Chapter 4

"No!" I instinctively shielded my belly, hiding behind Anker. "This is my child!" Anker stood like a wall between us. "Mother, you've crossed a line." "How long will you persist in this delusion?" Mrs. Ford beat hysterically on her son's chest. "This imbecile will ruin your life!" Tears blurred my vision: "Ma'am, it's your own grandchild…" I remembered Grandpa saying children could heal any rift. But now, why was even pregnancy a crime? "Look at yourself!" Mrs. Ford's refined face twisted. "Your IQ isn't even normal! What right do you have to bear the Ford heir? Socialites who want to bear our children could line up from Fifth Avenue to Central Park!" "Enough." Anker's voice cut through hers like an ice blade. He scooped me up and strode directly towards the master bedroom. I buried my face against his chest, breathing in the familiar cologne, clinging to him like the last raft in a storm. After I got pregnant, Anker seemed to revert to his former gentle self. Charlotte's presence gradually faded from our lives; the heart-breaking invitations to galas grew fewer. Every morning, he would kiss my forehead, his palm resting gently on my still-flat belly. "Emma." His voice sounded odd this morning. "Let's go to the hospital for a check-up." I nodded happily. A check-up meant we might see the baby's heartbeat. But the hospital corridor felt unnervingly quiet today. Even the nurses' smiles seemed strained. When an unfamiliar doctor pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and looked at me with pity, a chill crawled up my spine. "Anker…" I instinctively grabbed his sleeve. His arm muscles tensed, but he didn't clasp my hand back as usual. "Don't worry." Anker gently held my hand, his thumb stroking my knuckles. "The baby just needs a small procedure. You wouldn't want the baby to suffer, would you?" I shook my head hard. For the baby, I'd do anything. "I'll be very good!" I promised him. He bent down and kissed my forehead. "Sleep for a little while, and it will be done, darling." A doctor in blue scrubs raised a syringe. Anker said to me: "This is a special nutrient for the baby." As the needle pierced my skin, I bit my lip and made no sound. But the drug-induced drowsiness washed over me like a tide. My vision blurred. When I woke again, the room smelled of disinfectant. Anker rose immediately from the armchair: "Does it hurt?" "Is the baby okay?" I asked urgently. A muscle twitched near his mouth: "It's… taken care of. There's a merger case at the office. I'll come back later to see you." His answer made me sigh with relief. I happily stroked my belly, imagining our future family of three. Until Charlotte walked in on stiletto heels. She wore dark red lipstick today, like she'd just drunk blood. "How pitiful," she sneered, looking down at me, "still touching a child that doesn't exist?" My fingers froze on the hospital gown. "You're lying! The baby is…" "Anker personally signed the consent form." She flashed a photo of the document on her phone. "How could he let you give birth to a retarded child? If he can abandon his own flesh and blood, do you think he'll keep a burden like you forever?" Her expression now was monstrous compared to her usual self, her carefully made-up eyes gleaming with malice. I tried to run but stumbled at the doorway. A sharp pain tore through my abdomen. The sudden emptiness there made me shiver with cold.