Glenda smiled. "Are you here looking for Ivan? Goodness, Stella, you really do keep him on a tight leash. I just wasn't feeling well, so I asked him to come with me to the hospital. That's all."

Ivan's jaw tightened. "Is it really necessary to monitor my every move? You're pregnant—you shouldn't be running around hospitals for no reason. Don't you know that's bad for the baby?"

His lip curled. "That child must have the worst luck in eight lifetimes, ending up in your womb."

"Didn't I tell you? Our child is perfectly healthy—brilliant, even. Got into a top university at sixteen."

Right. In his version of things, in our past life, we'd had a smart, healthy child.

So how had it come to this?

I tightened my arms around the small box without thinking.

I'd once heard that children who die before their time become trapped in the cycle of reincarnation, never finding release. So I'd had a beautiful wooden box custom-made, carved with lotus blossoms, and arranged for a monk to chant sutras for forty-nine days.

I hoped he could have a next life. I hoped he'd find parents who would love him.

"Daddy."

A small, shrill voice cut through my thoughts. Cooper was staring at the box in my arms. His hand shot out to grab it. "I want that box!"

"Don't touch it!"

I slapped his hand away—hard—and clutched the box to my chest.

The sharp crack echoed through the corridor. Cooper froze for a split second, then burst into wailing sobs.

A flash of shock crossed Ivan's face, but he immediately hardened his expression. "What do you think you're doing!"

"He's just a child! Why are you stooping to his level—putting your hands on him!"

I clutched the box to my chest and glared at Ivan, my eyes burning. "Ivan Vance, I hate you. I hate you!"

Each word dropped from my mouth like a stone. The taste of blood coated my tongue. He seemed stunned—never once had I, who'd always been obedient, spoken to him like this. His brow furrowed instantly. "Stella, you're being completely unreasonable."

With that, he pulled something from inside his jacket. "I'll trade you this for that worthless box. Happy now?"

It was an exquisite longevity lock pendant—a traditional charm meant to protect a child.

I'd mentioned it to him once, that I wanted to buy one for the baby. He'd only told me to focus on resting and stop worrying about nonsense.

"Isn't this what you've always wanted to give the baby? Here, take it—"