Three hours before my wedding, my fiancé called to tell me he wasn’t coming. He didn’t just bail; he went straight to the courthouse and married Melanie Sandra—my supposed best friend. I stood there in my Vera Wang, heart-shattered, listening to the jagged whispers of three hundred guests. That was when Nigel, my fiancé’s uncle, pushed through the heavy oak doors of the hotel ballroom. He didn’t come to apologize for his nephew. He came with a fleet of black Escalades and enough long-stemmed roses to bury the scandal. He told me, in front of everyone, that he had loved me from a distance for years. He told me he’d been dreaming of the day I’d finally be his. Grateful for the lifeline, and perhaps wanting to burn my bridges with the man who humiliated me, I said yes. We’ve been married for three years now. In those three years, I’ve suffered through seven miscarriages. Each one took a piece of my soul. But then, I got pregnant again. Nigel was ecstatic. He’d spin me around the living room, whispering against my hair about how I needed to rest, how he’d protect me and this baby with his very life. He was the perfect, doting husband. Until I hit the twelve-week mark. I was headed toward his study to ask about dinner when I heard voices. Nigel was talking to our private physician, Dr. Aris. "Everything is on schedule, Mr. Montgomery," the doctor’s voice was clinical, chilling. "Just like the last seven times. I’ve already added the abortifacient to her nightly milk." A pause. Then the doctor spoke again, sounding genuinely confused. "I don’t understand. Melanie already has your child. Why can’t your wife be allowed to carry one to term?" I heard Nigel let out a self-deprecating, dry laugh. "Only a direct heir can inherit the Montgomery Group," Nigel said, his voice devoid of the warmth I’d grown used to. "Jordan is sterile—everyone knows that. If I let Norma have a child, that child would be the competition. I can’t have Melanie’s life get complicated later. I won’t let anyone jeopardize her security." The world tilted on its axis. Every "I love you," every "be careful," every late-night vigil by my hospital bed—it was all a curated performance. I wasn’t a wife. I was a placeholder, a sacrificial lamb on the altar of his obsession with Melanie. … "You realize," the doctor said, hesitant now, "that by doing this, you aren't just giving up the Chairmanship. You've sacrificed seven of your own children. You’ve had me falsify Jordan’s medical records for years; he doesn't even know he's infertile. When Melanie’s child is born, he’ll think it’s his. You’ll never be 'Dad' to that baby. Is it really worth it?" Nigel’s voice dropped, thick with a twisted kind of devotion. "What does it matter? I couldn't have Melanie back then. The least I can do is curate her happiness now. No one is going to ruin her future. Not the board of directors, and certainly not a child I have with Norma." "But sir," the doctor pressed, "she’s had seven procedures in three years. Her body is failing. If she loses this one, she’ll likely never conceive again. The damage will be permanent." There was a long silence. I gripped the door handle so hard my knuckles turned white, my breath hitching in my throat. "It’s fine," Nigel finally said, his tone dismissive. "I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life. She won't need children." I didn't wait to hear the rest. I turned and fled, stumbling back to our bedroom. I collapsed onto the floor, my legs giving out. For three years, I blamed myself. I thought I was weak. I thought my body was a broken vessel. I felt guilty for "failing" Nigel, for not giving him the heir his father demanded. His father had made it clear: Nigel or his nephew Jordan—whoever produced the first grandson would take control of the family empire. And Nigel... Nigel didn't even use protection. He let me get pregnant over and over again, knowing he was going to kill the baby every single time. He watched me bleed, watched me cry, watched me wither away, all to ensure Melanie’s child—his child with Melanie—had no rivals. "Norma? Why are you sitting on the floor, sweetheart?" Nigel was in the doorway. He rushed over, lifting me with a practiced tenderness that now made my skin crawl. "I’m okay," I managed, my voice a hollow rasp. "Just... morning sickness." He rubbed my back, his touch feeling like ice against my spine. "I know, baby. It’s hard work, isn’t it? Next time you feel like this, call me. Don’t suffer in silence. It breaks my heart." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "This little guy is already such a troublemaker. When he’s born, I’m going to have to give him a stern talking-to for making his mommy so miserable." He reached for the nightstand. "Here. I brought you some warm milk. It’ll help you sleep." I looked at the white liquid in the glass. My stomach turned. Will there even be a 'next time'? I wondered. Every time before, he had been this way. A special late-night snack, a handmade fruit bowl, a "healthy" smoothie. I thought it was love. It was just a cold-blooded execution disguised as care. "Nigel, I really don’t like the taste of milk lately. Can I skip it tonight?" He smiled, that soft, indulgent smile that never reached his eyes. "Norma, don't be a brat. The doctor said the things you crave the least are the things your body needs the most. If you don't sleep, the baby doesn't rest. You love him, don't you? Do it for our boy. Here, let me feed you." He pressed the glass to my lips. It wasn't an invitation; it was a command. He held it there, firm and unyielding, until I swallowed every drop. Nigel, are you really that afraid my child would stand in Melanie’s way? Or do you just hate the idea of a child that isn't hers? I closed my eyes as the bitterness slid down my throat. Less than thirty minutes later, the cramping started. It was a familiar, agonizing bloom of heat in my abdomen. I curled into a ball, sweat soaking my sheets. Nigel called the doctor immediately—the doctor who was likely already sitting in his car in our driveway, waiting for the signal. Even though I’d been through this seven times before, the soul-crushing weight of the loss never got easier. Through the haze of pain, I heard the doctor whisper: "Mr. Montgomery, the hemorrhaging is worse this time. I think... I think the damage is done. She won't be able to carry again." Nigel didn't say anything. He just gathered me into his arms, his eyes red as if he were the one grieving. "It’s okay, Norma. I’m here. Even without children, I’ll love you forever. I’ll take care of you." This man, a CEO who had never so much as boiled an egg, personally cleaned the blood from my skin. He held me tightly through the night, murmuring into the darkness as I drifted in and out of a feverish sleep. "Don't worry, Melanie," he whispered into my hair, thinking I was unconscious. "I'll make sure you get everything you ever wanted." The tears I’d been holding back finally broke. Years ago, at that disastrous wedding, he promised to give me a life of happiness. It was all a lie to keep me quiet, to keep me out of Melanie’s way. My entire marriage was a punchline to a joke I wasn't in on. I waited until he fell into a deep sleep, then reached for my phone. I sent a text to my best friend, Regina, who was living in Paris. Remember when you asked me to go on that trip around the world? I’m in. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow. I put the phone down, the ache in my womb a dull, constant throb. I’d just lost another child—murdered by his own father. I locked myself in the bathroom, letting the water run to drown out my sobs. As I leaned down to pick up my phone after dropping it, I noticed something tucked far back under the vanity. It was wrapped in heavy silk, hidden away like a relic. I pulled it out. It was a thick photo album. I opened it to find hundreds of photos of Melanie. From the time she was fifteen until now. I recognized the cover. I’d seen a similar one in Nigel’s office, but he’d told me it was a portfolio for a project. Nigel loved photography—it was his one true hobby. Nigel was older than Jordan and me, but only by about six years. When we were kids, he was always the cold, distant "adult" watching us play, acting like our games were beneath him. But when Melanie moved into the neighborhood and joined our circle at fifteen, everything changed. That was when Nigel started bringing his camera everywhere. I thought he was just growing up. I didn't realize he was falling in love. The photos captured every minute detail. Melanie laughing, Melanie pouting, Melanie simply tucking her hair behind her ear. Moments I hadn't even noticed, but Nigel had frozen in time. Since we got married, Nigel hadn't touched a camera. Once, I asked him to take maternity photos of me. He told me he’d lost his favorite Leica and suggested I hire a professional instead. He hadn't lost the camera. He just didn't want to waste his lens on someone he didn't love. My eyes were dry. I had no more tears left for him. I put the album back exactly where I found it. Then, I pulled up my banking app, booked a one-way ticket, and began drafting a digital divorce settlement. If he wanted Melanie so badly, he could have her. The next morning, my eyes were swollen like bruised plums. Nigel was the picture of a grieving, devoted husband. He made me a nutrient-rich breakfast, poached eggs exactly how I liked them, and even used chilled spoons to help the swelling under my eyes. He was so convincing, I almost doubted my own ears from the night before. But the emptiness in my gut reminded me of the truth. When I didn't eat, he sighed. "Norma, I know you’re hurting. I’m heartbroken too. But you have to take care of yourself. Your body has been through so much. Please, eat for me." "Where is the baby?" I asked, my voice flat. "I want to see him." Twelve weeks. He would have been formed by now. I wanted to see the life he had extinguished. His answer was the same as the seven times before. "I’ve already made the arrangements, honey. He’s been buried privately. You’re in no state to see that. It would only traumatize you further." He paused, stroking my hand. "My parents heard about the... accident. They’re devastated. They want us to come over for dinner tonight. It might be good to get out of the house." The moment we walked into the Montgomery estate, I saw Melanie. She was leaning against Nigel’s mother’s arm, preening like a prize cat. When she saw me, she shifted her stance to make her six-month-old bump even more prominent. "Norma! It’s been so long," she said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Come, sit. I heard about your loss. You really should be more careful at your age." Ever since the wedding debacle, I’d cut ties with Jordan and Melanie. We only came to the estate when we knew they weren't there. Tonight was clearly an ambush. I looked at her belly—at Nigel’s child—and felt a physical pang of nausea. He had never let my children live past three months. Nigel’s mother, a sharp-featured woman in her fifties, didn't even look at me. "Useless," she spat. "Can’t even hold onto a pregnancy. How many times is this now? I don’t know what my son was thinking, marrying a woman who can’t even provide an heir." She was Nigel’s mother, but only Jordan’s step-grandmother. She was bitter that Jordan—the nephew—was currently in line for the chairmanship because he had married "the right woman" first. Usually, Nigel would defend me. But today, his eyes were locked on Melanie. He looked at her with such raw, naked longing that he didn't even hear his mother’s insults. "Grandmother, don't be so hard on her," Melanie said, her voice a sugary trill. "Some women just aren't meant to be mothers. It’s a tragic lack of luck, really." "It’s a curse, is what it is," the older woman grumbled. Melanie stood up, acting as if she were going to help me sit down, but she feigned a stumble. Even though she steadied herself instantly, Nigel reacted like a grenade had gone off. He shoved me aside—hard—to catch her. Ignoring his parents, he pulled her into his arms. "Melanie! Are you okay? Where the hell is Jordan? Why are you wandering around alone in your condition?" Melanie smiled, a slow, triumphant thing. "Jordan’s in New York on business. He’s so busy prepping for the CEO transition, you know how it is." She looked at me, her eyes flashing with malice, then looked back at Nigel. "Nigel, I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts..." Without a word, Nigel swept her up into a bridal carry and headed straight for the upstairs bedrooms, never once looking back at his wife. Nigel’s mother looked at me with pure disgust. "Can’t even keep your own husband’s attention. If Jordan hadn't snatched Melanie up first, do you think Nigel would have looked at you twice? Get out of my sight. I have no appetite looking at you." She’d always hated me. She saw me as Jordan’s "leftovers." And because of the miscarriages, she saw me as a failure. I used to endure it because I thought Nigel was my shield. Now I realized he was the one who had sharpened her blades. I didn't argue. I didn't scream. I just walked upstairs. I found myself standing outside Melanie’s guest room. The door wasn't fully closed. I peered inside. Melanie was lying on the bed, her clothes disheveled, and Nigel was pressed against her, his face buried in her neck. "Nigel," she moaned, "you’re the only one who cares. Jordan is useless... he can’t even give me a child of my own. If I hadn't used you, we’d never get the company. If Norma had a baby, everything would be ruined for us." Nigel pulled back, his eyes dark with a desperate, hungry lust. "Does he treat you well? Does he touch you?" "He treats me like a queen because he thinks I’m carrying his legacy," she giggled. "He even washes my feet. He’s so grateful." Nigel’s expression was tortured. "As long as you’re happy. As long as you’re safe, I can live with the rest." "Nigel," she whispered, pulling his head down. "I couldn't marry you, but I can give you this. Tonight, I’m yours." I watched my husband—the man who was always so stoic, so controlled—lose his mind. I watched them disappear into each other. Tears blurred my vision as I stumbled back to our room. Nigel didn't return that night. The next morning, he appeared in the doorway, looking remarkably refreshed. "Norma, I’m so sorry about last night. My mother kept me up for hours talking about the estate. I couldn't get away." I didn't call him out. I didn't even look at him. I just went to the front door to wait for the car I’d called. But as I stepped onto the porch, a bucket of freezing, greasy kitchen scraps and dishwater was slammed over my head. Melanie stood there, an empty bucket in her hand, laughing. "Did you enjoy the show last night, Norma?" she sneered. She’d left the door open on purpose. "Losing a baby sucks, doesn't it? But don't worry, you won't have to deal with that anymore. You're dried up now. Did you really think you could compete with me for the title of Mrs. Montgomery? Nigel gave up his inheritance for me. He gave me a child. And all those little 'accidents' you had? They were just fuel for my fire." I looked up, my voice trembling through the filth dripping off my face. "What did you say?" "Oh, didn't he tell you? Every time you lost one, Nigel told you they were buried. But he actually brought the remains to me. A certain specialist told me that... well, certain tissues are excellent for a pregnant woman's health. Think of it as your children finally doing something useful for the real heir." A wave of visceral horror crashed over me. Nutrients? He gave her the remains of our children to... consume? The sheer, distorted depravity of it broke something inside me. How could a human being do this? "Don't look at me like that," Melanie laughed. "It’s your own fault for being so pathetic. A useless mother breeds useless fruit." I lost it. I swung my hand, aiming for her smug, beautiful face. Smack. The blow didn't land on her. Nigel had appeared out of nowhere, pulling Melanie behind him and taking the slap across his own cheek. He shoved me back so hard I fell onto the gravel driveway. "Norma! What the hell is wrong with you?!" he roared. Melanie dissolved into theatrical sobs. "Nigel, I was just trying to comfort her! I told her not to be sad about the baby, but she started screaming that I stole her life, that she wanted me to miscarry! She threw that bucket of water at me and I just dodged—it hit her instead! And then she tried to kill me!" Nigel looked at me, his face a mask of cold fury. "Norma, I had no idea you were this shallow. This vindictive." "You couldn't keep a child because you’re weak. Don't take that out on Melanie. She was being kind. Stop dreaming about things that aren't yours and apologize to her. Now." I’m weak? I looked at him and realized I didn't know this man at all. He was a monster wearing the skin of the man I loved. "Nigel," I said, my voice eerily calm. "Tell me one thing. Where are the bodies of my children?" He narrowed his eyes. "I told you. They were buried. We’ve been over this." His acting was flawless. "You’re right," I said, standing up and wiping the grease from my face. "I shouldn't want things that don't belong to me. You don't have to worry about me anymore." I turned and walked away. Nigel stared after me, a flicker of genuine panic crossing his face for the first time. He started to follow, but Melanie grabbed his arm. "Nigel, I think I’m going to throw up. The smell... please, take me to the hospital." He hesitated for two seconds. Then he turned his back on me to help her. I went home, packed a single suitcase, and threw every piece of jewelry and clothing he’d ever bought me into the fireplace. As I held our marriage certificate over the flames, my phone buzzed. It was a photo from Melanie. She was tucked into a hospital bed, looking radiant, eating a bowl of hand-cut fruit. Norma, I just said I felt nauseous and Nigel called in three world-renowned specialists. He even chartered a helicopter to bring in a doctor from the Mayo Clinic. Are you jealous yet? I didn't reply. I watched the certificate turn to ash. I knew he wouldn't be home tonight. Sure enough, he called an hour later. "Norma, Melanie had a scare. Jordan is out of town, so as the family head, I have to stay. Don't be petty about it." "I understand," I said. "The baby is the priority. Stay as long as you need." He paused, his voice softening. "Norma, I didn't mean to be harsh earlier. I know you’re emotional. But Melanie is carrying the Montgomery bloodline. Since you and I... well, since we can't provide that anymore, we have to protect her. For the family." "Right. For the family." "Be a good girl and stay home. Tomorrow is your birthday. I’ve booked the best suite at the Pierre, and I have a surprise for you. I'll pick you up in the morning."
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