Chapter 4

Post-C-section recovery was a special kind of hell.

Every time I turned, coughed, or even took a deep breath, my incision pulled, sending excruciating pain through my body.

On the first day, the nurse insisted I get out of bed to walk to prevent blood clots.

Holding onto the bed rail, I used every ounce of my strength just to stand up.

Every tiny step felt like walking on broken glass. Cold sweat soaked my hospital gown, and my vision went black.

Julian sat on the sofa nearby, watching my pathetic struggle with a faint, mocking smirk on his lips.

"Are you serious? Chloe was walking around yesterday afternoon. You're just being dramatic."

Chloe chimed in from her bed.

"Yeah, Evelyn. Julian is right. Look at me! I only scraped my knee, and now I can practically jog! A C-section is just a tiny cut on your stomach. Why are you acting like you're made of glass?"

I shook with anger, but I didn't even have the breath to fire back.

One of them had a scratch, and the other had literally crossed the gates of death. How could they even compare the two?

What broke my heart even more was that since the baby was born, Julian hadn't held him once. He hadn't asked if I was okay, and his eyes only held disgust whenever he looked at me.

His gaze always avoided my midsection, as if there was something filthy there.

That night, the baby started crying from hunger.

Dragging my battered body, I clumsily tried to breastfeed him.

Annoyed by the crying, Julian stood up, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door.

"This is so annoying! Evelyn, can't you quiet your son down? I have an important meeting tomorrow and I need my sleep!"

He slammed the door behind him, leaving me in the silence of the room with a crying baby.

My tears finally fell, dripping onto my baby's blanket.

Aside from the incision pain, my body felt incredibly off.

I kept running a low-grade fever, my temperature hovering between 99.5 and 100.5 degrees.

Deep inside my abdomen, there was a constant, dull, heavy throbbing that felt entirely different from the sharp pain of the cut.

I told Derek about it during his morning rounds. He gave my stomach a lazy press and immediately dismissed it.

"It's normal. A low-grade fever after a C-section is common, and the pain is just your uterus contracting. You'll be fine in a few days."

His face was filled with impatience, as if I were wasting his precious time.

"Evelyn, you used to be so tough. Why did you become so hysterical after having a baby?"

His words left me speechless.

Yes, I used to be tough.

The old Evelyn was strong and independent. She never complained about pain.

But now, I was a patient who had just barely survived childbirth. I was physically and emotionally exhausted.

I just wanted a little bit of care and comfort. Was that really a crime?

Over the next few days, my condition only worsened.

The fever wouldn't break, and the deep, throbbing pain in my abdomen grew so intense that I lost my appetite completely.

I threw up everything I ate, and I was losing weight rapidly.

Because I wasn't eating, my milk dried up, and my baby cried from hunger.

Julian hated the noise, so he stopped coming to the hospital altogether.

Only Chloe remained, dressed up beautifully every day, mocking me.

"Look at you, Evelyn. You're pale, skinny, and you have that ugly scar on your stomach. You look like an old hag. Julian cares so much about looks. Do you really think he'll ever touch you again?"

"Oh, by the way, I saw Julian out having dinner with a gorgeous young model yesterday. They looked *very* close."

"And Derek is so sweet. He actually let an intern do your surgery just so he could take care of me. It's amazing what he'll do for me."

Every word she said chipped away at my heart until there was nothing left but ice.

I stopped sleeping. The pain from the incision and the throbbing in my gut kept me awake, torturing me night after night.

A ridiculous, terrifying thought began to form in my mind.

Was there something left inside me that shouldn't be there?

That night, the pain was so unbearable that I tossed and turned.

While adjusting my position, my hand brushed against the left side of my lower abdomen. I felt a hard, slightly movable lump.

That was definitely not my uterus contracting.

A wave of dread washed over me.

I struggled out of bed, ignored the nurse's protests, and called an Uber to take me to another hospital.

I could no longer trust Derek, Julian, or anyone associated with the Sterling family.

***

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