I Lost My Babies Because Of Him

"Eugene Martinez! You can’t force me to kill my child!” Eugene’s grip clamped around my wrist, dragging me relentlessly toward the procedure room.

“Let go of me! I’m not doing this!” I fought, thrashing, but he was stone—unyielding.

In a last, desperate move, my knees gave way. I crumpled before him, clutching his sleeve with shaking hands, my voice splintering into sobs. “Eugene, please. I’m begging you. Just let me keep this baby. It’s all I have.”

Years ago, being induced had ravaged my womb. Then I gave him a kidney and part of my spleen—leaving my body wrecked. After years of meds and treatments, I’d finally gotten pregnant again. I couldn’t lose this one.

Eugene froze, his mind flickering back to three years ago, when he’d been on his knees, begging me to keep our first child—and I’d shut him down without hesitation.

A dark laugh ripped from his throat, his eyes violent with fury. “Emely, wasn’t I the one begging just like this? And what did you give me? Nothing but a door slammed in my face. Don’t act like you forgot.”

“Now, the only woman worthy of carrying my child is Kenna.”

“And you? You don’t deserve shit.”

His words were a death sentence. In a heartbeat, every trace of compassion vanished. He kicked me—viciously—right in the stomach.

Agony ripped through me. I curled up on the cold floor, hot blood spreading beneath me, shockingly red. The little life inside me, draining away.

Gasping, I looked up at Eugene’s assistant, my whisper barely a breath. “Please… help me…”

The assistant wavered, but one glare from Eugene and he turned his back on me.

My heart plunged into an abyss.

My vision swam, darkness swallowing me whole. The last thing I heard was Eugene’s icy command: “Take her to the procedure room.”

Two guards grabbed me, hauling me up and dragging me out. As they did, the operating room doors swung wide, and Kenna was wheeled out. Eugene rushed to her side, taking her hand like she was made of glass, his eyes swimming with worry.

I shut my eyes tight, a tear slipping down my cheek. When I forced them open again, my womb was empty.

The child I’d hoped to hold was gone.

A young nurse approached, her voice heavy with pity. “Dr. Ford, your uterine wall is paper-thin now. It’s… unlikely you’ll ever conceive again.”

“Someone like her isn’t fit to be a mother, right?” The ward door slammed open, and Eugene leaned against the frame, arms crossed, his gaze slicing me open. Disdain dripped from every word.

Bitterness flooded my chest. “You’re right. I’m not fit. And neither are you.”

Eugene’s face flushed crimson. He seized my wrist, yanking me upright. “Why the hell wouldn’t I be? Half the women in London would kill to have my kid! One of them is in the room next door.”

“And thanks to your screw-up, Kenna got hurt. Bad. You’re going to apologize. Now.”

He dragged me through the hall, shoving me into walls as we went, until we reached Kenna’s VIP suite.

Inside, Kenna lay propped on pillows, surrounded by staff. The second Eugene walked in, she bolted upright, her voice trembling with fake tears. “Eugene, where did you go? I was so scared!”

Then her eyes found me, and she shrank back, face going pale as she hid behind him. “Eugene, why is she here? I didn’t know she was your wife. If I’d known, I never would’ve come to this hospital. Our baby would still be here… I’m so sorry, Eugene, it’s all my fault!” She dissolved into sobs, trembling like a wounded bird.

Eugene’s expression softened. “Kenna, stop. It’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”

She melted against him, but over his shoulder, she shot me a look of pure triumph. Slowly, she raised her phone, the screen bright with a message:

[Your man loves me. Old hag, get lost.]

The pettiness of it almost made me laugh. I spun on my heel to leave, but Eugene’s voice cracked like a whip.

“Who said you could leave? You haven’t apologized to Kenna yet!”

I stilled, turning back, my tone flat and empty. “Miss Jenkins, I’m sorry. It was my fault. There. Are you satisfied, Mr. Martinez?”

His face darkened, and he hurled a glass vase at me, shattering it inches from my feet. “Get the hell out! I can’t stand the sight of you!”

The words stabbed straight through my heart, but I had something more important to do.

I went to the procedure room and collected what remained of my child, wrapping the tiny form in a clean white cloth. Then I drove to a quiet cemetery on the edge of town."