Chapter 1

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I was hemorrhaging on the operating table, clinging to life by a thread.

My husband, Julian Sterling, refused to sign the C-section consent form.

He said, "My wife’s stomach cannot have a scar!"

My attending OB-GYN, Derek Miller, who was also my childhood friend, heard that Chloe—Julian's sister—had scraped her knee in the hallway. He immediately abandoned me, a hemorrhaging patient, right on the operating table.

He left me there to rot in absolute despair.

Using the very last ounce of my strength, I grabbed the pen and signed the consent form myself. The moment I woke up in recovery, I signed the divorce papers.

I didn't want this husband anymore, nor did I care about the wealthy lifestyle he promised.

During my first month of postpartum recovery, I ran a constant fever.

Derek sneered, calling me dramatic. "Why can't you be more like other women? None of them make this much of a fuss."

Unable to bear the agonizing pain inside my abdomen, I went to another hospital for a checkup.

That was when I found out that a piece of medical gauze, which should have been discarded long ago, had been left inside my body.

And Tyler, the intern whom Derek had forced to perform my C-section, finally stepped forward.

***

A sharp, tearing pain ripped through my abdomen.

The pain was so intense that my body convulsed. My fingernails dug deep into the operating table sheets, and sweat soaked my hair.

"She’s fully dilated, but the baby's heart rate is dropping fast! The amniotic fluid is severely stained, and she’s running a high fever. There's a huge risk of intrauterine infection! We must convert to an emergency C-section immediately!"

The nurse's panicked voice sounded muffled, as if coming through a thick wall of water.

I forced my sweaty eyes open. The massive surgical light above cast a cold, blinding glare that made my head spin.

"Dr. Miller, we need the family's signature on the consent form!"

The heavy doors swung open. My attending doctor—and the boy I grew up with—Derek Miller, walked in holding a clipboard.

Right behind him was Julian, my husband of three years.

Seeing them, my frayed nerves finally relaxed a fraction.

I thought I was saved.

"Julian..."

A weak cry squeezed out of my throat. I reached out to him with all the strength I had left. "Please, sign it... It hurts so bad..."

Julian stood there in his pristine, expensive designer suit, his hair perfectly gelled. He looked completely out of place in this tense room filled with the smell of blood and bleach.

He didn't grab my hand like he usually did. Instead, he frowned, his eyes landing on my heavily swollen belly with a look of disgust and rejection I had never seen before.

Derek handed him the clipboard and a pen, his tone strictly professional.

"Mr. Sterling, this is an emergency. Please sign. Any further delay puts both the mother and the baby in extreme danger."

But Julian acted as if he hadn't heard a word. He stared intently at my stomach, his lips parting to utter words colder than the surgical air.

"A C-section? Doesn't that leave a long, ugly scar?"

He seemed to be talking to himself, yet accusing me at the same time.

"Evelyn, I remember telling you that I hate scars on women. You endured the labor pain for so long. Can't you just push a little harder?"

My brain went entirely blank.

The physical agony in my abdomen and the sudden, crushing heartbreak collided, almost making me black out.

I stared at him in utter disbelief. This was the man who had pampered me throughout my pregnancy, who stroked my belly every day and said he couldn't wait for our baby to arrive. Yet now, when our lives were on the line, he was obsessing over a scar that didn't even exist yet.

"Julian..."

My voice shook violently.

"This is to save our lives... Mine and the baby's..."

"Does saving a life have to make you ugly?"

His voice suddenly went up an octave, his handsome face distorting with irritation.

"Do you know how disgusting that scar looks? It’s like a giant centipede crawling on your stomach! The thought of having to look at a body like that every day... I just can't."

He didn't finish, but his face made his disgust loud and clear.

The surrounding nurses stared in shock. Their hushed whispers felt like needles stabbing into my chest.

"Oh my god, is this guy serious?"

"His wife and baby are literally dying, and he's worried about a scar?"

"So incredibly selfish..."

Their pitying, judgmental looks felt like spotlights shining on me, exposing my humiliation to the world.

I felt like a naked clown, performing a ridiculous tragedy for an audience.

Derek’s expression turned incredibly grim. He raised his voice.

"Julian! This is not the time to act like a spoiled brat! Evelyn and the baby are in critical condition!"

"Critical? She can still talk. She seems fine to me," Julian sneered, completely unmoved.

"Isn't this how women have babies? She's just being dramatic! Derek, you're the doctor. You must have a way to make her deliver naturally, right? I don't care how much it costs, just don't leave a scar!"

In that moment, I finally saw my husband for who he truly was.

He had never loved me, Evelyn.

He only loved the smooth skin and the perfect body that made him look good in public.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Another wave of contraction hit me. I bit my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.

"Don't beg him," I gasped out, using every last bit of energy to look at Derek. "I'll sign it myself!"

But just as Derek was about to hand me the clipboard, the door to the OR was flung open. A young nurse rushed in, her face pale with panic.

"Dr. Miller! Something's happened! Chloe fell in the hallway. Her knee is scraped, and she's bleeding a lot!"

***

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