After My Miscarriage, He Harvested My Womb for His Mistress

"I paid for your schooling, supported your whole family, and this is how you repay me?" Derek's face darkened, like I'd hit a nerve. "Shut up! That was all your one-sided delusion—you patting yourself on the back!" "If you hadn't clung to me like a leech, Serena and I would've been married years ago!" "You're dead weight. Other than cooking and laundry, what can you even do?" "Serena's different. She's a Pruitt—she can actually advance my career." "Giving her your uterus is the most useful thing you'll ever do." The door swung open. A nurse wheeled in a medication cart. One look at the tension in the room and she froze, too scared to speak. Derek's expression smoothed into that polished, professional mask. "Change the dressing for Bed 3 and prep the skin. First surgery tomorrow morning." The nurse hesitated. "Dr. Gilbert, Bed 3 just had a uterine evacuation. Her vitals—" "Do what I said." His voice cracked like a whip. She flinched and nodded quickly. Right there, with her watching, Derek flipped my blanket open. No warning. No respect. Like he was inspecting a slab of meat. "Recovery looks fine. Won't affect the retrieval." Retrieval. Like I was a package. The humiliation hit so hard I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Because I'd spotted the wheelchair parked in the doorway. A woman sat in it, smiling right at me. Serena Pruitt. I'd only ever seen her photo—tucked in the hidden fold of Derek's wallet. An old picture from years ago. The girl in it looked so innocent, like a delicate white flower. The Serena in front of me wore a hospital gown. Even sitting in a wheelchair, her complexion was rosy. She looked healthier than me—the one who'd just miscarried. The second Derek saw her, his whole demeanor melted into something sickeningly tender. "Serena, why are you here? There are germs everywhere—you might get infected." She extended her hand delicately, letting him support her. "Derek, I'm worried about my sister." "She just lost her baby. She must be devastated. I had to see her." He wheeled her to my bedside. The scent hit me first—expensive perfume. The same one Derek bought last week. With my card. Serena took my hand, and the tears came on cue. "Sister, I'm so sorry. It's all my fault. My body just isn't strong enough." "I want so badly to have Derek's baby." "Since you can't carry one anymore… lend me your womb. You won't be using it anyway." Lend? You can lend something like that? I stared at her fake, pitiful face, and my stomach turned. "Get out. Don't touch me." I wrenched my hand free with everything I had. Serena went with it—Loss of balance, dramatic stumble, whole body crashing to the floor. "Ow! It hurts!" "Serena!" Derek lunged for her, scooped her up, then spun around and backhanded me across the face. Crack. The slap was vicious. My freshly sutured abdomen seized. My vision went black. "Alex! You vicious bitch! Serena came to see you out of kindness, and you shoved her?" I cupped my cheek, ears ringing. "She's faking it… Derek, are you blind? She's not sick at all!" When I pulled away, I barely used any force. And her pulse had been strong. Her palm warm. Nothing about her screamed "congenital illness." I studied medicine. I know what sick looks like. Derek didn't hear a word. He was too busy settling Serena gently back into the wheelchair. "If anything happens to her—I'll make you pay with your life."

Serena curled into Derek's arms, tears streaming. "Derek, don't blame her. She's probably just jealous." A delicate pause. "After all, I'm the one you're marrying. She was always just... temporary." Derek wiped her cheeks, his voice dripping with tenderness. "Temporary? She's the help." Then he pulled out his phone. Right in front of me. Dialed my father's attending physician. Speakerphone on. "This is Dr. Gilbert. Cut Old Mr. Fox's ventilator for thirty minutes." Silence. Then the doctor's voice, strained: "Dr. Gilbert, that's... he can't survive without it. Thirty minutes will kill him." Derek's eyes locked onto mine. His lips curled. "Do it. If anything happens, I'll take responsibility." A beat. "Or just say the family requested it." He hung up. Less than a minute later, the ICU monitors screamed down the hallway. The sound of death counting down. "No! You monster!" I collapsed. The pain in my abdomen meant nothing. I knelt on the bed, forehead hitting the mattress, again and again. "Please—don't touch my dad. I'll sign. I'll sign anything." "Whatever you want. Just don't stop his oxygen." Dignity? When your father's life hangs by a thread, dignity is worthless. Derek smiled, satisfied. He made another call. Oxygen restored. Then he leaned down and patted my face. Like praising an obedient dog. "See? If you'd cooperated earlier, we could've skipped all this." "Tomorrow. Eight a.m. Operating room." His voice dropped. "Clean yourself up. I don't like dirty things." Serena giggled behind her hand. "How sensible of you, sister. Thank you for being so generous." They left. I stayed in the darkness, alone, listening to my father's faint heartbeat echoing from down the hall. Something inside me died that night. I lay awake until dawn, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Five years rewound like a film reel. Buying the cheapest pads so I could afford his textbooks. Treating his entire lab to dinner when he published his first paper—more excited than he was. His promise: "Alex, when I'm a famous doctor, the first thing I'll do is cure Dad." All of it. A lie. From the very beginning, I was just a cost he'd calculated and accepted. Six a.m. Morning rounds. Derek swept in with a flock of interns. Crisp white coat, gold-rimmed glasses catching the light. No trace of last night's cruelty. "Alright, everyone. Today we discuss a special case." He gestured toward me. Like pointing at an object. "Patient Fox. Uterine malformation causing recurrent miscarriages. She has expressed a strong desire to donate." "We'll perform a high-difficulty partial uterine transplant. The recipient is a young woman with congenital uterine underdevelopment." Pens flew across notebooks. Someone murmured, "A living donor transplant? Has this cleared ethics review?" Derek's gaze flicked to them, cold. "Family signatures are complete. The patient herself strongly wishes to atone—" He caught himself. "—to contribute." The slip was deliberate. Whispers rippled through the group. Their eyes landed on me. Curiosity. Pity. Contempt. Like I was a medical specimen. Meat on a slab, waiting for the knife. My nails dug into the sheets until they broke skin. "You're lying!"

I shouted, voice cracked and raw. "I don't agree! You forced me! You're going to kill my dad!" Dead silence swallowed the room. The interns exchanged glances, pens frozen mid-air. Derek's expression didn't waver. If anything, he looked almost pitiful—like he'd seen this before, like he'd been dreading it. He pulled a sheet of paper from my chart. "After the patient's miscarriage, she developed severe delusional disorder. Emotionally unstable. Aggressive." He held up the forged report for everyone to see. "She's convinced someone is trying to harm her father. In reality, he's been brain-dead for some time. We've simply been maintaining him." The room's sympathy pivoted like a knife. "So she's crazy. That explains it." "Poor Dr. Gilbert—having to manage a wife like that." "She doesn't even know she lost the baby." I opened my mouth to argue, but the words dissolved before they reached my tongue. In this world of white coats and medical authority, I was the crazy one. Derek waved his hand. "The patient is agitated. Administer a sedative." Two orderlies rushed forward and pinned me down, one on each side. An icy needle pierced my neck. "Let go of me… Derek… you'll rot in hell for this…" The drug hit fast. My vision smeared. My tongue went thick and useless. Through the haze, I saw Serena standing in the doorway. Not in a wheelchair. Standing perfectly straight on two healthy legs. She mouthed one word at me: Idiot. Then, once the interns filed out, she slipped inside. She pinched my IV tube with her manicured nails, crimping it flat. "Alex, here's a secret." Her whisper slithered against my ear. "I'm not sick at all. My uterus is perfectly fine. I just don't want to ruin my body—the pain, the stretch marks." Her lips curled. "Derek said your uterus is in perfect condition. Just right for me. He also said you reek of kitchen grease, and you've disgusted him for years." She leaned closer. "I'm his muse. You were just the placeholder." My body was dead weight. I couldn't move. But I didn't close my eyes. I bit through the tip of my tongue. The searing pain kept me anchored, kept one last thread of clarity intact. Blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. Serena Pruitt. Derek Gilbert. As long as I'm breathing, I will peel the skin from your bones. I will pay you back a thousand times over. The sedative dose wasn't enough. Or maybe hatred had made me resistant. During the nurses' shift change, I yanked out the needle. Blood droplets splattered across the floor like red plum blossoms. I stole an intern's white coat, pulled on a mask, and stumbled out of the room. I was taking my father. Even if he died on the way, I wouldn't leave him in their hands. His ICU was upstairs. I braced myself against the wall, dragging forward inch by inch. Every step felt like knives churning in my lower body. Finally, I reached the familiar door. My hand touched the knob—and I heard voices inside. "Derek, do we really have to keep this old thing around?" Serena's voice. "The ventilator noise is giving me a headache." Then Derek, cold as ice. "He was useful for keeping Alex in line. But since we're doing the surgery anyway, he's served his purpose." A pause. "Besides, his pension barely covers a bedside aide." All the blood in my body froze. I pushed the door open and saw a scene that made my eyes split with rage. Derek's hand rested on my dad's oxygen tube. He yanked it out. "Beep—" The monitor let out a piercing, long alarm. The green wave line that represented life instantly stretched into a flat line. "Dad!!" I let out a shrill wail and charged over like I'd gone crazy, shoving Derek aside, fumbling in a panic as I tried to plug the oxygen tube back in. "Dad! Breathe! Don't scare me! It's me, Alex! I'm here to take you home!" But my dad's hand hung off the side of the bed, icy to the bone. Those big hands that once held mine as I learned to walk would never move again. I'd shoved Derek so hard he staggered a step. He straightened his tie. "Alex? You actually managed to get out?" Not the slightest panic after killing someone. Instead, his face was full of disgust. "I was going to let him go with some dignity. It's because you ran around like that, you stressed your dad to death." Serena covered her nose beside him, putting on a fake show. "Oh my, th-this is karma, isn't it. Who told you not to save me? Even God couldn't stand it anymore." I held my dad's body as it gradually stiffened. I didn't cry. My tears had dried up a long time ago. I suddenly laughed. Laughed until my whole body shook, laughed until tears came out, laughed until blood came out. "Hahahaha…" That laughter sounded especially creepy in the deathly silent hospital room. Derek frowned. "Are you done being crazy?" Security rushed in, wanting to take me away. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and slowly stood up. My eyes were hollow like a dried-up well, staring dead at those two people. "Derek. I agree to the surgery."