The Timer of Death

After three miscarriages for Xavier Lowe, I see it—my mother-in-law has three years left, my father-in-law nine years, and my sister-in-law two years.

I say nothing.

After the third miscarriage, my mother-in-law blames me, calling me a curse who "kills" children.

My sister-in-law sneers, saying she almost died in a car crash the year I married Xavier—as if my bad luck dragged her down.

My mother-in-law snaps, "She can't even keep a child. It must be because she's cursed!"

Xavier just stands there, silent. He doesn't say a single word for me. I know that, deep down, he believes that I bring bad luck. Maybe it's also because he already has someone else—his secretary, Yvette Snyder.

His mother has always liked her better, and he clung to her the night I lost my third child.

I don't explain because I know the truth will only destroy them faster.

On my 28th birthday, I catch a glimpse of my own countdown in the mirror. On that day, I take a leave of absence. I go to the funeral home and pick out an urn—pure white, just like the wedding dress I once wore.

Wearing a beautiful floral dress, I text Xavier, asking him to meet me at the lake where we first met ten years ago.

I wait from daylight until nightfall as my countdown ticks to zero.

I die, and he never shows up.

After suffering three miscarriages for the sake of my husband, Xavier Lowe, I started seeing something no one else could—the death countdown hovering in front of people's hearts. The crimson numbers, ticking away in hours, days, and years, were as clear as day.

It made my husband's family look at me like I was some kind of monster, especially after I accidentally blurted out the exact time that would later be Xavier's sister's death. At the time, they just laughed it off and didn't think much about it.

Two years later, she died in a traffic accident due to a brake failure that sent her crashing into a guardrail. There was no alcohol or speeding involved.

I still remember the cold, sterile white sheet pulled over her body. It was freezing cold that day.

Xavier's sister never liked me. I always felt small and unwelcome around her. However, after her death, the Lowes thought I'd cursed her, and they hated me for it with every fiber of their being.

…

Two years later, during a raging thunderstorm, rain hammered against the floor-to-ceiling windows as I collapsed onto the leather couch, clutching my stomach. A searing pain ripped through me, and blood started flowing down my pale thighs.

Then, the wail of the ambulance sirens pierced the air.

"Don't bother. The baby's already gone," I said, my voice chillingly calm.

Xavier slapped me hard. The sharp edge of his wedding ring cut my cheek. "Willow Jones, you wretched woman. You want my whole family dead, don't you? Cursing my sister wasn't enough for you? You had to kill your own baby, too?"

"This wretched woman is going to make our family die out!" My mother-in-law, Olivia Bennett, was about to lose it. "What kind of woman did you marry, Xavier? She's had three miscarriages, and each one of them died!"

The agony in my chest was overwhelming, pulsing in rhythm with the tiny heart that had just stopped beating inside me. My cowardly husband was nothing more than a pushover under his mother's "authority". He didn't come near me or look at me.

My father-in-law, Lucas Lowe, held his head in his hands and sighed. "What did we do to deserve this?"

Why did I have to carry all this pain? I wondered as I lay crumpled on the floor. Inside me, there had been a tiny heartbeat—a life. Now, I watched as the scarlet numbers floating above my stomach hit zero.

My baby was gone once again. This was the fourth time you left me—the fourth time you left this world. My sweet child, you must have been so afraid… so terrified to be born into this world.

As the morning light crept in through the sliver between the curtains, I curled up on the icy bed. I pressed a trembling hand to my flat stomach—the same place that had once nurtured four tiny lives, only to be scraped clean by the cold cruelty of a curettage each time.

I was exhausted. It hurt.