My Husband Traded Our Baby to Save His Mistress' Child
Chapter 1
Two months before my due date, a devastating fire consumed our entire house. Ronan ensured the perpetrator was sent to prison, but the blaze left me severely injured, leading to the amputation of my right leg and complications during childbirth.
While lying in the hospital bed, I overheard Ronan speaking with the doctor.
“Mr. Peterson, your wife has already lost a leg. If you also remove her uterus, she'll be devastated. You’re just trying to use the umbilical cord blood to save Ms. Stewart’s baby; do you really have to destroy your wife in the process?”
“It doesn’t matter if she’s devastated. I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life. If she finds out this baby was only conceived to save Elia’s child, she would never agree.”
"I promised Elia I would save our child. Only when Monroe can no longer have children, erasing any threat, can Elia truly relax.”
His words struck me like a blow. So, the child I had longed for was merely an organ bank for someone else. My dream of marriage was nothing but a trap. Very well, I shall fulfill his wishes.
“Just do what I say and remove her uterus completely. You don’t need to worry about the baby's survival.”
“When she wakes up, I'll bring Elia’s baby to her, and she won't suspect a thing.”
The doctor glanced at my frail form on the bed, hesitated, and said, “Mr. Peterson, perhaps you should reconsider. Your wife’s already suffered enough and lost her chance at motherhood. If you want to save the child, I’m confident we can do it.”
“No need,” Ronan coldly dismissed him. “She doesn’t know Elia's child is being born today. I promised Elia I’d bring our child home as the rightful heir of the Peterson family.”
While he spoke, he gently wiped my fingers with a towel, his voice still tender. “Only when Monroe is out of the picture, with no threat, can Elia see my true feelings for her.”
At that, the doctor sighed, “Miss Stewart is a good person. If not for Mrs. Peterson’s interference, she could have been your wife today.”
“Take the baby while it’s still breathing. Make sure no one hears about this.”
The doctor then hurriedly left with the child.
Ronan made a quick call, “Is everything settled? Give the arsonist a couple hundred thousand, and make sure they move out of town and never show up in Monroe’s life again.”
I was still under anesthesia and couldn’t move, so Ronan was unaware that I had heard everything. Tears streamed uncontrollably from my eyes, and I trembled with helplessness.
Five years. I had been married to Ronan for five years.
Back then, the Peterson family was on the brink of bankruptcy. Ronan knelt at my family’s door, pleading for me to marry him.
He had promised me a life of leisure at home, living the life of a wealthy wife.
He had vowed that while all men might stray, he would never betray me.
He filled me with hope for this marriage, for this child.
I was cautious every day, fearing to even move for the sake of my baby.
But it was all a lie.
Even that fire was orchestrated by him.
He only wanted my child’s umbilical cord blood to save Elia’s baby, born with leukemia.
And for that, he didn’t hesitate to amputate my leg and remove my uterus.
Every promise of love was a facade.
I struggled to open my eyes, but my eyelids felt heavy, as if weighted down.
“Monroe, sleep a bit longer,” Ronan's voice murmured softly beside me, as if I were a rare jewel. “By the time you wake, everything will be resolved.”
“You'll still be the untouchable Mrs. Peterson.”
As my consciousness faded, so did my spirit.
---
When I awoke again, I was in the hospital room. Ronan sat vigil by my bedside and showed immediate concern when I opened my eyes. “Monroe, are you alright? Are you feeling uncomfortable anywhere? I’ll get the doctor!”
I stared at him intently. His concern seemed genuine. And that was precisely why my heart broke. His eyes reflected love as usual, and he acted as if he cared deeply for me. Yet he hurt me so profoundly for someone else.
I glanced at my missing right leg, the sharp pang coursing through what remained, and my face paled from the pain.
Ronan acted oblivious to it, bringing a baby to me: “Monroe, look, here’s our child.”
“She’s a girl, and she’s beautiful. She has a bit of both of us in her.”
The mention of the word ‘baby’ brought tears to my eyes. I hadn’t even seen my own child, the one I carried for eight months, yet never got to meet.
I didn’t respond to him; Ronan assumed I was just worn out and took the baby to play nearby.
I looked at his phone left on the bedside table.
Even the wallpaper was a photo of us together during the pregnancy.
I used to believe he was eagerly anticipating the birth of our child just as I was.
Now it seemed he was merely celebrating that Elia’s child could be saved.
I unlocked his screen.
An avalanche of messages appeared.
The top contact was marked as “My Love.”
My Love indeed.
The entire chat was full of their romantic exchange.
Elia constantly complained about the discomfort of pregnancy and recounted his accompanying her to prenatal appointments.
“Ronan, the doctor says if we can’t find a blood relative’s umbilical cord blood soon, the baby might not survive after birth.”
“Ronan, I know you had no choice but to marry Monroe. I never expected more; I just wanted to have your child.”
“Ronan, I know I’m a burden to you, but I love you.”
Every word sliced through me.
Ronan’s replies were brief, only saying: “Don’t worry, I’m here.”
I recalled my early days of pregnancy, when the baby was restless and I couldn't keep anything down. Later during the second trimester, the baby started being active in my belly, making sleep elusive. Ronan never accompanied me to any prenatal checkups. He only assured me that such discomfort was normal during pregnancy.
Turns out he didn’t ignore the child’s welfare; he just didn’t care about mine.
He even created a dedicated memo for Elia.
A record of every prenatal checkup, any abnormalities, and detailed preparations, including plans for my premature delivery.
I closed my eyes, allowing the burning tears to flow freely.
I was wrong.
Over the years, I’d been blinded by his insincere love.
I had made a mistake.
I chuckled bitterly at myself, put his phone back, and reached out to my friend abroad, asking her to find a good doctor for my treatment.
I wasn’t ready to surrender just yet.
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