The Stars No Longer Shine for You

Ethan Quinn and I went from college sweethearts to husband and wife. But after ten years of marriage, we still hadn't been able to have a child.

On our fifth anniversary, he held me while crying, saying he wanted a child—a symbol of our love.

He said it would be better if it were a daughter because she would look like me—sweet and adorable.

I was swept up in his longing and started taking fertility supplements, trying every folk remedy, and enduring his parents' endless interference.

After all those painful struggles, I found out that Ethan had a hereditary condition.

Out of love, I started the journey of in vitro fertilization.

It was grueling. I went through at least ten rounds before finally succeeding twice.

The first embryo lasted less than half a month before I lost it. The second one came when I was already on the verge of giving up.

We were both anxious about this pregnancy.

I was so anxious that I quit my job, endured the nausea, and forced down the awful tonics his mother brewed.

He even moved into another bedroom, saying he was afraid of accidentally hurting the baby.

Only now did I realize that he wasn't afraid of hurting the baby. He just didn't want me interrupting his video calls with his sweet, young intern.

For the sake of having a child with him, I suffered too much. And yet, in the end, I still failed.

When the earthquake hit, I was thrown to the ground, but all he saw was a fragile woman crying in fear.

My child never had the chance to be born.

And I barely survived.

How ridiculous—just a small, insignificant earthquake that no one even noticed, yet it took my child's life away.

"Your family still isn't here?"

The nurse's voice pulled me back to reality. "Your body is in critical condition. You need someone to look after you. Where's your husband?

"A pregnant woman suffers massive bleeding, loses her child, and he doesn't even come to see her?"

Silently, I looked at her angry expression.

"He's gone—gone with the baby."

The nurse covered her mouth, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry."

I smiled and shook my head, but my gaze fell on Chloe Bennett's latest social media post.

In it was a man with a cigarette between his lips. He was shirtless, his sculpted abs illuminated under dim lighting. His head was lowered, one hand unbuckling his belt—impatient, almost desperate.

The caption read, "When the earthquake struck, he rushed to me without hesitation. The fireworks in the sky bore witness—from that moment on, we belonged to each other."

It was an aesthetic post. If it weren't for my husband in it, I might've even given it a like.

I closed my eyes, suppressing the stabbing pain in my chest, then picked up my phone and called my lawyer.

Once I made a decision, I acted quickly. In no time, I finalized the divorce papers and sent the electronic copy to Ethan.

After everything that happened, I finally got my first call from him.

When he found out I was in the hospital, he didn't ask if I was okay. He scolded me instead.

"You're so dramatic, making such a big scene that you ended up in the hospital! I'm coming to get you—we're going home.

"All I did was comfort an intern—do you really have to blow it out of proportion and divorce me over it?"

I had no interest in listening to his excuses.

And then, he added, "Stop being ridiculous. You're about to be a mother, yet you're still jealous of some young woman? Have some shame! Don't teach my daughter to be as petty and unreasonable as you."

The moment he mentioned the baby, my entire body turned cold. I started trembling uncontrollably.

"Shut up!" My voice cracked with rage. "You have no right to mention her! You're not worthy of mentioning her!"

My child was gone. She died last night.

She died while Ethan was on his way to comfort Chloe.

I gripped the phone tightly and enunciated every word.

"The baby is gone. I'm divorcing you. Do you understand that?"