Harvesting My Babies

For seven years, I lived in a hidden marriage, carrying five children—each one stillborn.

Gerrald Raymond pretended to share my grief, hiring elite nutritionists to "fix" me. He'd whisper sweet promises, assuring me we'd have a healthy baby one day.

Then, I discovered I was pregnant again. My heart soared. I ran to tell Gerrald, desperate to see his face light up with joy—only to stumble upon him and his closest friend, Lucas O'Connell, outside a private club.

"You murdered Jenny's five children just to supply Lydia's experiments? Are you out of your mind? Those were your own flesh and blood!"

Gerrald's voice was ice. "Lydia is devoted to her research. I don't understand medicine, so the least I can do is support her—give her whatever she needs."

Lucas sounded sick with rage. "But they were your children. How could you?"

A low, careless laugh. "Does it matter? My marriage to Jenny is a sham. Any child of hers would be a bastard—unwanted, unacknowledged. Why should I care if they lived or died? Lydia is the only woman I'll ever call my wife."

The world shattered. The love I'd clung to was a lie. The man I'd worshipped was a monster.

Lucas's voice shook. "If you only love Lydia, why marry Jenny? Why let her carry your children?"

"Lydia was studying abroad," Gerrald said, amused. "And I have needs. Jenny was untouched—keeping her close meant she wouldn't spread her legs for anyone else. As for the babies…" A shrug in his tone. "I hate condoms, and she was desperate to play mother. Why not let her? I never intended to let them live."

Lucas looked ill. "You let her believe in you for seven years. You let her lose five children. And now you're tossing her aside like trash. She loves you. Do you think she'll survive this?"

Gerrald waved him off. "She was a nobody from the countryside. I gave her a life she could've never dreamed of." Then, smugly: "In three days, Lydia and I leave for our wedding. Be there—drink to our happiness."

Lucas exhaled, defeated. "Mark my words, Gerrald. You'll regret this."

"As long as I marry Lydia in style," Gerrald sneered, "I'd die happy. Save your pity."

I stood frozen, my joy draining into numbness. Then—Gerrald turned. Saw me. Panic flashed in his eyes as he rushed over.