When I lost my baby in a car accident, I called Hugo Alistair.
But the one who answered was my eight-year-old son.
"Dad took me to tutoring. If it’s nothing important, don’t bother us."
Then, he hung up and blocked me.
I forced myself to call an ambulance, but Ava Sinclair’s latest post appeared on my screen just as I did.
[If I had never left, would I be the one married to you now?]
The picture showed her and Hugo standing under a sky bursting with fireworks.
Hugo’s reply was quiet but firm. [Yes.]
I tapped the like button casually. The next second, the post disappeared.
That night, the system that had been silent for ten years was reactivated.
"Send me home."
"Understood. Official detachment will begin in three days."
——
As the mechanical voice faded, the door swung open.
Hugo stood there, tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp, calm features. His white shirt stretched over lean muscles, and his gaze stayed locked on his phone.
"Why did you call me today?" His lips curved in a faint smile, but his attention never wavered from the screen.
"I wanted you to take me to the hospital."
"Oh."
His response was indifferent, absent. He barely seemed to hear me.
It wasn’t until a long silence passed that he finally looked up. His smile faded, replaced by his usual cold expression.
"The hospital? What happened to you?"
I thought of the child I lost, the tiny life that had slipped away.
But the words wouldn’t come out.
Seeing my indifferent expression, Hugo uncharacteristically took the initiative to explain.
"The reply on Facebook… Jasper took my phone and…"
Before he could finish, Ava suddenly rushed in and threw herself into his arms.
"Hugo, my room’s lightbulb is broken. It’s so dark, I’m really scared."
He held her gently, his voice soft with reassurance.
"Don’t be afraid. I’ll change it for you."
He glanced at me, his lips parting as if to explain.
But seeing that, for once, I did not react; he only said, "I’ll be right back."
That right back lasted the entire night.
If it were before, I would have thrown a fit, screamed at him, and demanded answers.
But tonight, I slept soundly without him.
Lying in bed, a dull ache spread through my lower abdomen.
"How could you be so careless? After everything you went through for this child, was it easy?"
The doctor’s scolding still echoed in my ears.
When I gave birth to Jasper, I suffered a massive hemorrhage. Though they saved me, the damage was irreversible. Pregnancy became nearly impossible.
Hugo had always dreamed of having a daughter. Even Jasper kept begging for a little sister.
So, I gritted my teeth and endured multiple rounds of IVF. The sight of that 30-centimeter needle was terrifying enough, let alone the agony of it piercing my body over and over again. Only those who have been through it could understand.
I rushed to find him on our wedding anniversary, excitement bubbling in my chest. I couldn’t wait to share the news; I was finally pregnant.
But before I could reach him, a car slammed into mine from behind.
Pain shot through me as warm blood seeped through my dress.
Panic clawed at my throat as I fumbled for my phone, dialing his number with trembling fingers. Desperate. Helpless.
But instead of concern, I heard the sound of laughter. Celebration.
He was at Ava’s birthday party.
And the son I had nearly died to bring into this world, he was covering for them behind my back.
Everything I had done for this family at that moment felt like a cruel joke.
Tears soaked my pillow. Memories from ten years ago resurfaced in my dreams like whispers from a past life.
Back then, I had been terminally ill when the system transported me into this world. My mission was clear: win over Hugo.
At the time, he had lost everything. A devastating car accident had left him paralyzed, his business partner had drained his accounts, and his first love, Ava, had abandoned him without a second thought, fleeing to the UK.
Once a man with limitless potential, he had fallen to rock bottom overnight.
The first time I saw him, he lay in a hospital bed, unshaven, his gaze hollow and lifeless.
Thin to the point of frailty, he looked even worse than I had in the final stages of my late stage of cancer.
