Chapter 3

The "high-risk pregnancy care" became my prison.

Ethan moved me into a private wing of the prestigious Boston hospital where Dr. Chen worked.

"It's for the best, Amy. Constant monitoring," Ethan said, his face a mask of concern.

The room was luxurious, but the windows didn't open far. Nurses, polite but firm, administered medication that left me groggy, disoriented.

They said it was to keep my blood pressure down, to protect Olivia.

I knew it was to keep me compliant, to fog my mind.

Through the haze, I saw Ethan clearly.

He' d sit by my bed, holding my hand, speaking of his excitement for Olivia.

Then his phone would ring. He' d step into the hallway.

I' d hear his voice, soft, tender, words he never used with me.

"She' s strong, Cassy... just like her brother."

"Soon, my love. Our little girl will be with us soon."

Their children. Not mine.

One night, unable to sleep, the medication' s effects momentarily dulled, I heard Ethan on the phone with Dr. Chen again, just outside my door.

His voice was cold, clinical.

"The C-section is scheduled for seven months. Not a day later. We need to minimize risks... to the asset."

The asset. That was Olivia. That was my daughter.

"And David," Ethan continued, his voice dropping lower, "if there are any complications with Amy... any at all... perform the hysterectomy. We can' t risk her trying to cause trouble later. It' s cleaner this way. Protects our arrangement."

A medically unnecessary hysterectomy. To silence me. To erase me.

My blood ran cold. This wasn't just about stealing my children; it was about destroying my ability to ever have more, to ever be a mother on my own terms.

The day of the C-section arrived like a death sentence.

I was wheeled into the operating room, Ethan by my side, whispering reassurances that sounded like threats.

Dr. Chen avoided my eyes.

I felt the tugging, the pressure. Then, a small, weak cry. Olivia.

They held her up for a second, a tiny, perfect baby, before she was whisked away.

"For observation," a nurse said briskly.

Later, Ethan sat by my bedside, his face etched with a practiced sorrow.

"Amy," he said, his voice thick with fake tears. "Olivia... she was too small, too weak. She didn't make it."

Another dead child. Another lie.

"And Amy," he added, taking my hand, "there were... complications during the surgery. Severe bleeding. Dr. Chen had to perform a hysterectomy to save your life."

He looked at me, expecting gratitude.

I felt nothing but a vast, icy emptiness. He had taken everything.