My Pregnant Wife Traded Our Baby For Her Golden Boy

Savannah’s “golden boy”—the one she’d always measured every other man against — He got leukemia. My wife, eight months pregnant, wanted to induce labor. Not to deliver our child, but to kill the baby and use the new baby to save him. The doctor had been clear: an eight-month induction was dangerous for her and would almost certainly be fatal for the baby. I grabbed her arm, trying to reason with her frantic panic, and she lashed out, her open palm cracking against my cheekbone. The sting was immediate and searing. “Dean Miller, are you really this self-absorbed?” Sav’s voice was a furious hiss. “Owen Shaw is dying, and you’re worried about some medical technicality! He’s the most important person in my life! I’m not going to stand by and watch him go!” She didn’t wait for my response. She slammed out the door and hailed a cab to the hospital. Dazed and numb, I followed her, driven by a horrifying sense of disbelief. Later, outside the operating room, I could hear her screams, raw and tearing, yet even in her pain, she was telling the nurses, “Save Owen! Please, just get the blood to save Owen!” In that moment, standing there with the throbbing pain in my jaw and the screams echoing in the hall, I realized the absolute, pathetic joke I was. And in that moment, I decided. I would give her what she wanted—her perfect Owen.

Chapter 1 Savannah’s “golden boy”—the one she’d always measured every other man against — He got leukemia. My wife, eight months pregnant, wanted to induce labor. Not to deliver our child, but to kill the baby and use the new baby to save him. The doctor had been clear: an eight-month induction was dangerous for her and would almost certainly be fatal for the baby. I grabbed her arm, trying to reason with her frantic panic, and she lashed out, her open palm cracking against my cheekbone. The sting was immediate and searing. “Dean Miller, are you really this self-absorbed?” Sav’s voice was a furious hiss. “Owen Shaw is dying, and you’re worried about some medical technicality! He’s the most important person in my life! I’m not going to stand by and watch him go!” She didn’t wait for my response. She slammed out the door and hailed a cab to the hospital. Dazed and numb, I followed her, driven by a horrifying sense of disbelief. Later, outside the operating room, I could hear her screams, raw and tearing, yet even in her pain, she was telling the nurses, “Save Owen! Please, just get the blood to save Owen!” In that moment, standing there with the throbbing pain in my jaw and the screams echoing in the hall, I realized the absolute, pathetic joke I was. And in that moment, I decided. I would give her what she wanted—her perfect Owen.

…… The cut on the corner of my mouth was still hot and stinging. Behind the closed door, the gut-wrenching screams of my wife, Savannah, continued, punctuated by the cold, sterile sounds of the hospital. I stood leaning against a far wall, scrolling through my phone, my fingers moving without thought. I was a ghost in the periphery, and I felt nothing. Owen and Sav’s mutual friends, a tight-knit circle I’d never quite fit into, shot me glances filled with disdain and utter contempt. Three hours later, the double doors swung open, and they wheeled Sav out. Beneath the pristine white blanket, her stomach was tragically flat. Her friends crowded around her, hands gripping hers, their voices a sympathetic chorus. “Oh, darling, you were so brave. You shouldn’t have gone through that.” “It’s a miracle! Owen has a chance now!” “Honestly, Sav, you deserve better. How could a husband be so cold? Not even here to hold your hand through something this huge.” Savannah’s lips were pressed into a thin, pale line. She hadn’t spoken. One of the women eventually shoved me forward, right up to the bedside. Savannah’s gaze met mine. Slowly, she lifted her hand and hooked her pinky around my own, giving my hand a small, familiar little swing. I knew the move. It was her signal, her soft, practiced manipulation to smooth things over. Before this morning, that tiny gesture would have had me dropping to my knees for her, begging for her forgiveness, even though I hadn’t wronged her. This time, I slowly and deliberately pulled my hand away. Her eyes widened in a fleeting flash of shock, and her brow furrowed slightly. “It was just a pregnancy, Dean,” she whispered, her voice weak but still dismissive. “Don’t be so petty. Once Owen is better, we can always have another one.” Another one? That was how casually she dismissed the life we had planned for. The image of the happy, perfect family we’d dreamed up in this very hospital—it was grotesque now. I gave a short, bitter laugh. “Congratulations. I hope you and your heart’s desire have all the children you want.” “Dean Miller! Enough with the drama! We are just friends. Do not infect our relationship with your sick, filthy mind.” Just then, Owen wheeled himself in, pale but perfectly positioned for sympathy. Ignoring the small, appreciative murmur of the crowd, I pushed the door open and walked out. “Doctor,” I asked, stopping awkwardly outside the office, my voice tight. “Could I… could I take the baby’s body? I just want to… lay my son to rest properly.” The doctor sighed, rubbing his temples. “Of course, Mr. Miller. It’s protocol. It’s just… a shame. The mother was so insistent. Otherwise, the baby had a very strong chance of surviving.” The doctor’s words were a cold, sharp blade, twisted deep in the wound. A strong chance of surviving. After arranging for the baby’s remains, I went home. The box of designer diapers I’d bought, the last little bit of shopping we’d done together, was still sitting in the corner of the living room. I hadn’t had the heart to move it. Before I could even process that, the phone rang. It was Sav’s parents. “Dean! Where are you? Get home, clean up the place, and start cooking! Your birthday is tomorrow, and the family is coming over for dinner.” “And book us a suite at the Hilton downtown. You know your cleaning is too noisy, and we can’t sleep through it.” I glanced at the clock on my phone. Two in the morning. “It’s my birthday. Why am I celebrating it at your house, cooking and cleaning for your relatives?” Sav’s father let out a cold, dismissive snort. “Don’t be ungrateful, boy. You’re a pathetic orphan, a walking jinx. We did you a favor letting Sav marry you. Hosting your birthday is a kindness. You think cooking a meal is too much to ask?” His stream of insults flowed freely, as they always did. I looked around the house. I had meticulously cleaned this place every day. The couch was draped with Sav’s favorite blanket. Her personalized coffee mug sat on the counter. This house was built with the last of my parents’ inheritance, every penny I had, all so Savannah would have the secure, beautiful home she deserved. Now, she had shattered it. “I’m divorcing Savannah,” I said, the words surprisingly steady. “You don’t need to worry about my birthday.” Silence. Then, a roar. “What? You don’t get to decide that! What kind of man are you? My daughter was carrying your child! Have you no conscience?” I laughed again, this time a sound completely hollowed out. “Just now, she got rid of that child. She did it so she could try to have a baby for another man.” “That’s impossible! My Ruoshu is a good girl! She would never!” “Go check the hospital, then.” I hung up, pulling the phone from my ear. For the first time, I blocked their number. For years, I had bent over backwards, desperate for their approval, all for Sav. I didn’t need it anymore. My gaze drifted to the pristine white crib in the nursery. I had pictured our child here a thousand times. All I could see now was the flat emptiness beneath the hospital blanket, and all I could hear was the doctor’s regret. My wife and my child, the two people I held most dear, were both gone in a single night of brutal self-destruction. I numbly packed up the baby’s things, intending to burn them. As I finished, a notification popped up. It was Owen’s social media feed. “Love truly conquers all.” The accompanying picture was a grainy shot from what looked like a hotel room. Owen was holding a woman’s hand, their fingers laced together. On her wrist, a slender diamond bracelet caught the light. I recognized it instantly. It was the bracelet I’d given Savannah for our first wedding anniversary. The comment section was filled with congratulatory messages for the couple. I tapped the like button, a final, cold acknowledgment of the end, and was about to block him when a video call came through. It was Owen. He was propped up naked against the white pillows, his neck marked with obvious hickeys. He shifted the camera slightly, and there she was: Savannah, asleep beside him, also naked, her skin bruised with fresh marks of intimacy. “Hey, Miller,” Owen drawled, his voice thick with satisfied laziness. “Man, I owe you one. I never thought you’d be cool enough to let your wife give me a shot at life. When I’m better, I’ll come thank you in person.” He paused, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, and happy birthday, brother. Hope it’s a good one!” He kept the camera trained on the naked woman beside him. “Sav’s exhausted. Can’t talk for long. Don’t want to wake her.” I cut him off, my voice shaking with a rage so cold it felt clean. “You’re disgusting, Owen. You really think being the home-wrecker gives you the moral high ground?” Owen laughed, a short, sharp sound of pure scorn. “The only one who matters is the one who’s loved, Dean. Look at her. The moment I needed her, she dropped everything—including a perfectly good husband and a child—to be here. You’ll never have that kind of hold on her.” He was right. I couldn’t compete with the phantom limb of her first love. Savannah loved him so completely she had risked her own life for a chance to save his. A sudden exhaustion crashed over me. I felt too tired to speak. Before I could hang up, Owen’s eyes suddenly went wide and red. “Owen… what’s wrong? Who hurt you?” Savannah’s frantic voice cut through the phone. Owen instantly handed the phone to her. “Sav, it’s my fault. All my fault. If I hadn’t gotten sick, you wouldn’t have had to risk so much. You should be home, setting up the nursery. You and Dean should be a happy family.” Savannah’s face, which had been full of tenderness for him, twisted into pure loathing when she looked at the phone—at me. “Dean Miller! How dare you bully him! I chose to do this for Owen! I can have a baby with anyone I want to! I married you, I didn’t sell you my rights! Stay out of my business!” I closed my eyes for a moment, then opened them, utterly calm. “You’re right,” I said quietly. “You’re absolutely right.” Taken aback by my lack of argument, Savannah sighed, her tone shifting to condescension. “Look, Dean, when Owen is better, we can try again. We can have a baby, and be a family of three, okay?” I didn’t answer. I just hung up the phone. Savannah’s life, and everything in it, was no longer my concern. She came home that evening, and Owen was with her. “Owen’s a patient, Dean. I couldn’t leave him alone.” She tossed the explanation over her shoulder like a piece of refuse. “He needs the master bedroom, and I need to be close to him. You can move into the nursery for now. You can sleep on the floor. When I get pregnant, you can have your room back.” Before I could process the insult, Owen appeared, laying a sickly, saccharine charm on thick. “Thank you, Dean. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without you two.” He walked right into the master bedroom. Moments later, my clothes, my books, and all my personal effects were unceremoniously dumped outside the door. They looked just as superfluous as I felt. Our wedding portrait, the photo of us laughing on our honeymoon, was thrown out as well. Owen emerged, feigning apology. “Sorry about that, Dean, buddy. But, you know, Sav and I are trying to conceive. Having your wedding photo on the nightstand? It’s a little… unnerving.” Savannah patted his shoulder with an expression of fierce protection. “Don’t worry, Owen. I’m right here.” They were perfectly in sync. I ignored them both, gathering my things and moving into the empty room I had painstakingly decorated for my son. Savannah dedicated herself to waiting on Owen, bringing him tea and fetching his water. Our wedding portrait lay face-up on the living room rug, and every time someone walked by, it was impossible not to step on it. A clear footprint was etched over my face. Thunk. Suddenly, my favorite coffee mug, the one Sav and I bought together, hit the floor and shattered. Owen, claiming it was an accident, smiled with wicked delight. “Whoops! My bad, Dean. I swear it was an accident. You’re not mad, are you, man?” I refused to engage. But then, he stumbled dramatically onto the shards of ceramic. A piece sliced his forearm, and blood immediately welled up. His eyes flooded with tears. “Dean, I know you hate me. I know I deserve it. Punish me however you want, just don’t hate Sav.” Savannah flew out of the bedroom. She saw the blood and instantly went ballistic. “Dean Miller! How evil are you? He’s a sick man! How could you deliberately hurt him?” She grabbed the dusty baseball bat I kept in the corner for security and swung it hard at my ribs. I crumpled, my legs going weak, my head cracking against the sharp corner of the coffee table. A torrent of warm blood streamed down my face. I lay there, shaking from pain and shock, watching the paramedics load a tearful Owen onto the gurney. Savannah never even looked at me. I was left alone, bleeding on the floor. I held back the overwhelming wave of pain and grief. I closed my eyes and slipped into a dizzying darkness. I woke to the sound of the front door opening. Savannah and Owen had returned. She saw me still lying there and rolled her eyes in disgusted irritation. Then, she kicked me hard in the stomach. “You’re disgusting! If anything had happened to Owen, I swear, I would have killed you myself!” Owen, playing the magnanimous victim, rushed over and pulled Sav away. “Sav, stop! I’m fine. Please, don’t fight. I’m sure Dean didn’t mean it.” Savannah was immediately protective. “Oh, Owen, you are too kind! That’s why people take advantage of you. It’s all Dean’s fault. He’s so thoughtless.” She looked down at me, her expression a mask of cold superiority. “Get up. Stop pretending. Go make us dinner. Owen wants rack of lamb, so make plenty.” Rack of lamb. I was violently allergic to lamb—the smell alone could send me into anaphylactic shock. I forced myself up, hunching over against the waves of crippling abdominal pain. “Why should I cook for you?” I asked, my voice a croak. “Owen fell on the shards himself. I didn’t touch him.” Savannah didn’t care about the facts. “He’s not an idiot! He wouldn’t just fall on shattered glass for no reason!” She pushed me roughly toward the kitchen. “You’re not leaving until that food is cooked. It’s because Owen is too gentle that you keep taking advantage of him. All I asked was for you to cook one meal. Don’t be difficult.” I finished the meal, my body protesting with every movement. My stomach cramped, and my skin was already breaking out in angry red hives from the fumes of the lamb. My lips were a sickly white. Savannah eyed the perfectly cooked meal, nodding in approval. Finally, she gave me a cursory glance. Her brow twitched. “Your face looks terrible. What’s wrong?” I managed to pull back before her hand touched me. Ignoring her look of annoyance, I slowly crawled back toward the nursery. I barely made it to the edge of the floor mattress before the door was flung open. Savannah marched in and yanked me off the bed with violent force, then slapped me hard across the face. “I thought you were finally learning your lesson! You went and harassed Owen the minute I went to the bathroom!” The force of the slap sent me reeling. I could taste the metallic tang of blood in my throat. Owen stood behind her, his hand covering a fresh, angry red mark on his cheek. He clutched Savannah’s arm, tearful and dramatic. “Sav, don’t blame him. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have left the room.” Savannah led him to the sofa, her face etched with profound worry. “Sit down. The ambulance is coming right now. We’re taking you to the ER.” She turned back to me, her eyes alight with fury. “I am not letting you get away with this. You have put him in the hospital twice today!” She left with Owen in the ambulance, never noticing the dark stain of my own blood spreading on the floor. My phone had been kicked clear across the room. I didn’t have the strength to crawl to it. Messages were flooding my screen. Savannah, too enraged to wait, was sending me a flurry of hate-filled texts. My vision was swimming. With the last of my failing strength, I reached the phone and dialed the first number in my emergency contacts. It rang and rang. Finally, a weary, irritable voice answered. It was Savannah. “Dean, what do you want? I’m with Owen. You hit him so hard his lip is bleeding. You are a truly malicious person, and I will never forgive you.” I couldn’t argue. I just needed help. “You’re right. It’s all my fault. Could you just…” The line went dead. She had hung up. I couldn’t hold on any longer. I fell down on the floor.