Her Unborn Child Wanted Me Dead

On the first snowfall, I heard a voice from inside my wife's belly, dripping with malice.

"Mommy, can you kill him? I want Ethan to be my daddy."

On the operating table, she raised the scalpel and cut open my chest.

Just as the blade was about to slice through my skin, that childish voice rang out again. "Daddy's faking it! The one who's really dying is Ethan!"

She believed it.

She left me mid-surgery, rushed out to tend to Ethan, who'd barely scraped his skin.

In my previous life, I died from that delay.

Now, the excruciating pain suddenly receded, and I gasped for air.