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Swallowing my grief and rage, I asked casually," What did the doctor say?"
He cupped my face, serious.
"The doctor says you're fine. Once you're discharged, we can start trying again."
"Don't worry, I'll get the best medicines switched in. Focus on healing."
He stepped out of the room.
He didn't notice my rigid body or the disappointment in my eyes.
The moment he left, he called someone, his voice carrying through the wall.
"Didn't I tell you to switch Claire to the potent drugs? Why haven't you?"
"We used them before—why not now? She's so weak."
"I don't care about side effects. I want her better now, discharged in a week."
Lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, I wept. This was the man who proposed, vowing to love me forever, to always treat me well.
In the end, there was only deception and pain.
I glanced at the floor, spotting another charm, identical to mine.
But this one had Ellen Hayes's name on the back.
So, James's pilgrimage—was it for me and our child's safety, or Ellen's health?
He soon returned with the doctor to change my IV.
He gently helped me sit, placing a pillow behind my waist, kissing my forehead.
"Sweetheart, this is imported medicine. You'll be better soon."
He watched the side-effect-laden drug enter my body, his face warm with care.
I had to admit, he was ruthless, showing no mercy.
When he left, I booked an international flight and applied to erase my identity records.
Over the next few days, he stayed by my side, wiping my body, feeding me, making me laugh.
Even the doctors and nurses envied my" perfect husband."
He didn't tire of acting, and I didn't bother exposing him.
On the day of my discharge, he greeted me with 999 roses. That night, fresh from my shower, he kissed me eagerly.
As he moved further, I pushed him away hard.
"I just got out of the hospital. I need rest."
His eyes flashed with displeasure, but he comforted me patiently.
"Sweetheart, I checked with the doctor today. He says you're fine."
He leaned in again.
I shoved harder, knocking him to the floor.
His face darkened.
"If you're not feeling well, fine.I've got work tonight—I won't be back."
He slammed the door and left.
I threw on a coat, went to the study, and rifled through drawers for my documents.
After finding my passport and ID, I spotted a pristine black book on a dusty shelf. When I tried to pick it up, a hidden door in the wall swung open.
Inside, a table draped in red cloth held three glass jars.
I leaned closer and nearly screamed, cold sweat soaking my back.
The jars contained three heartless infant corpses.
Were these my lost children?
Calming myself, I noticed red symbols scrawled on the jars, incomprehensible to me.
I photographed them, blurring the corpses, and posted online for answers.
Replies came quickly.
"These look like suppression runes, used to bind heinous sinners, trapping their souls from moving on, forever cursed."
"My priest friend says these are curses to prevent souls from seeking revenge."Reading the replies, I trembled with rage.
James cursed even his own children.
Pure evil.
Was he scared for himself, or protecting Ellen from their vengeance?
