mind, and this time, they felt terrifyingly real.

The procedure was over. They’d removed the baby. As they stitched me up, the anesthesia wore off, and I was consumed by agony, passing out from the pain.

When I finally regained consciousness, I was in a general ward. A doctor was standing by my bedside, watching me intently. The moment he noticed my eyes open, he quickly asked, “Miss London, when you scheduled this procedure, you said your husband had died. But who’s the man outside claiming to be your husband?”

I turned my head, feeling the strain in my neck. Theo was standing in the hallway, his eyes red and desperate.

“I don’t know him,” I replied coldly, my voice sharp with disbelief. “He must be out of his mind. And if he doesn’t have a marriage certificate, he’s lying.”

The doctor hesitated for a second, glancing at my chart before responding. “The man donated a large amount of blood for your surgery. Our blood bank was empty, so he gave nearly half of his own.”

I closed my eyes, exhaustion creeping in. “It’s the least he could do,” I muttered. “I fell down those stairs because of him.”

The doctor didn’t press any further. He left the room, no doubt to avoid disturbing my recovery. I saw him speak briefly with Theo, whose face paled before he turned to leave, looking like he was struggling to find the right words.

The memory of him pushing me down those stairs replayed in my mind, and just seeing him now made me sick to my stomach.