Postpartum Quotes

I've been married to billionaire CEO Christopher Hayes for two years, and only now does my ex, Benjamin Clarke, decide to propose. The rumble of engines echoes as a fleet of black trucks lines up neatly outside my private estate. The drivers unload box after box of gifts—luxury watches, fine jewelry, couture gowns, and even a grand piano. Standing proudly among the shower of rose petals, he announces, "Sienna, I told you—the only reason I had a child with my sister-in-law was because my older brother died in an accident, and she wanted to keep our family's bloodline alive. "The baby just turned a month old. I've fulfilled my promise to her, and now I've come to marry you!" I lounge in the heated pool, having just finished my postpartum recovery exercises, and I can't even be bothered to look at him. He knits his brows, and his tone turns patronizing. "I know you're upset, but you're the heiress of the Grant family; you have everything you could ever want! Why can't you show a little compassion for a widow who just lost her husband? "I know it was selfish of me to make you wait for two years, but I'm back now! Our wedding will be held in three days. I can tell you still care about me. If not, why would you greet me in such a revealing bikini?" His overconfidence makes me chuckle. "Guards, get him out of here! I'm trying to swim here." What a joke. I've just welcomed the heir of Hayes Group into the world, and Christopher has been insisting that I take our baby home to visit my parents. Yet, somehow, I end up running into this idiot.

After giving birth to Alpha Wesley Silvermoon's pup, I fell into severe postpartum depression. Whenever the scent he left on me began to fade, I couldn't help but have the urge to hurt myself. It was Wesley who held me tight in his arms, kissing my forehead repeatedly, saying, "Don't be afraid, Maggie. The pup and I will stay with you, always." Every morning, he took me to see a therapist. In the afternoon, he handled the pack's affairs. At night, he fed Brett the pup himself. The dark circles beneath his eyes grew heavier by the day, yet he never once complained. Until one day. Brett was crying for his mother, while I hid in the bathroom, hurting myself. When Wesley saw what happened, he completely lost it. He grabbed me by the throat viciously. "If you don't want a pup, you shouldn't have had one! You gave birth to it, but you can't even take care of it! You don't deserve to be a mother!" He bellowed, "How much longer are you going to torment this family? You want to die so badly? Fine! I'll help you!" The moment he said that, he instantly came back to his senses. He broke his wrist and apologized to me. I didn't say anything, merely staring blankly at the phone that had fallen to the floor. The screen was still lit. 37 missed calls. All from the same name. Rowena Sawthorne. She was someone who had recently returned to the pack. Wesley's first love from his youth. She was healthy, beautiful, confident. She and Wesley were once the celebrity couple that everyone admired. Even Brett, whom I had nearly died giving birth to, would smile when she held him in her arms. Perhaps only she was worthy of being his mate, worthy of being Brett's mother. Maybe, this was for the best. At last, I could die without any worry.

My husband, Jaxon Murray, was a renowned medical expert and owned a big company. He was participating in a clinical drug trial when someone tampered with his medication. Under the influence, he ended up entangled with an intern—ninety-nine times, right there on the lab table. When he regained clarity, he rushed home, locked himself in the bathroom, and submerged himself in the tub without food or water as he waited for me to return from work. "Lauren," he said, "my medication was switched during the trial. I made a terrible mistake. But I paid her off and had her dismissed. She'll never appear before me again." I wept miserably, clutching my belly that had once again failed to carry life. And in the end, I chose to forgive him. Several months later, he crashed into a guardrail while answering a phone call, causing me to miscarry. The injury left me unable to conceive for life. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice choked with remorse. "Darling, I don't deserve you. I'm so sorry… We don't need children. We have each other, isn't that enough?" One day, I went to bring him lunch, only to find him in the next hospital room, cradling and feeding the woman he swore he'd never see again. "She's too weak to eat by herself," he said. "She has early-stage stomach cancer. There's no one else to take care of her… she's all alone." I chose to believe him. Again. Until one day, a pair of twins appeared in our home. Sophie Dixon knelt before me, wearing the postpartum gown he had once lovingly picked out for me, clutching my hand with tears streaming down her face. "It's all my fault. Please don't blame Jaxon. If you say the word, I'll leave with the children immediately." Jaxon grabbed my other hand, desperation thick in his voice. "Lauren, you've always been the kindest person I know. The children are still so young. How could Sophie possibly raise them alone? You wouldn't be that cruel… would you?" I looked down at the hands gripping mine from both sides, and suddenly, I laughed. "Jaxon, let's get a divorce. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness."