The Sixth Baby Won’t Be His

For seven years, I lived in a hidden marriage, carrying five children—each one ripped from me before they could take their first breath.

Gerrald Raymond played the grieving husband perfectly, his face etched with sorrow every time we lost another baby. He even hired a top nutritionist to "fix" me, whispering sweet promises that one day, we'd hold a healthy child in our arms.

When I discovered I was pregnant again, my heart soared. I raced to tell Gerrald, desperate to see his face light up with joy—but instead, I stumbled upon a conversation that shattered my world.

Just outside a private club room, Gerrald's closest friend, Lucas O'Connell, hissed in disgust:

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

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

Lucas sounded like he might be sick. "But those were your children! How could you be so heartless?"

A dark chuckle. "Does it matter? Jenny's marriage certificate is fake. Any child she bore would be a bastard—unwanted, unacknowledged. Why should I care if they lived or died? The only woman I'll ever call my wife is Lydia."

The ground dropped beneath me. Seven years of love, devotion—all a lie. The man I'd worshipped was a monster.

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

"Lydia was studying abroad," Gerrald said casually. "And I had… needs. Jenny was untouched when I took her—pure, naive enough to believe in a hidden marriage. Keeping her close meant she wouldn't spread her legs for anyone else and bring back some disease."

A pause. Then, chillingly: "As for the babies… I hate condoms, and she was desperate to be a mother. Figured I'd let her have them for fun. Never planned on letting them live."

Lucas looked like he might punch him. "You let her suffer for seven years. Five dead children. And now you're tossing her aside like trash. She loves you. Do you really think she'll survive this?"

Gerrald waved him off. "She's a nobody from the countryside who got lucky. I gave her a life she never could've dreamed of."

Then, with a grin: "In three days, Lydia and I leave for our wedding. Be there—and drink to our happiness."

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

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

The joy I'd felt moments ago turned to ash. My body went numb—until Gerrald turned and saw me.

Panic flashed in his eyes as he rushed over. "Jenny! When did you get here? Why are you crying?"

His voice was tender, laced with concern—the perfect act.