- 03.
After Ashley decided to keep the baby, I
became more involved than Ryan, the actual father.
I accompanied her to every prenatal checkup, cooked her nourishing soups daily.
Seriously, if Ashley craved durian at midnight, Ryan would probably yell at her.
But me? I’d get it. Deliver it personally.
I’d practically spoon–feed it to her.
This child wasn’t just the heir to the Ryan family; he was my hope for revenge.
Under my “careful” watch, Ashley’s belly grew bigger and bigger. The doctor warned her to
control her diet.
I just smiled. “Bigger babies are healthier,
Ash. You’re eating for two! You don’t want to
starve my little nephew. Besides, if he’s too
big, there’s always a C–section. Don’t worry.”
My words reassured Ryan’s family. They
joined forces, feeding Ashley relentlessly.
Finally, the due date arrived.
It was a late night…
I was fast asleep when Ashley called. She was
sobbing hysterically.
I frowned, forcing a caring tone. “Ashley,
what’s wrong?”
Between sobs, she told me her water broke.
Ryan wasn’t home. His mother, half–asleep,
refused to take her to the hospital, telling her
to wait until morning. It wouldn’t make a
difference, she said, they’d just be waiting for
her to dilate. It was the same as being at
home.
I jumped out of bed, dressed quickly, and
rushed to Ashley’s house, reassuring her,
“Don’t panic, Ashley. I’m coming. Just
breathe…”
That’s when I realized how easily one could
feign care and concern.
And my acting? Clearly far superior to
Ashley’s from my past life.
How else could she have gripped my hand as they wheeled her into the delivery room, sobbing, “Sarah! I only trust you! My life… and
the baby’s… are in your hands!”
Looking into her trusting eyes, I nodded solemnly.
Don’t worry, I’ll “take care” of you both. So, hours later, when the doctor asked if I
wanted a C–section due to the baby’s large
size, I hesitated. Then, catching a glimpse of
Ryan and his mother approaching, I declared,
“C–section, absolutely! Old wives‘ tales say
vaginal births make smarter babies, but that’s
just superstition. We can’t rely on that!”
“Superstition? Who says it’s superstition?!
Nobody’s signing that!”
My delay gave Ryan and his mother time to
reach us.
<
…
The old woman snatched the pen from my
hand and threw it on the floor, glaring at me.
“You know nothing, little girl! I’ve held more
babies than you’ve eaten meals! Natural birth!
It has to be natural!”
Then she shrieked towards the delivery room,
“You little gold digger! After all the dowry my
son paid, you laze around the house all day,
and now you’re too lazy to even push? Think
again!”
Outwardly, I looked concerned. Inwardly, I was
ecstatic.
My fingers, unnoticed, flew across my phone
screen…
Aunt, Uncle, your daughter is in danger! How
can you sleep?!
