His First Love Killed My Unborn - Chapter 7: Chapter 7
You are reading His First Love Killed My Unborn, Chapter 7: Chapter 7. Read more chapters of His First Love Killed My Unborn.
On New Year's Day, my baby vanished into nothing—just a wisp of green smoke, swept away by the wind.
I couldn't hold back anymore. The tears came, hot and unstoppable.
When it was over, I buried her ashes in a hibiscus garden. From now on, every spring bloom would be the delicate little dresses I'd dreamed of putting her in.
As I walked away from the cemetery, Ian called for the twenty-third time. I hung up without a second thought.
Then came the flood of Instagram notifications—ding, ding, dong, dong—as he bombarded me with apologies. Just like he used to do when we were dating, smoothing things over with empty words. But now, his affection felt cheaper than dirt. I ignored every single message.
I turned away and hailed a cab back to my parents' house.
When I stepped inside, they were in the middle of making dumplings. They froze when they saw me, their hands still dusted with flour.
Mom's gaze dropped to my stomach. Her eyes trembled before she rushed over, voice shaking. "Sherrie, you—"
Sherrie—my childhood nickname.
Even bundled in the same down jacket I'd worn when I left the village, I couldn't hide the truth from her.
She didn't ask questions. Instead, she just pulled me into a tight hug, patting my back as she whispered, "It's good you're back… it's good you're back…"
Her kindness shattered what little composure I had left. I broke down, sobbing into her shoulder.
That night, I told my parents everything. By the time I finished, divorce wasn't just my choice anymore—it was our family's decision.
In the early hours of the morning, a notification lit up my phone. A message from Paula.
After that awful day, she'd been silent—no gloating, no taunts. But curiosity got the better of me, and I tapped the message.
A video played.
The sounds of heavy breathing and moans tangled with the rhythmic creak of my bedframe. The camera tilted up, catching a glimpse of the ceiling before panning to my wedding photo with Ian.
They were in my bedroom.
My heart didn't race. My hands didn't shake. I just calmly saved the video.
Minutes later, another message popped up:
"Sherrie, you really think he'd ever leave me? Guess what—he brought me to YOUR house!"
"Tomorrow, I'll toss out all your stuff. Once the divorce is final, I'll be the new lady of the house!"
I almost laughed at how stupid she was.
She had no idea my family had paid $450,000 of the $500,000 down payment on that house.
Ian might've cheated, but as the guilty party in the divorce, he wouldn't walk away with so much as a single blade of grass.
The next morning, my parents left early to visit relatives. I was half-asleep when loud knocking jolted me awake. Thinking it was a relative stopping by for New Year's greetings, I opened the door with a smile—then froze.
Ian.
I tried to slam the door, but he shoved his way inside.
"Sherrie, I haven't eaten, I haven't slept—all I can think about is you. I know I messed up. Please, just come home with me," he begged.
I wasn't wasting another second on him.
Without a word, I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and shoved them at him.
"Since you're here, I don't have to track you down. Sign them."
He smacked the papers out of my hand without even looking.
"It's New Year's Day! I drove all the way here to apologize, and this is how you act? What else do you want from me?!"
I rubbed my temples, forcing down the anger bubbling in my chest.
"If you won't sign, I'll file in court."
For a second, he just stared. Then, like a man grasping at straws, he lunged forward and tried to pull me into his arms.
"Sherrie, don't do this. We can have another baby. If you leave me, what are you gonna do? You're just a housewife now. You planning to mooch off your parents forever?"
I twisted away, but his grip tightened.
"Let me go!" I snapped.
Instead, he yanked my collar, his face inches from mine as he tried to kiss me.
Panic surged. My palm cracked against his cheek.
He staggered back, clutching his face like I'd shot him.
"You hit me!" he spat, outrage dripping from his voice. "You know if it weren't for me, you'd be in jail right now?!"
I couldn't hold back anymore. The tears came, hot and unstoppable.
When it was over, I buried her ashes in a hibiscus garden. From now on, every spring bloom would be the delicate little dresses I'd dreamed of putting her in.
As I walked away from the cemetery, Ian called for the twenty-third time. I hung up without a second thought.
Then came the flood of Instagram notifications—ding, ding, dong, dong—as he bombarded me with apologies. Just like he used to do when we were dating, smoothing things over with empty words. But now, his affection felt cheaper than dirt. I ignored every single message.
I turned away and hailed a cab back to my parents' house.
When I stepped inside, they were in the middle of making dumplings. They froze when they saw me, their hands still dusted with flour.
Mom's gaze dropped to my stomach. Her eyes trembled before she rushed over, voice shaking. "Sherrie, you—"
Sherrie—my childhood nickname.
Even bundled in the same down jacket I'd worn when I left the village, I couldn't hide the truth from her.
She didn't ask questions. Instead, she just pulled me into a tight hug, patting my back as she whispered, "It's good you're back… it's good you're back…"
Her kindness shattered what little composure I had left. I broke down, sobbing into her shoulder.
That night, I told my parents everything. By the time I finished, divorce wasn't just my choice anymore—it was our family's decision.
In the early hours of the morning, a notification lit up my phone. A message from Paula.
After that awful day, she'd been silent—no gloating, no taunts. But curiosity got the better of me, and I tapped the message.
A video played.
The sounds of heavy breathing and moans tangled with the rhythmic creak of my bedframe. The camera tilted up, catching a glimpse of the ceiling before panning to my wedding photo with Ian.
They were in my bedroom.
My heart didn't race. My hands didn't shake. I just calmly saved the video.
Minutes later, another message popped up:
"Sherrie, you really think he'd ever leave me? Guess what—he brought me to YOUR house!"
"Tomorrow, I'll toss out all your stuff. Once the divorce is final, I'll be the new lady of the house!"
I almost laughed at how stupid she was.
She had no idea my family had paid $450,000 of the $500,000 down payment on that house.
Ian might've cheated, but as the guilty party in the divorce, he wouldn't walk away with so much as a single blade of grass.
The next morning, my parents left early to visit relatives. I was half-asleep when loud knocking jolted me awake. Thinking it was a relative stopping by for New Year's greetings, I opened the door with a smile—then froze.
Ian.
I tried to slam the door, but he shoved his way inside.
"Sherrie, I haven't eaten, I haven't slept—all I can think about is you. I know I messed up. Please, just come home with me," he begged.
I wasn't wasting another second on him.
Without a word, I pulled the divorce papers from my bag and shoved them at him.
"Since you're here, I don't have to track you down. Sign them."
He smacked the papers out of my hand without even looking.
"It's New Year's Day! I drove all the way here to apologize, and this is how you act? What else do you want from me?!"
I rubbed my temples, forcing down the anger bubbling in my chest.
"If you won't sign, I'll file in court."
For a second, he just stared. Then, like a man grasping at straws, he lunged forward and tried to pull me into his arms.
"Sherrie, don't do this. We can have another baby. If you leave me, what are you gonna do? You're just a housewife now. You planning to mooch off your parents forever?"
I twisted away, but his grip tightened.
"Let me go!" I snapped.
Instead, he yanked my collar, his face inches from mine as he tried to kiss me.
Panic surged. My palm cracked against his cheek.
He staggered back, clutching his face like I'd shot him.
"You hit me!" he spat, outrage dripping from his voice. "You know if it weren't for me, you'd be in jail right now?!"
End of His First Love Killed My Unborn Chapter 7. Continue reading Chapter 8 or return to His First Love Killed My Unborn book page.