Chapter 1

After my tenth miscarriage, I stumbled upon a viral post.

["My husband is a medical psychopath. To cure my fear of miscarriage, he deliberately married his enemy's daughter."]

["For ten years of marriage, he used hypnosis, staged accidents, and ten different methods to make her miscarry."]

["Now he's compiled all the observation data. My fear of miscarriage has finally disappeared."]

Someone asked: ["That's so cruel. She never noticed?"]

The poster replied: ["She's been suffering from severe depression. Every time she miscarried, my husband provided psychological counseling. She's too grateful to even suspect anything."]

["The most recent one was hilarious---I personally made the incense blend."]

["After smelling it, she rolled down the stairs all by herself. Even the surveillance cameras couldn't detect anything suspicious."]

The pen in my hand clattered to the floor.

My husband is a doctor.

Yesterday, I lost my twins after smelling the calming incense my husband lit at home---right before I missed a step on the stairs.

The poster's final update read:

["Happy anniversary, and thank you for everything you've done for me!"]

The photo showed two hands with fingers tightly intertwined.

On the man's hand was a cute little bear band-aid I'd personally drawn.

It was our unique symbol of love---something I made for him every time he got injured during surgery.

1

Tears fell uncontrollably.

I dumped all the dirty bear band-aids my husband had prepared into the trash.

A cold presence approached. Peyton stood at the door without me noticing.

"What are you freaking out about now?"

"You just had a miscarriage. Instead of resting in bed, when exactly do you plan to recover?"

Looking at his cold, aristocratic face made my stomach churn.

"Recover so I can be your lab rat for the eleventh miscarriage?"

Thinking of the children I'd lost, I grabbed the incense and threw it at his face.

"You never let her go!"

"All ten of my miscarriages---you orchestrated them for her, didn't you?!"

Seeing my pale face, Peyton frowned slightly and stayed silent for a few seconds.

"Yes."

He removed his glasses and wiped them methodically.

"Noelle has severe miscarriage phobia. I need to put her at ease."

"Your pain after each miscarriage, your depression levels, your recovery cycles---they all help her desensitize."

I could barely stand.

Just because Noelle feared miscarriage, I had to lose eleven children to cure her!

"So what am I to you?"

"A test subject?"

"This is murder!"

I grabbed my phone and dialed 91