His first wife died from cancer, slowly and painfully, and he never truly let her go. Her photographs stayed on the walls and her name stayed in his mouth. When his family arranged a second marriage, it was not because he was ready. It was because appearances mattered. You became his wife by obligation, not by choice, and from the beginning you knew you were only filling an empty place.

He compared you to her without shame. He compared your patience, your cooking, and even your silence. He spoke of his dead wife as if she were still watching. Each comparison pressed heavier on your chest. You endured it quietly because arguing only made him angrier.

That morning, a sharp pain twisted in your lower belly. You curled your fingers into the sheets, breathing shallowly. Theo was still sleeping beside you, peaceful and unaware. You did not dare wake him. You knew his temper. You knew he would accuse you of overreacting. So you slowly sat up, holding your stomach as pain spread through your body.

You quietly left the room, each step harder than the last.

A maid noticed you in the hallway, pale and shaking. She rushed to your side. “Are you okay, ma’am? We should inform master,” she said anxiously.

You shook your head despite the pain. “No. Do not wake him.”

Blood soaked through your clothes before anyone could say another word. The staff panicked and hurried you into the car. As they rushed you to the hospital, you stared out the window with hollow eyes. Deep down, you already knew. The stress had taken too much from you. You had lost the baby before anyone even knew the baby existed.

Time passed quietly.

At nearly ten in the morning, Theo finally woke up. The bed beside him was empty. The sheets were cold. Something felt wrong.

The butler entered the room as he always did.

“Where is my wife?” Theo shouted, panic tearing through his voice.

The butler froze, his face drained of color. “Young master, your wife was rushed to the hospital early this morning and she lost too much blood after the miscarriage. ”

The room tilted around him.

“She was pregnant?” he whispered.

The silence that followed was heavier than any answer. Only then did he remember how often you held your stomach in pain. Only then did he remember your pale face and shaking hands. Only then did he realize that while he clung to the dead, he had destroyed the living.