He Said He Loved Me—Turns Out He Loved My Womb

The doctor handed me the surgery consent form:

"Mrs. Greene, are you sure you want to go through with this operation? According to the ultrasound, there are multiple signs of egg retrieval on the uterine wall, indicating several rounds of IVF. This child has come to you with great difficulty..."

I tightened my fists, nails digging into my palms:

"Yes, it took thirteen attempts to succeed."

He put down the pen and sighed:

"Mrs. Greene, I must inform you, cases like yours, where it took more than a dozen attempts of IVF to succeed, are extremely rare. This child might be your only chance."

"I am sure I don't want it." My voice was cold as ice.

While signing before the surgery, the doctor instinctively glanced behind me.

"Why isn't your husband here? He needs to sign."

I gave a bitter smile:

"He won't come. I can sign it myself."

The doctor looked up in astonishment, with a trace of sympathy in his eyes.

The pen made a scratching sound across the paper.

The operating room was so cold it made people shiver.

"Relax, it'll be over soon." The anesthetic flowed into my veins, and the doctor's voice gradually faded away.

Thirteen rounds of IVF.

Each time before egg retrieval, I had to take hormone injections, the needle piercing my abdomen, the drugs making my body swell and burn.

Brian always said:

"Try one more time; we will succeed next time."

Once, after egg retrieval, I bled heavily and was hospitalized for a week.

Brian only visited me on the first day, claiming he was too busy with work afterwards.

Looking back, he was probably spending time with Lily.

The most painful moment was after the twelfth failure, when I broke down in tears and said I couldn't do it anymore.

Brian knelt on the ground, begging me:

"Just one last time, I promise. You know how much I want a child."

Yes, he really wanted a child with Lily.

To keep up appearances, he let me endure the pain of thirteen egg retrievals.

When I woke up, the sycamore trees outside the window were shedding leaves. The nurse handed me post-surgery instructions:

"Rest for half an hour and you can leave. Do you want to see the embryo?"

I turned my head:

"No, dispose of it."

The nurse brought a wheelchair, but I insisted on walking on my own.

My lower abdomen ached faintly, every step felt like walking on cotton.

But compared to the pain of egg retrieval, it was nothing.

When I walked out of the hospital, it was already dark, the streetlights had just come on, casting long shadows.

I leaned against the wall, walking slowly forward, and saw a familiar figure.

Brian stood at the stairs of the hospital, impeccably dressed in a suit, with Lily, looking radiant, on his arm.

Seeing me, he frowned and stepped forward:

"What are you doing here? Didn't you say you were going for a prenatal checkup?"

Lily also stepped forward, her perfume making me dizzy:

"Lori, you look so pale; is the baby okay?"

She reached out as if to touch my belly, and I moved aside to avoid her.

"What are you doing at the hospital?" I fixed my eyes on Brian.

He straightened his tie:

"Mr. Cheney’s banquet is at the hotel next door. You being pregnant, I brought Lily instead."

I sneered:

"Why didn't you bring me when I wasn’t pregnant?"

Brian's expression turned dark:

"Don't you get it? You would only embarrass me at such occasions, not even able to tell the difference between red wine and Burgundy!"

Those words stabbed me in the heart.

When we first got married, I specifically learned about wine to surprise him, but he said he was too busy with work to enjoy it.

Turns out, in his eyes, I was just a vulgar woman, unfit for social events.

“Lily is different; she understands art, appreciates wine, anyone would envy me for bringing her.” Brian's tone suddenly softened.

Lily gave a shy smile at the perfect moment, her fingers brushing the necklace on her neck.

The same necklace Brian had promised to buy me as an anniversary gift, now adorned another woman's neck.

I no longer wanted to see their lovey-dovey act and turned to leave.

“Wait!”