My Husband Murdered Our Unborn Baby

Alexandra Marsh's POV:

"Hurry, get her into the OR now!" The doctor's voice was a frantic shout. Someone grabbed me, and the bed creaked as it moved fast. The world dissolved into a blur of white and surgical green. My body felt heavy, as though I were detached from myself.

I heard Easton's voice, unnervingly calm: "See? More acting. She's doing this on purpose, just for the spotlight."

"Mr. Gardner, your wife is hemorrhaging!" a nurse shouted, her voice tight with tension. "She's losing consciousness!"

"She's probably faking it again," Easton muttered. "It's what she does best. She probably cut herself on purpose to make it look worse."

The doctor's face was dark with fury, and he ignored Easton entirely. He barked orders: "Prep for emergency C-section! We need blood, now!"

"This is absolutely ridiculous," Easton's voice rose again. "You doctors have all been fooled by her, playing along with her little performance. You just want to milk me for money. I know how you people operate."

No one paid him any mind — they were too busy. I felt a sharp prick as a needle slid into my arm. Cold fluid flooded my veins. I was breathing hard, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Every movement sent a fresh wave of agony through my body. The monitor screamed shrilly.

"Her pulse is weak, blood pressure's at critical levels! Fetal heart rate is barely detectable!" a nurse called out the desperate update.

The doctor turned to Easton, his voice low and dangerous. "Mr. Gardner, we need you to sign the surgical consent form. Now! Every second counts. If you don't sign, we can't operate, and your wife and child will both die."

Easton smirked. "And how much is this 'emergency' surgery going to cost? How much will this little performance of hers set me back this time?"

"We're talking about human lives! Not money, Mr. Gardner!" The doctor finally snapped, roaring. "This is a life! Your wife and child! They are in mortal danger right now!"

"Don't lecture me about lives," Easton shot back, his voice growing shrill. "I'm the one who decides what a life is worth. And right now, hers — especially after she tried to steal from me — isn't worth bankrupting me or ruining Colette's future. Colette's investments are worth far more than this farce."

"You'd watch your wife and child die over money?" Kim Smith's voice was thick with disgust.

"They're not dead yet," Easton shrugged. "And if they do die, that's her own fault. Besides, I already told you — I'm not paying. Not a single cent."

Colette spoke up, her voice surprisingly firm. "Easton, darling, maybe I can help? I have an emergency fund. It's not much, but…" She pulled a thick stack of cash from her designer handbag. "There's about five thousand here. Would that cover part of it?" She looked at the doctor with an expression of false generosity.

The doctor's eyes widened. "Five thousand dollars would be a start, Ms. Russo. We need a deposit for the emergency surgery and blood."

Colette walked toward the doctor, cash in hand. Easton quickly stepped in front of her, blocking the move.

"No, Colette," he said firmly. "You will not give them a single penny. This is Alexandra's problem. Let her solve it. With the money she tried to steal from me." He turned to Kim Smith. "Officer, make her return the money she got from the pawn shop. That's her payment method."

Kim Smith stepped forward, her face twisted with anger. "Mr. Gardner, that money is legally hers now. She pawned something she had in her possession. You reported it as 'grand theft,' but this is a civil matter, not a criminal one — especially when the item turned out to be a counterfeit. Using this during a medical emergency is nothing short of reprehensible."

Easton ignored her. He looked at me, lying there, barely conscious. "Alexandra, if you want this surgery, sign this document. Admit you stole my money. Waive all rights to our property. And assume all of Colette's debts. Those are my terms. Take it or leave it."

My body convulsed violently. A searing pain tore through me. I heard a distant cry — not mine, the baby's. Growing fainter.

"She's coding! We're losing the baby!" a nurse screamed.

Easton just watched coldly, his face expressionless. "Isn't this what she asked for?"