My husband's adopted daughter made me miscarry nine times.

The last time I asked him what he really thought, he just apologized, saying she didn't know any better.

That was when I finally gave up. Right in front of him, I made a call.

A gentle male voice came through.

"Mrs. Denham, have you made up your mind?"

I looked at Philip Denham—his face went instantly pale—and smiled.

"I have. Tomorrow, you'll move in and live with me."

***

The night I came home from the hospital after my ninth miscarriage, Philip found me in a private booth at a bar.

Seven or eight empty beer bottles lined up in front of me.

His eyes were bloodshot, his voice trembling, "Dr. Massey said you can't drink anymore!"

I ignored him.

Slowly, I opened three more bottles of whiskey and poured three glasses.

One, I slid across to him.

One, I pushed in front of Dora Hayden, who stood behind him, her face all innocence.

The last glass, I lifted, looking at Philip with a smile.

"Come on.

"Let's toast my nine children who never got the chance to be born."

Philip was drawn over by the sound of a bottle shattering.

"Everybody out!"

He didn't raise his voice, but the men drinking with me scattered in a panic.

Only the three of us remained in the booth.

"What are you trying to do?"

Philip stared at me, pain written all over his face.

Behind him, Dora wore a white dress.

Her long hair hung loose over her shoulders, her eyes rimmed red as she looked at me timidly.

I leaned back against the couch, swirling the glass in my hand. "Isn't your daughter supposed to be worried about my health?

"I'll drink a few more, let her worry herself sick all at once."

Dora's face went ghostly pale, tears spilling down. "Mrs. Denham, I didn't mean it like that..."

I smiled brightly, enunciating each word, "Then what did you mean?

"Hoping I'd die soon so you could be your dad's only 'child'?"

Philip's face turned cold. "That's enough!"

Dora sobbed harder, her whole body shaking. "Dad, don't blame her, it's all my fault!

"I shouldn't have let the doctor tell her that she might never..."

"Dorrie, stop talking!"

She froze, confused and frightened. "Dad, are you mad at me?

"I just worry about her... Fine, I'll stop. I'll wait for you outside..."

She ran out crying, looking as if she'd suffered some great injustice.

Philip took a deep breath, came over, and half-knelt in front of me, taking the glass from my hand.

"Stop it, please?

"Did you hear what she said?

"She's young, she doesn't know any better, I spoiled her. I apologize for her."

I laughed, as if I'd just heard the world's biggest joke.

"Doesn't know any better?

"She's 'not known any better' nine times, and I've miscarried nine times.

"Philip, and now you're telling me she just doesn't know any better?"

His face crumbled, piece by piece.

He tried to hold me, his voice hoarse. "I'm sorry... I didn't protect you."

I smiled, but my eyes burned red, my voice shaking.

"Don't forget! Who was it that knelt and begged me, promising me a home?

"Who swore he'd protect me and our children with his life?"

He hugged me tightly, as if he wanted to fuse me into his bones.

"It was me, I'm sorry... Please, trust me one more time. Just once more, okay?"

I shoved him away coldly, slamming the booth door behind me.

"Philip, it's me or her.

"Tomorrow, she leaves!"

Early the next morning, I came home.

The moment I stepped inside, a strong smell of medicine hit me.

Dora was sitting at the dining table, sipping a bowl of dark herbal tonic.

Seeing me, she greeted me cheerfully.

"Good morning, Mrs. Denham! Dad was worried I'd get chilled, so he had Dr. Massey write a prescription.

"He used all those rare herbal supplements you set aside for your pregnancy and made them into a tonic for me."

I froze instantly.

The last spark in my heart went out.

It's been five years—Philip hasn't set foot in the kitchen once.

But today, he was right there, personally tending the pot, brewing medicine for his precious adopted daughter.

And he was using my rare herbal supplements.

"Mrs. Denham, you're awake?"

Dora held a bowl of freshly poured medicine, dark and murky, yet her smile was bright and sweet.

"Dad was worried I'd get chilled, so he got up early to make me a tonic."

She nudged the bowl toward me. "Want some too?"

Yesterday, she was in tears; now she acted like the lady of the house.

Philip didn't even look up, acting as if nothing had happened.

"You're up? Come have some oatmeal."

Did he think I was joking last night?

Or had he already made his choice?

I said nothing, digging my nails into my palm.

On the surface, I stayed calm, quietly crushing a business card in my hand.

It's my brother, Leonel Trenton, a friend's law firm.

"Mr. Pridgen, I need you to handle something for me."

***

I hung up and walked out.

Behind me, I heard Dora's sulky complaint.

"I already tried making up with Mrs. Denham. Why is she still upset?

"Forget it, Dad made the medicine just for me anyway."

I didn't go home. Instead, I headed straight to an empty apartment I owned.

On this humiliating morning, I made up my mind.

I thought, "Philip, I'm letting go.

"You and your darling daughter—enjoy your life together."

That afternoon, Philip's assistant brought over a huge gift box.

He said Philip had searched everywhere for the finest supplements, hoping I'd take care of my health.

Right in front of the assistant, I opened the box.

Then, without a word, I walked to the kitchen and dumped every last bit of those priceless supplements down the drain.

The assistant's face went pale.

When Philip got home, I was sitting on the couch, calmly reading my worn-out parenting book.

He came in furious, his first words an accusation.

"Do you hate me that much?"

"You'd even throw away something I gave you out of kindness?"

I ignored him, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number.

When it connected, I put it on speaker.

A gentle male voice came through.

"Mrs. Denham, have you made up your mind?"

I looked at Philip, whose face went instantly pale, and smiled.

"Dr. Massey, I've made up my mind.

"I agree to your treatment plan.

"And yes, you can move into this apartment as my private physician."

Philip's face instantly drained of color.

He stared at my phone, at that gentle male voice coming through the speaker, as if he'd just seen a ghost.

"You're letting him move in? What's that supposed to mean?"

I smiled.

"Philip, do you really think I have the energy left to play these petty revenge games with you?"

He looked wounded, clearly missing the point entirely.

"Then what are you even mad about?"

I almost laughed out loud.

How ridiculous.

I was on the verge of losing my mind from all this torment, and he had no idea what I was angry about.

I ignored him and spoke to the doctor, Jordan Massey, on the phone, "You can bring it up now."

I hung up and went to open the door.

A moment later, Jordan walked in carrying a sealed bag.

He nodded politely to Philip, whose face was now stone cold.

Then he handed me the bag and a lab report.

"Mrs. Denham, the results are clear.

"The concentration of musk in here—long-term exposure is irreversibly harmful for women trying to conceive."

He paused, then continued.

"My recommendation is to thoroughly clean out this entire apartment immediately.

"And until your body recovers, you shouldn't live here."

He bowed slightly. "I'll take my leave. Contact me anytime if you need anything."

The door clicked shut, closing off the last shred of Philip's denial.

I tossed the lab report and the sealed bag onto the coffee table in front of him.

Inside was an open box of "Meditation Essential Oil."

"Philip, the Denham family has practiced medicine for three generations.

"Don't tell me you don't know what this stuff means for a woman trying to get pregnant."

He was silent for a long time before finally speaking. "Dorrie... she didn't know.

"She just saw you weren't sleeping well lately and wanted to help you rest—"

I cut him off.

"Enough!

"Philip, don't you get it yet? She's killing my children!

"And you—you're letting her!"

He looked at me in disbelief. "What are you saying? Dorrie's just a kid."

I laughed.

"Yeah, a kid who knows how to look up 'Herbs to Avoid During Pregnancy: A Complete Guide.'

"A 'kid' who, every time I got pregnant, started researching aromatherapy, essential oils, and every herbal brew that thins the blood.

"Philip, it's been five years, nine pregnancies. How long are you going to keep lying to yourself?"

He froze, instinctively taking a step back.

"The day we lost our third child—where were you?

"You were at the hospital with her, because she saw me bleeding, got 'traumatized,' and had a panic attack."

A flicker of shame and pain crossed his face.

"She... she was just so scared..."

I waved him off.

"Enough, I don't want to hear it.

"Don't forget—she's not even related to you by blood."

He fell silent.

"I know.

"But please, don't think she's that malicious."

I laughed bitterly, shoving him away.

"Get out."

He actually seemed relieved, moving closer.

"I know you're upset.

"It's my fault—I haven't paid enough attention to you."

His voice softened.

"I'll talk to her, make sure she's more careful from now on.

"Don't be mad, okay?"

He always used that gentle tone to smooth over everything.

But just as I was about to say something, Philip's phone rang.

On the screen, a single name flashed—Dorrie.

Philip answered the call, murmuring a few half-hearted responses.

When he hung up, he grabbed my hand.

"I'll have her move out," he promised. "I'll find her another place to stay. She'll never bother us again."

His warm lips brushed against the curve of my ear.

"When you're healthy again, we'll have another baby.

"This time, I'll take care of you myself."

Suddenly, I remembered a moment from long ago.

He was kneeling in front of me, holding out a ring, his eyes red with emotion.

"Marry me. I'll give you a home. I'll protect you and our child with everything I have."

A tightness gripped my chest, almost choking me.

"All right, Philip. I'll trust you one more time."

I dug my nails into his palm.

"If you ever lie to me again, we're completely done."

He smiled, lowered his head, and gently kissed my tear-dampened eyes.

"I've never lied to you. Not once in this life."

That evening, when I returned home, Philip still wasn't back.

The nursery, which I'd kept locked for so long, was open.

Dora was inside, methodically packing up the baby things I'd prepared, placing them one by one into a cardboard box.

When she saw me, she smiled sweetly.

"Mrs. Denham, you're back? Dad said these things would make you sad, so he asked me to pack them away so you wouldn't have to see them."

I ignored her and turned to leave.

But suddenly, she grabbed my hand, her grip shockingly strong.

"Don't go, Mrs. Denham! I'll help you carry everything downstairs!"

She spoke cheerfully, but as she dragged me toward the stairs, her eyes were fixed intently on the window.

A pair of headlights appeared in the distance, drawing closer.

Philip was home.

A strange, twisted smile curled at the corners of her mouth.

Then, right in front of me, she clutched the box of baby things and deliberately hurled herself down the stairs.

"Ah—!"

The box burst open, scattering tiny clothes and shoes everywhere.

Philip walked in just as it happened.

Dora lay crumpled on the floor, blood trickling from a gash on her forehead. She pointed at me, trembling violently.

"Dad... Mrs. Denham... she pushed me..."

Philip's face turned deathly pale. I had never seen him so panicked.

"Dorrie!"

He rushed over, scooping her into his arms.

"Don't be afraid! I'm here! I'll take you to the hospital!"

He held her close, never once looking my way.

I stood frozen on the stairs, blurting out instinctively, "Philip, she fell on her own! I didn't do anything!"

But he didn't even turn around, just carried her out the door.

I stood there, staring at the chaos below.

All those tiny clothes and shoes I'd lovingly prepared were scattered across the floor.

It felt as if a hole had been punched through my chest.

The cold wind whipped through me, and I couldn't feel a thing.

Late at night, Philip came home, looking utterly exhausted.

He shrugged off his jacket and leaned against the doorframe, watching me as I methodically folded clothes and packed them into my suitcase, one by one.

"You're leaving?"

"What else would I do?"

My voice was calm, completely devoid of emotion.

That calmness seemed to sting him, and his tone dropped, rough and low.

"What are you doing this for? Nobody's blaming you."

How ironic.

"Oh? Is that supposed to be your greatest act of mercy?" I paused, looking up at him with a cold smile.

"Philip, what right do you all have to blame me?"

He struggled to keep his temper in check, trying to reason with me. "I already promised she'd move out. Why do you keep provoking her?"

"Provoking her?" I laughed, as if he'd just told the world's funniest joke.

"I just came back to my own house, and that's 'provoking' her?"

Philip's face hardened, his anger barely contained.

"Do you have to be so harsh? Dorrie just depends on me too much!

"She's only ever had me—her only family. She's just... she's just insecure!

"She can't handle stress. I'm begging you, just have a little compassion for her, okay?"

I stared at him.

This man is always so composed and self-controlled.

Now, for another woman, he looked on the verge of falling apart.

A chill settled in my chest, as if a block of ice had frozen me from the inside out.

In five years of marriage, he'd never raised his voice to me like this.

My throat felt tight, clogged with words I couldn't say.

I bit my lip until I tasted blood.

Fighting the tremors that wracked my body, I forced out the words.

"That's right. I'm harsh. I'm vicious.

"Philip, go spend your life with your pure, innocent, insecure little girl."

He drew a long, shaky breath, as if he'd finally reached his limit.

His voice was cold enough to cut glass. "You don't need to leave. I'll take her and go.

"When you've calmed down, we'll talk."

I locked myself in my room.

I listened to the sounds of him packing, and finally, the icy slam of the villa's front door.

Turns out, when your heart truly dies, you can't even muster the energy to hate.

Philip and I separated.

I didn't care where he went.

Oddly enough, it was Philip's cousin who sent me a few screenshots from Dora's Instagram, asking what was going on.

"Today's family portrait—just me and Dad <3"

The photo was a close-up of her and Philip, smiling together.

"Dad's study is always the coziest place for a nap. It just feels so safe."

The picture showed her curled up in a blanket, asleep on the couch in Philip's study.

"Trying on Dad's shirt—guess it's a little too big for me ;p"

She snapped a mirror selfie, wearing the shirt I'd personally ironed for Philip.

I looked through them and just smiled.

Strange.

If this had happened before, I would've stormed over there in a rage.

But now, I felt nothing but a cold, distant amusement.

When the lawyer called to say the divorce papers were ready, the apartment's doorbell rang.

It was Jordan.

He carried a thick folder, his expression calm.

"Mrs. Denham, here are the documents you requested."

He set the folder down on the coffee table in front of me.

"All your medical records from the past five years—every single miscarriage.

"And a detailed analysis of your physical condition before and after each one. Not a single detail missing."

I looked at him and nodded.

"Thank you."

I stepped aside to let him in.

"Come in, Dr. Massey. Have a seat."

I stared at the heavy stack of records, speaking slowly and clearly.

"I need you to use these to prove one thing to everyone.

"My children... someone never wanted them to live."

Not long after, Philip found the apartment where I was staying.

He arrived while Jordan was in the living room, scanning my medical records onto an encrypted hard drive.

Philip's gaze swept over Jordan like a knife, cold and cutting, before landing on me—his eyes rimmed with red.

"So you couldn't wait to let another man into your home?"

I met his eyes and smiled, calm and steady.

"Philip, Dr. Massey is my private physician. He's organizing my medical files.

"If you don't want to see it, you can leave."

The fire in his eyes looked ready to explode, the air around him heavy and tense.

But in the end, he just forced a tight smile and tossed a folder onto the coffee table.

"This is the trust fund I had my lawyer set up for Dorrie.

"I'll send her abroad. With this money, she'll never have to worry about anything again—as long as she doesn't come back."

He stared at me, desperate, like a cornered animal.

"What else do you want me to do?

"Angie..." He called me by my nickname, his voice thick with pain and restraint.

"I know I was wrong. Please, stop torturing me, okay?"

He grabbed my hand, pressing it to his chest, his eyes wild and pleading—an expression I'd never seen before.

"When she's gone, let's go back to how things used to be, alright?"

Suddenly, I remembered a moment from long ago.

He was kneeling in front of me, holding out a ring, his eyes red and brimming with tears.

"Marry me. I'll give you a home. I'll protect you and our child with everything I have."

But I'd told him before—if he lied to me again, I would never forgive him.

"Alright." I looked at him and gave a soft, simple reply.

"When you've sent her away, we'll talk."

I saw hope flare up in his eyes—but inside, I felt nothing but cold.

Philip—a man who can't even be honest with himself—how could he ever truly send her away?

At the Denham family's annual gala, the place was packed with guests.

Philip's mother, Tanya Denham, took my hand and looked me over from head to toe, her eyes filled with concern and a subtle, unspoken urgency.

"Angie, you look so much better tonight. I can finally breathe a little easier," she sighed, patting the back of my hand.

"You have no idea—Philip's been so worried about your health lately, he's lost weight over it.

"You need to take care of yourself, sweetheart. Don't make him worry any more than he already does."

Philip instinctively glanced at me.

I held my wine glass, lips curled into an ambiguous smile.

He looked a little embarrassed, stepping closer as if to pull me to his side.

"Mom, Angie's just starting to recover. Let's not talk about this."

A few old family friends wandered over, teasing us.

"Well, well, aren't they the most loving couple in our circle? Just look at them—such a perfect match."

"Who'd have thought that wild, rebellious heiress would be tamed by Mr. Denham?"

"Only Mr. Denham could pull that off."

I smiled.

"Oh, please. We're about to get divorced."

For a split second, it was as if someone had cast a spell—everyone froze, and the room plunged into silence.

Only Philip stared at me, his eyes swirling with a storm.

A few elders laughed awkwardly, trying to smooth things over. "Angie's just joking... she's always been playful..."

I ignored them, turning to Philip, my tone light and breezy.

"The divorce papers are already drafted.

"Philip, when this is over, let's sign them."

He didn't say a word. Suddenly, he grabbed my wrist, trying to drag me away.

"We need to talk."

Just then, Dora, who had been standing quietly in the corner, suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me with a loud thud.

She sobbed, clinging to the hem of my dress.

"Mrs. Denham, please don't divorce Dad!

"It's all my fault, I'm the one to blame! I shouldn't have..."

I saw panic flare in Philip's eyes, and a sharp sense of satisfaction twisted inside me.

I ignored her, turning instead to Tanya, smiling even brighter.

"Tanya, haven't you always wondered...

"Why couldn't I keep a single child in five years?"

I looked down at Dora, kneeling at my feet.

"It's because your precious granddaughter never wanted them to live."

All the color drained from Philip's face in an instant.

His eyes reddened, and he tried to explain, voice trembling.

"That's not true... Angie, Dorrie's just doesn't know any better!"

"Is that so?"

I looked right at him and smiled.

Then I pulled out my phone and played a recording, letting the sound fill the hall.

Dora's sweet, venomous voice rang out, clear for everyone to hear.

"Mrs. Denham, let me tell you a little secret.

"As long as I'm around, you and Dad will never, ever have children of your own.

"Because I'm Daddy's one and only precious girl."

When the recording ended, the ballroom was dead silent.

I kicked Dora's hand away from my dress and looked at Philip, his face ashen.

"Philip, how does it feel to have a daughter like that?"