Dead Wives Do Not Forgive

Summary

To keep Lydia alive, Garrett killed our firstborn son.

He called it an emergency extraction, a miracle of compatibility. I called it what it was: an execution on an operating table in the pediatric intensive care unit. In the seven years that followed, my grief twisted into something clinical and cold. I fell pregnant seven times, and seven times I walked into a clinic alone, tears burning my cheeks, and signed the consent forms to end them. I refused to let my body be an incubator for another child he could butcher for her sake.