Chapter 1

The day I went into labor, my husband Grant’s ex-girlfriend posted on Facebook.

The photo was of her, sitting on the edge of a highway overpass, clutching a baby doll.

Her caption read: “If I hadn’t miscarried, our baby would be as cute as this doll.”

When Grant saw it, his comment was pure sarcasm: “What is this drama? It’s not like the fall would kill you.”

But then he turned around, rushed out the door, and didn't come back all night.

On the cold operating table, my voice was flat.

“My husband died today.”

“Don’t bother saving the baby.”

...

Three hours before I went into labor, Grant said he had to step out, but he’d be right back.

Two hours before, my water broke.

I called him over a dozen times, fighting through the pain, but he never picked up.

One hour before, I was alone on a gurney in a speeding ambulance, my dress stained red with blood.

I had fallen down the stairs.

It was entirely possible that neither of us would make it.

At the hospital, they issued a critical condition notice, but there was no one there to sign for me.

A nurse gently told me to contact my family.

My hands trembled as I fumbled for Grant’s contact in my phone, but my thumb accidentally hit the bright red notification dot in the corner of my screen.

It was a new post from his ex, Mimi.

The photo showed her sitting on that highway overpass with the doll, and the caption: “If I hadn't miscarried, our baby would be as cute as this doll.”

It had been posted three hours ago.

The first comment was from Grant.

“What is this drama? It’s not like the fall would kill you.”

I froze.

The page refreshed, and a new post from Grant filled my screen.

It was a picture of Mimi’s back.

The caption: “Thank God I made it in time.”

That one was posted a minute ago.

The air in the ambulance was hot and sticky, but a deep chill ran through my entire body.

The surgery couldn't wait.

They wheeled me into the emergency operating room.

The doctor told me they couldn’t save the baby.

They could only do their best to save me.

It felt like someone had ripped my heart out of my chest, leaving nothing but a raw, tearing pain.

I lay numbly on the cold operating table, completely lifeless.

“If you can’t save her, you can’t save her.”

“My husband died today anyway.”

My baby died because the rescue efforts failed.

The doctor told me she was a full-term little girl.

I looked at the tiny, wrinkled little thing, and my heart shattered.

When I woke up in the hospital room, I sent a text to Grant.

【Divorce.】

Next to those two simple words, a red exclamation point appeared.

My face hardened.

I took a screenshot and posted it straight to my Facebook.

【First day in the hospital and my husband has already blocked me. I guess he’s disgusted with me now?】

Over the years, trying to get closer to him, I’d added a lot of his friends.

He was obsessed with his image.

To all his friends, he was the perfect, model husband.

That post immediately blew up with comments.

I ignored every single one.