The Baby's Dead

When I woke up again, Ronald was sitting by my bedside, holding unto my hand as he fell asleep.

Thinking of those disgusting videos, I felt extremely cold and quickly pulled my hand away. I felt that his hands, which used to be broad, strong, and full of a sense of security, were now incredibly dirty.

He woke up immediately and exclaimed in surprise, "Baby, you're awake!"

That "baby" made me feel extremely nauseous, as if I had been forced to swallow a hundred flies, which were fluttering and scurrying around in my throat.

But I didn't have the energy to fight him right now.

"Where's my baby?" I asked instead, my voice cold.

Robald, in his usual gentle tone as a devoted husband, said, "The baby is in the incubator, baby. You just had a C-section and can't get out of bed yet. We'll go see the baby in a couple of days."

I refused and said seriously, "Ronald, I want to see my child right now."

But just then, the doctor came to check on me. Before leaving, he said that I had just given birth and was strictly prohibited from getting out of bed, so I had no choice but to give in.

But three to four days passed, and Ronald still made all sorts of excuses not to let me see the baby, insisting that the baby had been sent to the neonatal department and that hospital regulations prohibited seeing the baby.

But I wasn't stupid. I did my research during my pregnancy and read a lot of posts. I knew that even if the neonatal ward of a hospital doesn't allow visits to the baby, there are still designated times during which parents can call to inquire about the baby's condition.

Furthermore, while babies initially drink water-based formula in the neonatal ward, once the mother's milk comes in, breast milk needs to be delivered to her regularly.

But in the days since I gave birth, no one has come to help me with breastfeeding.

No. Something just doesn't feel right.

I asked the nurse when she came for rounds, but she was wearing a mask and seemed hesitant to speak. Her eyes though, which were visible above the mask, were filled with sympathy.

I became increasingly suspicious and felt I had to see my child.

Seeing that he could no longer hide it, Ronald finally told the truth, "Dora, you can't see the child now."

I thought the baby had a perinatal infection, a serious condition, or some other special reason.

But Ronald looked at me and said, "Dora, the child... is dead."

I didn't know when my hand shot out and slapped him across the face. "Ronald Woods, say that again, you fucking idiot!”

“The baby died right after birth,” Ronald said, his face red from the slap I gave him. He choked up and said with tears in his eyes, “Honey, calm down. The doctor said we’re still young. Once you’ve recovered, we can have more children.”

I couldn't believe him. I went completely mad. Ignoring the pain, I threw off the covers, staggered out of bed, and rushed outside.

Ronald caught up with me and grabbed my waist, pulling me tightly.

"Let me go!" I cried and struggled, kicking at him and attracting a large crowd of onlookers.

My mother-in-law suddenly appeared out of nowhere, slapped me hard across the face, grabbed my arm, and yelled, "You little slut, aren't you ashamed enough?!"

Upon seeing her, I thought my baby had suffocated because the amniotic fluid had run out. I was so angry, I rushed over and grabbed her, hitting her and yelling, "It's all your fault! You killed my baby! It's all your fault!"

My mother-in-law was very strong. She slapped me several times with her backhand. Ronald didn't stop her at all, but just pretended to say, "Don't hit me anymore."

My mother-in-law threw me on the ground and started kicking me. Bystanders couldn't stand it and pulled her away.

But she was very fierce, warning others not to meddle. She turned around, spat twice at me, and cursed, "Our Woods family is clean and honest. How could our child be deformed? It must be you, you slut, who picked up some dirty disease from men outside! My son is honest and simple, and he won't hold it against you. You little whore, do you think you can ride on his head and shit on him? You slut!"

After my mother-in-law said that, the people around started gossiping.

My mind went blank instantly. The child was deformed?

But how was that possible?

When I wanted to register for prenatal care, Ronald said that there were too many people at public hospitals and felt sorry for me having to wait in line, so he took me to a private hospital for registration and prenatal checkups. The entire VIP prenatal checkup package cost over thousands of dollars.

I was always on time for every prenatal checkup, and the doctor always said that the fetus was developing well!

So how could it be deformed?

I didn't believe it. I crawled up and grabbed Ronald by the leg, crying as I asked, "Ronald, tell me what your mother is saying isn't true!"

Ronald sighed deeply, knelt down to help me up and wiped the tears from my face. “Dora, it's true."

I shook my head violently, crying and shouting, "I don't believe it!"

He sighed and said with a pained expression, "Dora, since you won't believe me, I'll take you to see the child."