The Seventh Letter in the Mailbox

Time ticked away—and with it, my life, draining drop by drop.

My parents never returned. I was certain Janet had deceived them.

Alan stood to one side, watching everything she did to me with cold detachment, never lifting a finger to stop it.

In his eyes, I was hardly even a person.

And I began to regret it all.

Regretting I had ever accepted this damned mission, that I had ever come to this hellish world.

If given the choice, I would never go home again rather than endure another moment of this pain.

Just as my consciousness began to fade, Janet spoke abruptly to Alan. “Alan, we can’t wait any longer. We have to operate now.”

He frowned. “But you said a natural birth would be better for the baby.”

“The situation has changed.”

Her expression turned grave. “The fetal support injection earlier—the dosage may have been too high. There’s a risk of hypoxia. We need to perform an immediate C-section!”

At the mention of danger to the “baby,” Alan stiffened.

“Then what are we waiting for? Hurry! Dr. Jeffrey, prepare for surgery—now!”

Dr. Jeffrey looked uneasy. “Mr. Alan, the anesthesiologist was just called to an emergency in another surgery. It’ll be at least half an hour before anyone can get here.”

“Half an hour?!”

Janet shrieked. “In half an hour, the baby will be dead!”

She turned to Alan, eyes reddening, tears spilling over. “Alan, what do we do? I’m so scared…”

He pulled her into his arms, his voice softening. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

Then he turned toward me, his gaze utterly cruel, as though I were nothing more than an object.

“If there’s no anesthesiologist, then we operate without anesthesia.”

He spoke slowly, coldly. “It’s just a cut across the belly. Endure it. It’ll be over soon.”

His words plunged the delivery room into a chilling silence.

Even Dr. Jeffrey looked stunned.

As for me… hearing those words, a strange calm settled over me.

I looked at that wretched couple and suddenly felt everything had become meaningless.

Fine.

Maybe dying like this would be a release.

I closed my eyes. Stopped struggling. Stopped crying out.

Seeing me so “cooperative,” Janet’s smile deepened.

She picked up a scalpel and walked toward me, step by measured step.

The cold blade sawed through skin—the sound sharp, clear, unforgiving.

I didn’t scream. Didn’t shed a tear.

I just kept my eyes open, fixed on the ceiling, trying to etch this world’s last light into my soul.

Excruciating pain wracked my body with spasms, but I made no sound.

Janet, dissatisfied, pressed harder, her movements growing brutal.

I could feel it—my child being torn from me in the cruelest way.

Then, a faint, weak cry. A weight lifted from my abdomen.

The baby was out.

With the last of my strength, I turned my head, desperate to see my child.

So small. So fragile. Blood-streaked, like a newborn kitten.

He was still moving. Still alive.

But Janet—that demon—snatched a gauze pad from nearby and, without hesitation, pressed it over the baby’s mouth and nose.

“NO—!”

My eyes nearly burst from their sockets as I unleashed the most agonized scream of my life.

My baby!

The child I’d carried for four years, suffered endless torment to bring into this world!

He hadn’t even had a chance to see it—

Alan saw it too. Shocked, he rushed over and shoved Janet away.

“Janet! What have you done?!”