The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and fear. I was pregnant again, and the doctor’s words hit me like a wall. “You’re at risk of miscarriage. Your body is weak.
You need constant supervision. ”
Panic clawed at my chest. My first baby had died this way. I couldn’t lose another child.
But my husband, John, wouldn’t listen. “Ara is dying,” he said, his voice cold. “We need to go. Now.
”
Ara. His mistress. The woman who had tried to kill me multiple times. And now he wanted me to risk my unborn baby’s life just to save her.
“No, John. I won’t do it. ”
His eyes narrowed. He grabbed my arm, his grip bruising.
“I’ll bring the world’s finest doctors for you, but we’re leaving now. ”
I pulled back, trembling. “You’d let your own child die for her? ”
He didn’t even flinch.
“If something happens to Ara because of you, I’ll never forgive you. This baby will be dead to me before it’s even born. ”
His words shattered me. I signed the consent form with shaking hands, begging my unborn child for forgiveness.
The surgery was scheduled. My baby died on that operating table. “I’m sorry, Daria,” the doctor said. “The baby didn’t survive.
”
John stood there, emotionless. “But Ara is fine. She’ll be okay. ”
I screamed at him to get out.
He left without looking back. That’s when I realized there was nothing left between us but hatred. What I didn’t know was that Ara had her own plans. She showed up at my house, glowing with pregnancy, claiming it was John’s child.
“We’ll have a beautiful family, my love,” she cooed. “I can change. I can redeem myself. ”
John went pale.
“You’re a maniac. You belong in jail. ”
But his protests came too late. The damage was done.
She was free, and she was pregnant. Armed with this information, I confronted Ara. “Adam Young, 1955,” I said, watching her face go white. “I know who you really are.
”
She reached for a gun, but I was faster. “I’ve got you now. Move over there. ”
John rushed in, trying to protect me.
She fired. John fell, blood spreading across his chest. “Don’t cry, my love,” he whispered as he collapsed. “I’m not worthy of your tears.
”
Three bullets. Two removed. One lodged in his spine. The doctors said he’d never walk again.
I visited him every day, despite his shouting. “Get out, Daria. I’m nothing to you anymore. ”
“You’re wrong,” I told him.
“I never stopped loving you. ”
Months passed. My father pressured me to remarry. John pushed me away, convinced he was broken now.
But I knew what he was really afraid of: that he couldn’t be enough for me anymore. “I hired someone to find them,” I told him. “I’ll make them pay for what they did. ”
Finally, I tracked Ara and her lover to a rundown apartment.
I found them hiding there, pregnant and desperate. “So this is it, huh? ” Ara sneered. “You can’t do anything to us.
”
I smiled coldly. “Who said I’d turn you over to the police right away? ”
Ara’s lover stepped forward. “The baby isn’t John’s.
It’s mine. No need for DNA. ”
“Hand them over, Daria,” Bora said. “Let the police do their job.
”
“No. ” My voice was steel. “They killed my babies. They should experience the death of their own child, too.
”
Ara’s eyes widened in terror. She was finally afraid. But I wasn’t a killer. I never was.
“I’m not a baby killer,” I said, pulling out my phone. “But I’ll make sure you rot in prison for the rest of your lives. ”
After everything, my father demanded I marry a suitable man. But when John showed up at the wedding venue in a tuxedo, I knew what I had to do.
“John, would you consider proposing to me? ”
His eyes softened. “Daria, will you marry me again? ”
“Yes.
Yes. ”
My father stepped forward, surprising everyone. “This time, I will stand behind my daughter and her husband John. And as a wedding gift, I’ll give you the four-piece jewelry collection I bought at auction.
”
I stared at him, stunned. “Dad, you were the rich buyer? ”
He smiled. “I always knew you’d find your way back to him.
“
