Pushed Overboard for Her

I was six months pregnant when my husband, Michael Greene, shoved me off the edge of a yacht during a birthday party.

Why? Because Lily Clement, his childhood sweetheart, had fallen into the water, and apparently, the yacht was too small for all three of us.

After being pulled from the ocean, suffering from hypothermia and shock, I was taken to the hospital. Doctors determined that emergency surgery was necessary and required a family member's consent.

However, no matter how many times they called, Michael never picked up.

At the same time, lying in a hospital bed, I scrolled through Lily’s Instagram and saw the post she shared just hours earlier. It was a photo of the two of them, soaked but clinging to each other like lovers out of a movie.

"Sometimes love comes from the most unexpected places. Thank you for always being there for me—quietly, selflessly, unshakably."

That was all I needed.

The day I was discharged, I left Michael a signed divorce agreement.

If he wanted to be her knight in shining armor, I’d let him.

After the seventh call went unanswered and finally disconnected, I looked at the doctor calmly and said, "I’ll sign the consent myself. I’m not keeping the baby."

The words had barely left my mouth before the doctor hesitated.

"Are you sure, ma’am? It wasn't easy for you to conceive. Even if you don’t want to continue, shouldn’t you at least talk it over with your husband first?"

"Oh? Can you reach him right now?" I asked. "Or should I just keep bleeding out while we wait for him to call back?"

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

Speechless, the doctor stumbled over their words, unsure how to respond.

I already knew where Michael was—comforting Lily Clement after she fell into the water. Of course, he wasn’t thinking about me. If he had, he wouldn’t have pushed me off the yacht in the first place.

I remembered the photo of them huddled together on her Instagram, the picture looking so intimate it almost made me, his actual wife, feel jealous.

"Just do what I said," I told the doctor. "Besides, a child born without love is only brought into the world to suffer."

That was what I said.

However, when they wheeled me into the operating room, I felt it. Piece by piece, the life inside me slipped away. My stomach flattened, and my body was hollowed out. The hatred I had for Michael reached its peak.

I used to imagine our future together, countless times. A happy marriage. One or two kids. A boy like him, a girl like me. He’d teach our son to protect his mom and little sister while I’d teach our daughter how to be Daddy’s little girl.

Sadly, reality was as cold and sharp as a scalpel. I couldn’t even hold onto one child.

Deep down, I’d always known Michael never loved me.

The day we got married was the same