I Left My Pride to Build Your Throne, but You Killed Our Only Heir

In the pouring rain, Desmond carried the intern who had cut her finger.

He left me, eight months pregnant, stuck in waist-deep water overnight.

It wasn't until noon the next day that he finally called.

"Tessa is frightened. Make some calming soup and bring it to the office."

The young nurse held the IV drip, awkwardly staring at me, who was barely clinging to life after undergoing an abortion procedure.

Before I could respond, Desmond's impatient voice came through the phone.

"Didn't you always want me to name our baby? As long as you take good care of Tessa, I'll grant your wish."