Smooth. Unblemished. No stretch marks on her stomach. No sign that she had given birth even once—let alone three times. Emily’s body looked like that of a young woman who had never been pregnant.
“E-Emily?” Nathan asked in shock. “I thought… I thought you had three children?”
Emily lowered her head, trembling. She took a bag beside the bed and pulled out an old photo album and a death certificate…
Emily ran her fingers along the edge of the old photo album, as if summoning the courage she had buried for years. Her hands shook so violently that Nathan instinctively reached out, but she flinched, pulling away—not in fear of him, but of the memories clawing their way back to the surface.
“I never lied to you,” Emily whispered, her voice barely audible. “I just… never had the strength to tell the truth.”
Nathan swallowed hard. His heart pounded, not with anger, but with a growing sense of dread.
“Then tell me now,” he said gently. “Whatever it is… I’m here.”
Emily opened the album.
The first photograph showed a much younger Emily, no older than eighteen, standing in front of a dilapidated wooden house in West Virginia. Beside her were three small children—two boys and a little girl—clinging to her skirt, their faces thin, their eyes too old for their age.
Nathan’s breath caught. “They’re… not yours?”
Emily shook her head slowly. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“They were my sister’s.”
She flipped to the next page.
Another photograph: a hospital bed. A frail woman lay there, tubes everywhere, her skin pale as paper. Emily was beside her, gripping her hand with both of hers, eyes red from crying.
“My older sister, Rachel Carter,” Emily said. “She was abandoned by her husband when she got pregnant with her first child. She worked in a factory. Long hours. Low pay. Then she met another man… then another. She wasn’t careless—she was desperate. Every man promised help. Every man disappeared.”
Nathan clenched his fists. He felt his chest tighten.
“She died giving birth to the third child,” Emily continued. “Postpartum hemorrhage. We were poor. The nearest hospital was two hours away.”
Her voice broke.
“She died holding my hand, Nathan. Her last words were… ‘Please don’t let my children be alone.’”
Emily reached into the bag and pulled out the death certificate. Nathan stared at the date. It was seven years ago.