Children Who Shouldn't Live

Five years of marriage. Two pregnancies. Two abortions—not accidents. Murders.

I sat by the window, fingers unconsciously tracing over my abdomen. My third child was nestled safely inside.

The first two had been killed by this family.

Three years ago, when I first confirmed my pregnancy, I was laughably naive.

I held that prenatal report, and the first person I wanted to tell was Selena.

She was my in-laws' goddaughter, supposedly the orphaned child of Howard's late friend.

She'd also been Vernon's first love—something I only learned later. Though she and Vernon had long since broken up, she still lived on this estate, and she'd always been kind to me.

Back then, I thought she was my friend. I handed her the report. She glanced down at it, said nothing, just turned her wheelchair and rolled toward the chapel at the back of the estate.

An hour later, my in-laws burst into my bedroom with security guards.

"Take her to the hospital for an abortion." Caroline's voice sounded like she was ordering the most mundane task.

I was pinned to the bed, struggling desperately. "Why? I'm carrying your Sinclair family's flesh and blood!"

Howard gripped my wrist, his voice ice-cold. "This child cannot be kept."

No explanation. No reason. I was dragged into the car, and when I woke up, my belly was already empty.

The second time I got pregnant, I'd learned my lesson.

I hid the test results, deliberately avoided Selena, even pretended everything was normal around her. I thought, as long as she didn't see the report, didn't enter that chapel, this time would be safe.

But somehow, she found out.

That evening, as I passed through the living room, I saw Selena's wheelchair stopped by the coffee table. In her hand was a piece of paper—my prenatal report, somehow retrieved from my room.

She looked up at me.

That look held no emotion, just observation. Then she placed the report back down, turned her wheelchair, and rolled toward the chapel.

That night, Howard personally crushed my fingers and dragged me out of my room.

"Please... the baby is Vernon's, your family's own flesh and blood..." I knelt on the floor begging, my fingers throbbing with pain, yet it was nothing compared to the ache in my heart.

Howard's response was a wave of his hand. "Take her away."

The second abortion hurt more than the first. Not just my body, but my heart.

Yet again, they gave me no explanation. I assumed Selena still loved Vernon, couldn't bear to see our child be born. And my in-laws, doting on Selena, couldn't stand to see her suffer.

This time, I'd made thorough preparations.

Full prenatal screening—amniocentesis, NT scan, 4D ultrasound—all showing a healthy fetus.

DNA paternity test—results showing the fetus was my husband Vernon's biological child, 99.9% match.

I even deliberately kept my distance from Selena, avoiding even eye contact. As long as she didn't see the report, didn't enter that chapel—

That evening, I received a video call from Vernon.

"Karena, I'm coming home today." On screen, his gray-blue eyes sparkled with warmth. "Got you a present. Wait for me."

I touched my slightly swollen belly, thinking for the first time that this child might survive.

"Okay, I'll wait for you."

At dinner, I sat at the far end of the long table. Howard and Caroline sat across from me, Selena in her wheelchair beside me, pale as a ghost.

As the maid cleared the table, she accidentally knocked the folded prenatal report from my pocket.

The paper fluttered down, sliding right next to Selena's wheelchair.

She bent down and picked it up.

My heart stopped.

Selena unfolded the report, her eyes scanning the line—"DNA match 99.9%." Her pupils constricted slightly, just for an instant, almost imperceptible.

Then she carefully refolded the report and placed it back on the table.

Without a word.

She turned her wheelchair.

Toward the back door of the dining room—the direction that led to the private chapel behind the estate.

"No..." I shot to my feet. "Don't! Selena!"

I rushed forward to stop the wheelchair, but at Caroline's glance, two maids immediately grabbed my arms. I struggled desperately but couldn't break free from their grip.

Howard set down his knife and fork, dabbed his lips with a napkin, his voice hard as iron:

"This child cannot be kept. It must be terminated."

I broke free from the maids, grabbed the report from the table and slammed it, my voice hoarse:

"Look at it! The baby is Vernon's! His biological child! Perfectly healthy! Why kill him? Just because of Selena?!"

Deathly silence.

Howard waved his hand. Two burly male security guards stepped forward and forced me to the ground.

My cheek pressed against the cold marble floor, my hands twisted behind my back. Those prenatal reports scattered across the floor—amniocentesis, NT scan, 4D ultrasound, DNA test—each one proof of my child's health, each one now trampled underfoot like waste paper.

I looked toward the direction Selena had gone, tears of humiliation blurring my vision.

"Just because she's Vernon's first love? Just because she's your goddaughter? So my pregnancy with Vernon's child needs her approval?"

"Gag her. Take her away."

A cloth was stuffed into my mouth. I could only make muffled cries.

Two security guards dragged me toward the estate's front door, one on each side. My nails dug into the door frame, blood seeping out, staining the white marble—I refused to let go.

The last two times, it was like this. Dragged into the car, waking up with an empty belly.

No, not this time...

Suddenly, the roar of a car engine came from outside the estate.

A black Bentley sped up and screeched to a halt at the door.

The car door opened. A tall, handsome man stepped out quickly.

It was Vernon! My husband!

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

He rushed up the steps in three strides, shoved the guards aside, and pulled me into his arms.

I clutched his sleeve desperately, my whole body trembling, tears blurring my vision, unable to speak through the gag.

As if I'd found a glimmer of hope.

As if this child might finally survive.