Chapter 1

Noah and I had been married for ten years, but we still didn't have a child.

Every time I got pregnant, I would lose the baby in some freak accident.

Right after my tenth D&C procedure, I was scrolling through TikTok and saw a viral street interview.

The host was asking couples: "What is the most meaningful thing your partner has ever done for you?"

Noah's childhood friend, Chloe Gray, smiled sweetly at the camera. "I’ve always had a severe phobia of pregnancy. To help me overcome my fear, my husband purposely made his enemy’s daughter miscarry ten times."

"She thought it was her own fault every single time. She even developed severe depression and went completely crazy."

"Thanks to her data, my fear of childbirth is completely gone now."

The host couldn't help but ask, "That’s insane. She really never found out?"

It was my husband who answered. "It is an honor for the daughter of a murderer to serve as Chloe's research subject."

On his hand, he was still wearing the cute teddy bear band-aid I had hand-drawn for him this morning. Right now, he was holding another woman in his arms.

I couldn't watch any further. My vision blurred with tears.

It turned out that all his comforting words after every miscarriage were a lie. In his eyes, I was nothing but trash.

Taking a few deep breaths, I dialed a number. "What we talked about earlier... I agree to it."

After I hung up, my tears kept falling.

I dumped all the hand-drawn teddy bear band-aids I had made for Noah straight into the trash.

He didn't need them anymore anyway.

Suddenly, a cold breeze swept through the room. Noah Black was already standing at the door.

"What are you throwing a tantrum for now?"

"You just had a miscarriage. Why aren't you resting in bed? When is your body ever going to heal?"

Looking at his handsome, cold face, a wave of nausea hit me.

"Heal my body? So I can be the lab rat for your eleventh miscarriage experiment?"

I didn't expect that everything I did would just look like "throwing a tantrum" to him.

Thinking of the babies I had lost, I couldn't control myself anymore. I grabbed the heavy aromatherapy glass on the table and threw it right at his face.

"You never sent Chloe Gray away!"

"My ten miscarriages... you planned every single one of them for her, didn't you?!"

Seeing my pale, ghostly face, Noah dodged the flying glass. He frowned slightly and remained silent for a few seconds.

"Yes," he said.

He took off his glasses and wiped them slowly.

"Chloe has a severe phobia of childbirth. I had to make her feel safe."

"Your pain, your depression level, and your recovery cycle after every miscarriage helped desensitize her."

"I’m already married to you. What else do you want? They were just a few undeveloped fetuses."

I could barely stand.

Just because Chloe was afraid of childbirth, I had to lose eleven babies to cure her!

I looked at the face I had loved so deeply for years. He felt like a complete stranger now.

"So, what am I to you?"

"Just a lab rat?"

"This is murder!"

I grabbed my phone to call the police.

Noah snatched the phone from my hand instantly.

"You have no evidence."

"You have a history of severe clinical depression and have been taking psychiatric medication for a long time."

"And I am your primary psychiatrist."

"Do you really think anyone will believe a crazy woman?"

With every word he spoke, my heart sank deeper into the abyss.

He had blocked every single exit for me.

I remembered after my third miscarriage, when I was crying and screaming in despair, he started telling me I was depressed. He made me sign those medical consent forms.

He made me do psychological evaluations over and over again.

It turned out he was just setting up a trap to label me as mentally ill.

I recalled how he used to hold my hand so gently and say:

"Evelyn, it's okay to be sick. I will always be here with you."

All that gentle companionship was just for today.

All those moments I thought he loved me were just to prove I was a lunatic when I finally woke up to the truth.

The last speck of love in my heart died completely.

Noah, I don't want you anymore.

I lunged forward to grab my phone back.

But the movement tore the wound in my abdomen from the D&C surgery. The sharp pain made me collapse to the floor.

He reached out to catch me out of habit, but quickly let go. He looked down at me coldly.

"Evelyn White, you look pathetic right now."

"You used to be the sensible one. You should know you never deserved any of this."

"Your father was a murderer. You should know some debts can never be repaid."

My heart ached. So, he had always believed I owed him.

He believed my father had killed his father on the operating table.

He treated me as his enemy's daughter, using my babies to pay for my father's "debt."

But he forgot.

My father was killed by Noah's enemies because he was trying to save Noah.

When Noah was eight, his family was ruined, and his enemies wanted to wipe him out.

He was covered in blood, almost freezing to death in the snow.

I was the one who took him in and nursed him back to life.

Back then, my father had just died in a tragic accident. Rumors were spreading that he had committed suicide out of guilt after killing a patient.

My mother died of grief after failing to clear his name. I barely survived on our tiny savings.

We were so poor we couldn't even afford band-aids.

I would cut up my softest old clothes to wrap his wounds.

I would draw a little teddy bear on the cloth and whisper to him:

"Don't be afraid. The little bear will protect you, and I'll always be with you."

Since then, we relied on each other.

We shivered under a single blanket and shared a single piece of bread.

When bullies mocked me for not having a father, he stood in front of me, getting beaten black and blue but refusing to step back.

I could only cry while wrapping him in my teddy bear bandages. He held my hand and promised he would take care of me forever.

That little bear became our lifelong token.

We grew up in hardship.

After the SATs, I gave up my own college dreams to fund his studies abroad.

I worked during the day and did freelance illustrations at night.

Holding the plane ticket I bought with three months of my hard-earned savings, he cried and hugged me.

"Evelyn, you are my life!"

"When I come back, I will marry you in the grandest wedding!"

For that promise, I waited five years. He did return as a world-class surgeon.

I thought our suffering was finally over.

But he brought back another woman.