Stomach Growl

A week after I gave birth via C-section, Mark Whitman invited his friends over to celebrate the birth of our son. The crowd was boisterous—more than a dozen people. Not one of them bothered to remove their dirty shoes. The wooden floor was soon covered in muddy footprints. Mark came into the room and, without a hint of concern, ordered me out of bed. "Everyone's waiting outside. Don't just hide here and rest—you're embarrassing me in front of our guests." I had no choice but to push through the pain, forcing my body to prepare a huge meal for the large crowd, all on my own. When I carried the final bowl of steaming soup to the table, Lily Hoyte—whether intentionally or not—jabbed her hand against the wound on my abdomen. My hand trembled from the sudden pain, and the bowl slipped slightly, spilling the hot soup onto Lily's shoes. Mark's face darkened instantly. "What the heck did you do, Cammy? Lily rushed here right after her plane landed from overseas to see our son, and this is how you treat her?" The crowd quickly chimed in. "Come on, Cammy, no need to be so petty." "Mark and Lily grew up together. If there was really something between them, do you think you'd even be here now?" "Do you even know how much those shoes cost? They're limited edition—easily over ten thousand dollars. And you just ruined them." Lily stood up awkwardly, her eyes misting with tears. "If Cammy doesn't like me," she said softly, "then I'll leave. I don't want to be a bother." But Mark grabbed her hand in an exaggerated display of protection, his voice harsh as he turned to me. "Wipe Lily's shoes clean. Right now." His partiality for Lily made something sharp twist in my chest. My lips quivered as I fought back tears. "The wound on my stomach hasn't healed yet. I can't bend over." At that, his expression grew colder. "Don't use childbirth as an excuse. If you can't bend over, then kneel and wipe them. And if you won't, get out of my house!"

The cold seawater engulfs me, its relentless pull dragging me into the abyss. I kick desperately, my lungs burning, but the surface drifts farther and farther away. "Save me, Kane… save our child…" Pain lances through my body as I clutch my stomach, shielding the fragile life within me. The child I never thought I'd have, the child who was supposed to be our blessing. Through the watery haze, I see Kane Porter standing on the jagged cliffs above the shore. His tall, commanding figure is framed by the moonlight, his golden eyes burning with hatred. The alpha of the Nightfall Pack, the man who once whispered my name with reverence, now looks at me like I'm filth beneath his feet. His voice cuts through the roaring waves, sharp and merciless. "Don't think I don't know what you've done, Selene." The currents tug me deeper. My strength wanes, but his words stab deeper than the water ever could. "You drugged me with a philter, hoping to make me mark you—hoping to force your way into the position of my Luna. Because of your selfishness, Arya is gone. You destroyed her mind, pushed her into madness!" A shadow of despair twists across his face, but it vanishes beneath pure fury. "She fell from that cliff because of you." I shake my head, but I can’t speak. The sea is swallowing my voice. "Do you know what it’s like to wake up every day in torment? To live knowing the woman I loved died because of you?" His eyes glint like a wolf ready to tear out his prey's throat. "I want you to feel every ounce of that pain. I want you and your cursed child to die with her." The waves crash above me, and darkness claws at the edges of my vision. When I open my eyes again, I'm taken back to the day Kane's philter takes effect. He approaches me, his face flushed and his breathing rapid. He's already undone his buttons. "Hang on, Kane. Arya will be here soon!" I back away and open the door behind me. Then, I run off.

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."