A Flower Decided If My Babies Lived or Died

Three years since I married into the Hawthorne family, I had already lost two children.

And the one who decided whether my babies lived or died wasn't a doctor—it was a plant: the Crimson Orchid.

In this family, there was one unbreakable rule: if the orchid's petals withered and gave off a foul smell after being fed a pregnant woman's blood, the baby had to be aborted.

That was how I lost my first two children—helpless, drugged, and disappearing under an anesthesia mask in an underground clinic.

So when I got pregnant for the third time, I secretly went to a top medical center out of state for an amniocentesis.

The results came back in black and white: my baby was perfectly healthy—pure blood, by their standards.

For the first time, I thought my child was safe.

But the moment my blood dripped into the soil again, the orchid began seeping foul-smelling black liquid.

My in-laws didn't even glance at the report before grinding it underfoot and ordering their men to drag me to the operating table again.

I couldn't understand it. Science had already proven my child was healthy, pure-blooded.

So why did they keep trusting a mutated flower over my babies' lives over and over again?

"You missed your blood test." My mother-in-law, Margaret, spoke in a cold, cutting tone.

Before I could pull back, she seized my hand. The lancet bit into my fingertip.

A single drop of blood sank into the soil of the potted plant on the table.

Less than ten seconds later, the crimson petals darkened to a sick purplish black, collapsing into a foul, wet sludge that stank of decay.

"Rejection reaction." Margaret wiped her hands with disgust.

My father-in-law, Conrad, didn't even blink: "Defective. Call the underground clinic. Now."

"No—!" My voice split as I snatched up the report and threw it at them. "You can't do this. This is the third one!"

"The first time I was six weeks and you strapped me down without a word. The second time I begged on my knees with test results—and you wouldn't even look."

"This time I made it to sixteen weeks." I was shaking so hard I could barely breathe. "I went out of state for the most comprehensive genetic screening there is."

I pointed at the pages on the floor, tears blurring the ink.

"It's all there—healthy, and the purest family bloodline. So why are you still listening to a rotting flower? Why are you killing your own grandchildren?"

Margaret's expression didn't change. Conrad's was even colder.

Just like the last two times, my proof meant nothing.

Conrad stepped forward without a trace of emotion and ground the report into the carpet under his shoe.

Then he and Margaret stood side by side, looking down at me.

People said couples who stayed together long enough began to resemble each other. Looking at them now, I almost believed it.

The same cold eyes. The same utter lack of mercy.

"Reports can be faked. The Crimson Orchid doesn't lie." Conrad's eyes were glacial. "If the orchid rejects it, we do not keep it."

"When we say terminate, you terminate," Margaret said flatly. "Take her down."

Two bodyguards grabbed me before I could even take a step back, hauling me toward the corridor to the underground clinic—disinfectant already burning my nose.

"Let go of me!" I struggled wildly, twisting around to look for my husband.

But the manor was empty.

He was nowhere.

A cold shock ran through me as the truth clicked into place.

That was why Conrad had insisted on sending him to Europe overnight, using some so-called urgent business crisis as an excuse.

They had planned this from the start.

To get rid of the child inside me, they had already sealed off every way out.

Something inside me gave way.

This was my third child. He had been growing inside me for four months.

Was he really going to be taken from me on that cold operating table?

As the iron door to the basement loomed closer, terror drove me into one last desperate struggle.

I twisted hard and clawed for the handrail, my fingers catching in the wood.

"Please!" I screamed, my voice raw. "I'm begging you—please!" My nails scraped until they tore. "That flower proves nothing! My baby is innocent. Just let me keep him!"

But no matter how I sobbed and begged, Conrad only stepped forward and peeled my fingers off the rail one by one, his face utterly blank.

"We disposed of the first two," Margaret said, almost bored. "Why can't you accept reality? This one goes too."

My last finger was forced loose.

They dragged me toward the iron door.

I squeezed my eyes shut, panic swallowing me whole as I felt this third child slipping away—

"What the hell are you doing?! Let her go!"

The front door slammed open, the crack of it slicing through the hallway.

My eyes flew open. I turned sharply.

Standing in the doorway, drenched and backlit, was my mother.

For the first time that night, I felt a flicker of hope.