My Husband Regretted Causing My Miscarriage Due To Misunderstanding Novels & Stories

She shook her head. "That wouldn't explain this." Elias nodded. "I know." Then why bring it up? The question lingered. Unanswered. Then the old man looked toward the window. Toward the Tucson skyline beyond. And spoke the words he'd clearly spent years avoiding. "Because the miscarriage wasn't real." Nobody moved. Nobody blinked. Nobody even breathed. Rebecca felt her heart pounding. "What do you mean it wasn't real?" Elias laughed bitterly. A broken sound. "The doctor told us Claire had lost the baby."

Three years ago, I suffered a miscarriage while helping Julian Holt, my husband, secure a crucial deal. The doctor informed me that my uterus had to be removed due to severe blood loss, and I would never be able to conceive again. Julian flew back that same night. He knelt by my hospital bed and slapped himself repeatedly. His eyes were bloodshot. “It’s all my fault! If it weren’t for me and that business deal, you wouldn’t be in this state, and we wouldn’t have lost the child… It’s all my fault!” Over the next month, he went back and forth between the company and the hospital, visibly growing thinner by the day.

Confused and unaware, I was deceived into getting on the operation table. When I woke up, my once visibly pregnant belly was now flat. Cameron Zucker, my husband, had gotten me an induced abortion without my consent. There were only four more months left before my baby would have been born, and yet, he was killed by his own father. When faced with my hysterical questioning, Cameron simply said, "Julie just had a miscarriage. How would she feel knowing you're pregnant at this moment? "Don't you know that someone who just had a miscarriage must stay in a good mood? If she had to watch you give birth while still grieving, she would definitely get heartbroken and depressed.

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.

I ended up in the ICU after a miscarriage that left me bleeding out. My organs were failing, and my life was hanging by a thread. Ironically, my husband, Greyson Kirk, was the one who caused it. It happened on his birthday. I'd spent hours preparing. I made a lavish dinner, baked a cake, and decorated our home with a romantic glow. I bought him designer gifts, too, but the real surprise was something far more precious. I was pregnant.

But rough around the edges. “What is wrong with your ex?” he added. I didn’t answer right away. I let out a slow breath. My mind dipped backward. The memory hit like a bruise under the skin. A whisper of pain, dull but deep. I had a miscarriage. Aiden broke it off after that. Said I was clearly broken. Like a toy he could throw away once it stopped working. My throat tightened. I looked up and said, “It was his fault.” Their attention sharpened instantly.

I reprimanded and chased her back to her duty post when I discovered that. “I am sorry, Mr. Miller. It won't happen again,” she apologized. Not long after, my wife suffered a miscarriage and we were disoriented. “Oh, my God,” Dr. Summer and Ben exclaimed simultaneously. Meanwhile, Sean was unaware of the meaning of 'miscarriage', but he understood that it was something terrible from their exclamations. All the same, Mr. Miller continued. We did not suspect the new janitor or the chef, but we resolved to pay her off and send her away, but it was too late.

“That’s your solution?” “Evelyn, don’t be ungrateful.” He frowned. “We’ve been together for ten years. I don’t want to be too ruthless with you.” Ten years? I laughed bitterly to myself. In that decade, I had endured countless sleepless nights for him. I had been hospitalized multiple times from overwork. Through it all, he never truly cared. “Do you remember my first stomach hemorrhage?” I asked. He froze for a moment. “What?” “I collapsed in the studio. It was an intern who called the ambulance. Where were you?”

But now, with her, he sounded… desperate. “I don’t want to hear it. I’m coming over. Don’t move.” So my distant, ever calm husband was capable of this—of panic, of care. I never knew. I almost laughed. When we’d just married, I’d miscarried. I’d called him in tears, shaking and terrified. His reply? That it was inappropriate for me to lose control. That we could always have another child, and as his wife, I needed to remember that emotion could never outrun reason.

A roaring filled my ears. I stared at him. “What did you say?” The doctor’s voice carried utter reproach. “Your wife had a miscarriage.” “Based on how poorly she’s healed, she didn’t receive timely treatment at the time.” “As her husband, you shouldn’t have let her keep pushing through on her own.” Every sound in the hallway vanished. I stood there, and only one sentence remained in my ears. She had had a miscarriage. That night, I had been buried in work, frustrated and irritated, so I had let Celeste take the call.