The baby was Fynn’s too.
Eight months into our marriage, I drank a glass of fresh orange juice. I never expected it to trigger premature labor.
By the time I woke up in the hospital, Fynn was sitting beside me, eyes red, voice trembling as he told me—
Our baby didn’t make it.
The grief hit me so hard I could barely breathe. I sobbed until my body gave out, slipping in and out of consciousness.
Fynn never left my side.
He stayed up all night, holding me, whispering soft reassurances against my skin, pressing gentle kisses to my forehead.
“Fini, it’s okay…”
“We’ll have another one. A second, a third… We’re still young.”
He never let go—not in those first impossible days, not as he helped me claw my way out of the darkness.
But in the years that followed, I lost three more pregnancies.
The doctors said my body was too weak to carry a child to term.
Desperate, Fynn spared no expense, hiring the world’s top private specialists. I thought he was trying to help me.
I never realized that from the very beginning, they had all been working against me.
***
“Fini, are you home?”
I heard Fynn’s familiar footsteps climbing the stairs, coming closer.
The door creaked open.
His gaze settled on me, warm and gentle as always.
“The driver said you just got back from the hospital.”
“What did the doctor say?”
Then his eyes lifted—landing on the pregnancy report I had left on the table.
I hadn’t even noticed it was still there.
Before I could move, the paper was already in his hands.
His brow furrowed as he read it.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to ask, “I’m pregnant. Aren’t you happy?”
For a moment, Fynn just stared at me.
Then, slowly, he smiled.
A bright, effortless grin—just a little too perfect. Just a little too forced.
"How could I not be happy? Fini, this is incredible! All our efforts have finally paid off—we’re going to have a baby."
Fynn pulled me into his arms, his voice warm, his excitement seemingly genuine.
"I need to call Dr. Kass right away. He’ll make sure you get the best prenatal care."
But even as he held me, I felt it—the stiffness in his body, the hesitation in his touch.
His arms were around me, but his heart wasn’t.
A moment later, he let go, phone already in hand and walked toward his study.
The door didn’t close all the way.
And through the gap, his voice drifted out, low and sharp.
"Dr. Kass, what the hell are you doing?"
"Didn’t I tell you to increase the dosage? She wasn’t supposed to get pregnant—ever. So how the hell did this happen?"
"Fix it. Now. Make sure she loses this baby. Just like before—swap out her meds. Make it look natural."
I pressed my back against the wall, my legs weak beneath me.
And then—I laughed.
Tears burned my eyes as bitter laughter bubbled up from my throat.
So this was my husband.
The man I had loved for three years. The man I had trusted completely.
A moment later, Fynn walked back in, all tenderness and warmth.
He reached for me, steadying me with gentle hands, then knelt down, pressing his ear to my stomach as if listening for our child.
"I need to say hello to our little one," he murmured, voice soft, eyes filled with warmth. "Be good, okay? Don’t give Mommy a hard time."
His tenderness was flawless. His affection, almost convincing.
Almost.
And for the first time, I was truly in awe—not of the man, but of his ability to lie so beautifully.
"Fini, since you're already pregnant, why don’t you take a year off from the university? Focus on resting and taking care of the baby."
Fynn had spent half the day in his study, meticulously putting together a pregnancy care plan. Now, he suddenly looked up and asked me this, his tone casual—almost considerate.
I was a university professor. My schedule was light, just two classes a day.
But I knew the real reason behind his suggestion.
He wanted me under his control. Completely.
Before, I would have agreed without hesitation—probably even felt lucky to have such a thoughtful husband.
But now?
I kept my expression blank and shook my head.
"There’s no need. Who knows if this baby will even make it?"
Fynn studied me for a moment, but when he saw how firm I was, he didn’t push further.
Instead, he simply scheduled a private doctor to come by tomorrow for a check-up.
That night, I locked myself in the study, claiming I needed to prepare for class.
The moment Fynn left, I started searching the fastest I could.
