8 Stillborn Babies, He Used Them to Bury His Lover’s Child

Ten years of marriage, eight pregnancies, eight stillbirths. Each time my husband comforted me with tears: “Let’s try again.” I thought it was love. Until I overheard him: the medicine was poison. My babies were all sacrifices for his mistress’s dead child.

Even their bones were carved into bracelets for her. I played along. After the ninth loss, I fled overnight, changed my name, and married the man who had waited for me for fifteen years. He hunted me down and locked me in a mansion. I smiled,