The day my baby was due, I was in a horrific car crash on the way to the hospital. I was alone. My husband, an ER doctor, wasn't there. He was off saving his first love after she’d tried to kill herself by slitting her wrists. I didn't call him. I just watched as my mangled car exploded, consumed by a sea of fire. In my last life, a single desperate call from me was all it took. He’d abandoned Eliza at her apartment and rushed to my side. Our baby and I were saved, but Eliza bled to death, alone. Alex didn't find her body for three days. He told me he didn't blame me, that it was his choice. He even promised to make it up to me, to finally give me the wedding I deserved. But the night before the ceremony, he knocked me unconscious and dragged me to Eliza’s apartment. In the same bathtub where she’d bled out, he took a scalpel to me. He made me feel her pain, slice by agonizing slice. He even ripped our child from my womb while I was still alive. His eyes were bloodshot, a crazed reflection staring back at my mutilated body. “It was just a car crash! You would have survived!” he screamed, his voice cracking. “But Eliza… she died because of your call! Tonight, you’ll know exactly what she went through!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back. The day of the crash. 1 A deafening roar of metal, then the world was a nightmare of tumbling steel and shattering glass. Pregnant and bleeding, I was thrown around the cabin like a rag doll. My electric car, now a crumpled wreck, began to spew acrid white smoke. I couldn’t believe I was back here, at this exact moment. Reality hit me like a second impact. With every ounce of strength I had, I clawed my way out of the driver's side window, my upper body spilling onto the asphalt. But my legs were pinned, trapped in the twisted metal. Bystanders kept their distance, their faces pale with the fear of an explosion. My cries for help were swallowed by the ringing in my ears. The crowd wasn't going to help. It was up to me. My hands, slick with blood, trembled as I fumbled for my phone and dialed 911. A searing pain ripped through my abdomen, and a cold sweat drenched my forehead. The voice on the other end was one of Alex’s colleagues. I’d met her a few times. She recognized my voice instantly, and her tone turned to ice. “Clara, Dr. Monroe is tied up today. He told us you might call the main line if you couldn't reach his cell. Look, I know what you’re going to ask, but I really can’t tell you where he is. This is a priority line, so please don’t waste our resources. I have to go.” “Wait!” I screamed, a new wave of panic washing over me as she started to hang up. Just then, the impact of the crash finally dislodged a pile of junk from the passenger side door panel—a shower of Eliza's forgotten cosmetics rained down on the seat. I ignored them. “Don’t hang up! You don’t understand, I’m not looking for Alex! I was in a car accident, right at the intersection in front of the hospital! The car could explode any second, you have to send someone—" She cut me off, her voice dripping with annoyance. “Clara, stop the theatrics, will you? Dr. Monroe isn’t here. Even if we sent an ambulance, you wouldn’t see him. Please, just stop. This line is for saving lives. Do you understand? You’re tying up public resources. I’m begging you.” Her voice softened, but only with a patronizing pity. “He didn’t mean to ignore your calls, you know. He’s dealing with a life-or-death situation. You’re pregnant, just focus on that. Go home, rest, and don’t overthink things. He’ll explain everything when he’s done.” Then, the line went dead. A tear of pure despair traced a path through the grime on my cheek and splattered onto the pavement. I never imagined Alex would be so cruel, so thorough. He had cut off my every escape. I’d called his department before when Eliza had summoned him away with some flimsy excuse, but I’d never lied. I’d never faked an emergency. Seven years of marriage, and this is what he thought of me. No wonder he’d been so merciless in my past life, so detached as he carved me up for her. But there was no time for grief. Death was closing in. The heat inside the car was becoming unbearable, a pressure cooker about to blow. I took a ragged breath, my eyes falling to my swollen belly. I have to get out. With a primal scream, I pushed again, trying to drag my lower body through the shattered window. Glass shards sliced into my palms, embedding themselves deep in the flesh. I moved another six inches. My strength was fading. I collapsed onto the pavement, gasping for air. The skin on my back felt like it was roasting, and in just a couple of minutes, the car was completely shrouded in thick, black smoke. More people had gathered now. A few brave souls started shouting for help, asking if there was a doctor in the crowd. Suddenly, I heard the sound of hurried footsteps. It was Dr. Evans, the Head of the ER. Alex’s boss. 2 Dr. Evans took one look at the situation and immediately began organizing. He rallied a few of the braver onlookers, and together, they managed to pull me free of the wreckage. The second I was dragged to safety, the car erupted in a massive fireball, swallowing itself in flames. With practiced hands, Dr. Evans began assessing my injuries. A small crowd of good Samaritans huddled around us, their voices a worried murmur. “Why would anyone let a pregnant woman drive by herself? Her family must be out of their minds!” “Is she okay? I called 911, but the line was busy forever. When I finally got through and gave the location, they told me to stop playing games and hung up before I could even say ‘car crash’! What kind of psychos are they hiring at that hospital?” “Honey, you shouldn’t be out alone when you’re this far along. You look like you could go into labor any second. What’s your husband’s number? I’ll call him for you.” The genuine concern in their voices, from the very people who had been too afraid to approach just moments before, brought a lump to my throat. I shook my head weakly, the tearing pain in my body a dull roar in the background. Even total strangers on the street could show me this much kindness. Yet the man I’d been married to for seven years was ready to sacrifice me and our child for the woman who had once shattered his heart. The seven-year itch… it was more like a fatal poison. It felt like fate was slapping me in the face, showing me just how blind and foolish I had been. No one else seemed to notice, but with every comment from the crowd, Dr. Evans’s expression grew darker and darker. After a quick examination, he pulled out his own phone and dialed the ER. The moment the call connected, his voice boomed with fury. “Get an ambulance to the main intersection, now! Are you all blind? Didn't you hear about the crash? If I hadn't been passing by on my way to work, we'd be looking at a body! How many goddamn calls does it take to get you people to do your job? Who the hell do you think you are?” “Do you have any idea how critical the ER is? If you can't handle the pressure, then pack your bags and get the hell out!” Five minutes later, I was being loaded into an ambulance. Just then, my phone, which someone had recovered, started ringing. Dr. Evans kindly answered it and held it to my ear. The voice on the other end was Alex’s, and it was filled with rage. A shiver of pure dread ran down my spine. “You called the department again? Seriously, Clara? When are you going to stop this? I told you I was busy today! Why do you always have to bother me at the worst possible time? The baby’s almost here, act like a goddamn adult for once!” “My job is stressful enough without you calling over every little thing! Can’t you function without me for five minutes? Every woman on the planet gets pregnant, but you’re the only one who acts like a complete psycho!” “If I hadn't come over here today, Eliza would have bled out! Do you get that? Can’t you be considerate for once in your life? I’ll come home when I’m done. Stop bothering me!” I could hear Eliza’s faint, pitiful sobs in the background. After his tirade, without asking a single question about why I might be calling, without giving me a chance to speak, he hung up. The image of his cold, merciless face from my past life flooded my mind. Tears streamed from my eyes, soaking the gurney pad. My breathing hitched, ragged and shallow. A violent contraction seized my womb, and I finally felt it. A warm gush of crimson blood mixed with amniotic fluid, spreading beneath me. But even this pain was nothing compared to the agony of a thousand cuts he had inflicted upon me before. As they wheeled me into the ER, the colleague who had taken my call saw my pale, blood-streaked face on the gurney. Her eyes went wide with horror. She rushed over, stammering apologies, claiming she thought the car crash was just another one of my excuses to find Alex, that hanging up on me was all a terrible misunderstanding. Dr. Evans, sensing something was deeply wrong, questioned her. That’s when he learned that I was Alex Monroe’s wife of seven years. His face turned purple with rage. He immediately pulled out his phone and dialed Alex. 3 He put the call on speaker, making sure I could hear every word. “Alex, where are you right now? Your wife’s been in an accident. She’s going into surgery. Get your ass back here, now!” I expected Alex to at least hesitate, hearing his boss’s command. I was wrong. His voice was cold and firm. “Dr. Evans? Did Clara run crying to you? Don’t believe a word she says. She’s completely unhinged. All she does is pick fights with me at home. I’m a doctor, I can’t just refuse to treat someone because my wife gets jealous!” “If I’d been a minute later today, my patient would be dead! She’s still not stable!” “Just get Clara admitted for observation. And maybe you can talk some sense into her for me. If she won’t listen, fine. Let her believe what she wants!” Dr. Evans was so stunned by Alex’s attitude that he could barely speak. He gritted his teeth, a vein throbbing on his forehead. But before he could unleash his fury, a soft, fragile voice drifted through the phone. Eliza’s voice. “Is that Clara? Are… are you leaving? Then I’ll be all alone again, won’t I? I guess it makes sense… with your baby coming so soon. It’s my fault for not being able to let you go…” As if terrified she might say more, Alex abruptly ended the call. Another brutal contraction hit me, and the world went black. As Dr. Evans rushed me into the operating room, my mind drifted back, back to my first life. The last time, I had called Alex the second the crash happened. He had been on his way to Eliza’s. Hearing my panicked voice, he’d turned around instantly. He’d pulled me from the driver's seat with his bare hands and carried my bloody body into the ER himself. He didn’t rest until he knew I was out of danger. But the trauma had been too much, and the baby didn’t come that day. By the time he got me home and raced to Eliza’s apartment, all he found was a cold corpse in the bathtub. The gash on her wrist was deep enough to see bone. He said nothing. He handled her funeral arrangements alone. When he finally reappeared two days later, he was calm, as if nothing had happened. He told me Eliza was gone. He saw the guilt on my face and just shook his head, his expression blank. He told me he didn’t blame me. He said the incident made him realize how fragile life was. He couldn't wait any longer; he wanted to give me a real wedding. I looked into his eyes, the same eyes I had loved for years, and I chose to believe him. That was my mistake. The night before our wedding, he knocked me out and dragged me to her home. He tied my hands and feet, curling my body into the same tub where she had died. The love I thought I saw in his eyes was gone, replaced by a chilling, blood-red hatred. He was a madman who had lost his one true love. The scalpel in his hand gleamed under the dim bathroom light. As my world crumbled, he spoke, his voice a low whisper. “It was just a car crash. You wouldn’t have died. But Eliza… without me, she really died…” “Do you know how deep her wound was? Do you know how much blood she lost that day?” “She was lying right where you are, in this exact position. The blood pooled around her ankles. All my years of medical training… I never knew a human body could hold so much blood. It was all I could see…” “But don’t worry,” he hissed, a monstrous smile twisting his lips. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He placed a framed photo of Eliza on the edge of the tub, so she could watch him avenge her. The first cut sent a bolt of agony through me so intense I nearly passed out. But my screams and pleas meant nothing to him. He was deaf to them. He worked with a chilling precision. Our baby, who was so close to being born, took its first and last breath in that cold, sterile air. I thought that was the end of his revenge. It was only the beginning. He raised the scalpel again and again, raining down blows on me and our child. He chanted like a man possessed, a specter in his own private hell. “This deep… right here… this much blood… Eliza must have been in so much pain. She must have needed me so much…” In the last second before I died, I counted. A thousand cuts. He had carved a thousand cuts into my body and the body of our baby. Afterward, he left our corpses in the tub. He held a wedding ceremony with Eliza’s urn. My soul lingered, watching him, seeing the insane obsession in his eyes. Only then did I finally understand my own foolishness. But it was too late. I should have known seven years ago, the day she returned from overseas on our wedding day. The day he got that call and left me standing alone at the altar. It didn’t matter that she was the one who had abandoned him, that he was the one who had come to me for comfort. Next to Eliza, I never stood a chance. A wedding without a groom, a marriage without love. I held it all together by myself for seven years. And now, it had finally ended in a bloodbath. 4 When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital room. A nurse was gently explaining that they hadn’t been able to save the baby. My hands drifted to my stomach. Only the loose, empty flesh remained as proof that a life had ever been there. I stared blankly at the ceiling tiles, my hand reaching for my phone on the nightstand. I was about to text Alex two words—I want a divorce—when his call came through first. I answered. Before I could speak, he unleashed a torrent of fury. “What the hell is this crap online? Did you post this? Are you insane? Do you have any idea how much damage this is doing to the hospital? Take it down, now! I can’t take another day of this. Spreading rumors is illegal, you know that? Can’t you just be a normal person for once?” “Take it down, or we’re getting a divorce!” He hung up before I could even process what he was saying. Pure, unadulterated hatred drowned out every other thought. My nails dug into my palms, my knuckles white with strain. This time, Eliza was fine. He hadn't done anything overtly criminal, so I had no grounds to call the police. Remembering his words, I opened my phone. I saw it immediately. Some bystander had filmed the aftermath of the crash and posted it online. The internet had seized on the key detail: a desperate 911 call that was ignored. The hospital's ER was being crucified online, trending for all the wrong reasons. If Dr. Evans hadn't shown up at the end of the video, offering a small glimmer of competence, the entire hospital might have been forced to shut down from the backlash. I searched for the hospital's official social media page; it had already been deleted under a tidal wave of angry comments. The ER had made a fatal error. I had no reason to defend them or ask for the video to be taken down. In fact, I was enjoying the show. I clicked over to Eliza’s Instagram. In stark contrast to the hospital’s chaotic meltdown, her page was a picture of serene, curated perfection. Not a single hint of a self-destructive tendency. She had even posted an update while I was in surgery. A picture of a sunset, with the caption: The perfect partner is the best medicine for any illness of the mind. I let out a bitter, sarcastic laugh and liked the post. Her acting was truly superb. Enjoy your ‘perfect partner,’ I thought. He’s all yours. A minute later, my phone rang again. Alex. I didn’t answer. I just declined the call and blocked his number. Immediately, a text notification popped up. Why are you harassing Eliza? If you have a problem, take it up with me. Stop acting like a psycho in front of her! I quickly typed back: Let's get a divorce. Then I blocked him on that platform, too. Just then, a commotion erupted in the hallway outside. A feeding frenzy of reporters had descended on the hospital lobby, demanding to speak with the head of the ER. Nurses and security guards were shouting, “No cameras!” but it was useless. Dr. Evans came out of his office to try and control the chaos, identifying himself as the doctor in the video, but he was drowned out. The hospital director arrived in a panic, but the press wasn't buying any of his placating statements. Bowing to the immense pressure, the hospital served up the colleague who had taken my 911 call. She stood before the cameras, weeping hysterically, claiming she had been manipulated by Alex and that her professional failure was an honest mistake. Then, the director’s next call was to Alex. He was ordered to be at the hospital within thirty minutes. Worried I’d be swarmed by reporters, Dr. Evans came into my room, advising me to stay put. He promised they would handle it, admitting that the hospital was at fault. I had just nodded when my room door was kicked open. Alex stormed in. He completely ignored Dr. Evans, his face a mask of fury as he bellowed at me. “I told you to explain what happened! Are you deaf? You know damn well what the situation was! If you don't retract this story, I’ll sue you for slander! You’ve pushed it this far—is this what you wanted? To force me to divorce you?” “Fine,” I said calmly. “Let’s get a divorce.” He didn’t seem to hear me. His gaze dropped to my flat stomach, and his eyes widened in shock. He paused for a second, his angry gaze sweeping over the empty, sterile room. His voice, when it finally came, was hesitant. “The baby?”
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