“The baby’s heartbeat is dangerously weak. Prepare for an emergency C-section—now.”
His words felt distant, unreal. “What? Is my baby okay?” I pleaded, but he didn’t answer—only gave rapid instructions. Nurses hurried. Someone called out that the operating room was ready.
I was placed on the table. As anesthesia was prepared, Jace stepped in.
“Hang on,” he said—but his voice was cold, detached, as if this moment didn’t truly involve him. I was too terrified to notice.
The surgery began. I couldn’t feel my body, but I felt the tension in the room. Please be safe, I prayed. This is Nira’s little brother. This is our baby.
The clock ticked loudly. Time stretched endlessly. Then the doctor stopped.
When he looked at me, I knew.
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly. “The baby… didn’t survive.”
The world went silent.
“No,” I whispered hoarsely. “That’s not true. Please check again.”
The doctor lowered his head. “We don’t know why. The fetus weakened rapidly. We did everything we could.”
I couldn’t accept it. My mind turned inward, cruel and relentless. It’s my fault. My body failed him. The tears wouldn’t stop. The baby who had lived inside me—who had moved and kicked—was gone.
After surgery, I was moved to a private room. Jace came in quickly.
“It’s not your fault,” he said, holding me. But his arms felt empty. His words sounded rehearsed. I didn’t notice—or maybe I refused to.
“I’m going to step out for a bit,” he said, and left.
Don’t go, I wanted to say. But I couldn’t speak.
Alone, I cried until my body felt hollow. Sunlight streamed through the window. Outside, the world went on—cars passing, people laughing, birds singing. But my world had stopped.
Why had this happened? What would I tell Nira? That we couldn’t give her a brother?
Tears soaked my pillow. Exhaustion drained me. For the first time, I questioned whether I wanted to keep living with this pain.
Just then, the door creaked open.
A small shadow stood there.
It was Nira.
“Mommy,” she said softly.
“Nira…” I reached for her.
She came closer, her face tear-streaked but strangely resolute—too serious for a child her age.
“Mommy,” she whispered, trembling, “do you want to know why the baby d:ied?”
My breath caught. “Nira… what are you saying?”
She pulled out her small pink toy tablet and turned the screen toward me.
“Look at this.”
What appeared on the screen was beyond belief. There was Jace—standing in our kitchen—quietly mixing something into my supplements. In that instant, my world shattered all over again.
“Nira… what is this?” My voice broke. “What am I looking at?”
With her small fingers, my daughter swiped to the next clip. Again, it was Jace. He unscrewed the bottle, glanced around to make sure he was alone, then pulled a tiny packet from his pocket. White powder. Calmly, methodically, he emptied it into the capsules, his movements practiced—careful. The timestamp read three months earlier. Exactly when my health had begun to fail.
No. That couldn’t be right. I clung to denial, desperate for coincidence—but deep down, the truth was already taking shape.
Nira continued. There were dozens of photos. Jace on late-night phone calls in the living room. Jace meeting a woman on a quiet street corner. She was wearing a nurse’s uniform from this very hospital. They were smiling. Intimate. Close.
Then an audio file.
Nira pressed play.
Jace’s voice filled the room. “It won’t be long now. Everything’s going exactly as planned.”
A woman replied, uneasy. “You’re sure we won’t get caught?”
“It’s perfect,” Jace said calmly. “Once the insurance pays out, we’re free.”
Insurance.
The word echoed in my head. I had a large life insurance policy—one Jace had insisted on two years earlier. For the family, he’d said. I’d signed without hesitation.
The recording continued.
“But what if the baby survives?” the woman asked.
Jace’s response was cold, final. “He won’t. I’ll keep drugging her until she miscarries. She’ll be destroyed emotionally. Then I’ll give her enough sleeping pills to make it look like suicide—postpartum depression. Clean. Easy.”
The woman laughed. “Ten million dollars. Our new life.”
Their laughter pierced me. My grip on the tablet loosened. I felt hollow, frozen. He had planned everything. He had already killed our son. And I was next.
“Nira…” My voice trembled. “How did you get all this?”
See more on the next page
Advertisement
