He didn't defend me. Didn't deny the slur. His tone only betrayed annoyance—not because they insulted his wife, but because they made him lose face.
That single sentence shattered me.
The stress was instantaneous. A cramp seized my abdomen, violent and absolute.
Later, the doctor shook his head. "Mrs. Gilbert, your uterus was severely damaged ten years ago. This pregnancy was a miracle. The emotional shock caused a sudden detachment... I'm afraid there will never be another chance."
I had seen the ultrasound. The fetus was tiny, no bigger than a peanut.
The child Jesse had waited ten years for was killed by his own indifference.
At that time, I still loved him. Loved him enough to drive myself into a nervous breakdown, terrified of one question: Did he still love me?
When my health collapsed, Jesse took me to the hospital. The attending physician was Joanna Fox.
The moment she saw him, her eyes widened in theatrical surprise.
"Jesse? Is that really you?"
Tears welled instantly. "I'm so sorry. I know my older brother committed those crimes. He's paid the price, but I still must apologize on his behalf."