The Pregnant Wife on Her Husband’s Drop Tower

Olivia Evans jumped off a building.

It happened when I was eight months pregnant.

Ethan Sullivan stormed into our home as I was drinking my prenatal tea.

He knocked the cup from my hands, scalding liquid splashing across my body.

"Sophia, you knew Olivia suffers from depression! How dare you provoke her!"

I clutched my swollen belly, staring at him in confusion.

"I didn't—"

"Lies!"

He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me out of our mansion.

The car sped through the city until we reached the amusement park gates.

The Drop Tower ride loomed before us, its steel frame glinting like a blade in the moonlight.

Ethan hauled me toward the attraction and barked at the attendant:

"Strap her in."

I struggled desperately.

"Ethan, I have acrophobia! The baby—"

"Silence!"

His fingers dug into my jaw, eyes colder than winter frost.

"If you hadn't tormented Olivia, she wouldn't have jumped."

"I won't divorce you—not yet. For the child's sake."

"But you'll pay for Olivia's suffering. A hundredfold."

The attendant hesitated.

Ethan snapped: "Now!"

They forced me into the seat, the safety harness cutting into my distended abdomen.

The ride began its ascent.

Ten meters.

Twenty.

Fifty.

Wind howled past my ears. I squeezed my eyes shut, trembling uncontrollably.

"Ethan, please... I beg you..."

My sobs echoed through the night.

Below, Ethan stood watching, his face illuminated by pale moonlight—devoid of all warmth.

"Set it for one hour."

He told the attendant.

Then walked away.

The Drop Tower plunged.

Up.

Down.

Again.

Weightlessness assaulted me with each descent. Nausea twisted my stomach.

A searing pain erupted in my womb.

"My baby—"

I pressed shaking hands to my belly. Warm wetness seeped through my dress.

Blood.

It trickled down my thighs, staining the seat crimson.

Still the ride continued.

Darkness crept at the edges of my vision.

The last thing I saw: amusement park lights twinkling like cruel stars.

A grotesque dream.

Three days later.

Ethan lounged on the living room sofa, scrolling through his phone.

Mr. Watson hovered nearby, wringing his hands.

"Sir..."

"Speak."

"Madam... she's still on the ride."

Ethan's fingers stilled.

"Three days?"

"Yes."

His brow furrowed, then smoothed.

"Pathetic acting."

"But sir, with her condition and the pregnancy—"

"It's just a ride," Ethan cut him off. "She won't die."

"Let her learn her lesson before daring to hurt Olivia again."

The park manager called.

"Mr. Sullivan, your wife hasn't moved in seventy-two hours. Should we—"

"No."

Ethan's voice held Arctic indifference.

"She's fainting to manipulate me."

"Keep her there until tomorrow. Then bring her to apologize to Olivia."

He ended the call and strode toward the master bedroom.

The door opened.

Olivia sat on the bed wearing his dress shirt.

The hem barely covered her thighs, revealing porcelain skin.

"Ethan."

Her voice was honey-sweet, eyes glistening.

Ethan's Adam's apple bobbed as he gathered her into his arms.

"Does it still hurt?"

His fingers traced the bandage on her wrist—

A souvenir from her "suicide attempt."

Olivia shook her head, nuzzling his chest.

"I shouldn't have jumped... poor Sophia..."

"She deserved it."

Ethan kissed her forehead.