Beneath the Revenge of a Surrogate

“H-Help! I got stabbed!”

The desperate cry sliced through the quiet hospital halls, freezing me mid-step. My heart pounded, my grip tightening on the clipboard I was holding. That voice—familiar, agonized, desperate.

My stomach twisted. I turned and sprinted toward the source of the sound, my shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. The cold hospital air felt suffocating as dread clawed at my throat.

And then, I saw him.

My father.

Lying on the cold tiles, his white shirt soaked in blood, a knife embedded deep in his stomach. His face was contorted in pain, sweat dripping down his temples.

“Dad!” My voice cracked as I stumbled toward him, falling to my knees. I reached out, my hands hovering over the wound, unsure whether to press down or pull the knife out.

His trembling fingers grasped my wrist, his grip weak but urgent. “G-Gabbi… Run.” His voice was barely a whisper, but the fear in his eyes was unmistakable.

“No! I won't leave you!” My vision blurred with tears. “Somebody help us!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, my body shaking uncontrollably.

Footsteps pounded against the floor, and soon, a team of nurses and doctors swarmed around us. I was forced back as they lifted him onto a stretcher and rushed him into the emergency room.

I followed, my heart hammering as I watched them try to save him. Every beep of the monitor, every hurried command, every compression on his chest—it all blurred together in a haze of panic and desperation.

Minutes turned into hours. And then, the Doctor walked out, his face grim.

“I’m sorry… We did everything we could.”

My world shattered.

A strangled sob ripped from my throat. I barely registered my legs giving out beneath me as I collapsed onto the hospital bench.

Dead.

My father was dead.

I don’t remember how I finished my shift. I was just… numb. My body moved on autopilot, my mind drowning in grief.

When my shift finally ended, I walked out of the hospital, the night air biting against my skin. The parking lot was nearly empty, the streetlights casting long shadows.

My hands shook as I reached for my car keys, but a strange feeling crept up my spine. The air felt too still.

Then—footsteps.

Slow. Measured.

A shiver crawled down my neck. My heart pounded as I turned—

But before I could react, a cloth pressed against my mouth.

A sickly-sweet scent filled my nostrils. My body jerked in panic, my arms flailing, but my limbs grew weaker with every second. My vision swam. The world tilted.

Then—darkness.

I woke up to the blinding glare of surgical lights. My head pounded, my throat dry and scratchy. I tried to move, but my body felt… off.

Something was wrong.

The room smelled sterile—antiseptic and something else. A deep, gut-wrenching sense of dread coiled in my stomach.

I forced myself to sit up, my limbs sluggish, my mind foggy. And that’s when I saw him.

A doctor.

He stood at the foot of the operating table, scribbling on a clipboard. His face was unreadable, detached.

“What… happened to me?” My voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

He glanced at me, then calmly removed his gloves. “The procedure was successful.”

Procedure?

A chill ran through me. My fingers gripped the hospital gown I was wearing, realization dawning like a slow, creeping horror.

My private part ached. An unfamiliar soreness throbbed between my legs.

No. No. No.

A scream built in my throat, but no sound came out. My entire body trembled as I forced the words past my lips.

“What did you do to me?”

The doctor didn’t flinch. Didn’t show a shred of remorse. “You’ve been inseminated.”

I couldn’t breathe.

Inseminated.

The word echoed in my skull, pounding against my brain like a cruel, twisted joke.

“No…” My voice broke. “No, no, no!” I tried to move, to fight, but my body was still weak.

The doctor simply turned and walked out, leaving me alone with my nightmare.

Days blurred into weeks.

I was trapped in that place, watched by nurses who never answered my questions. My body felt different. My mind was unraveling.

Then, the nausea started.

Violent, gut-wrenching sickness that sent me crawling to the toilet every morning.

A nurse noticed. She handed me a pregnancy test.

I stared at it, my fingers trembling. My entire body felt ice-cold.

When I saw the result, my stomach dropped.

Positive.

I was pregnant.

Terror gripped me. I didn’t know who had done this to me. I didn’t know what was growing inside me.

I wanted it gone.

Desperation took hold of me, and I tried everything. I slammed my body against the walls. I swallowed pills when no one was looking. I even tried to cut myself open with a piece of broken glass.

Nothing worked.

The baby survived.

I was trapped in a nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

And so, I decided—there was only one way out.

The rooftop was cold beneath my bare feet. The wind howled, tugging at my thin hospital gown.

I stood at the edge, staring down at the empty pavement below. My heart pounded, my mind screaming at me to just do it.

No more pain. No more nightmares.

I took a deep breath. Then, I stepped forward—

A strong hand yanked me back.

I crashed into a warm chest, my body trembling as arms wrapped around me.

“Don’t,” a deep voice murmured against my ear.

That voice.

My breath hitched as I turned to look at him.

Tyron Carter.

My ex-husband.

He held me tightly, his grip firm, his dark eyes filled with something unreadable.

“I won’t let you do this,” he whispered.

Tears burned down my cheeks. “Why do you care?” I choked out.

His jaw clenched. “Because…” He swallowed hard. “That child… is mine.”