My Mil Called Me A “fruitless Tree” And Forced A Divorce. My Ceo Husband Handed Me $5m And Kicked Me Out In The Rain. Little Do They Know, I’m Carrying His Twins. Should I Disappear Forever?

A Deadly Trap

Sophia sat in a dark room in the mansion, surrounded by empty wine bottles. From being on the verge of reaching the top, she had now lost everything. Contracts canceled, insulted on social media, James ignored her, and the newly arrived grandfather had forbidden her from entering the family home.

All because of me. Because of the pregnancy. In her drunken despair, a dark idea sprouted in her mind. She remembered an old classmate, now the head nurse at the private clinic where I used to have my checkups—a place I trusted for its good service and discretion. But that trust became a fatal vulnerability.

Sophia picked up the phone. Her hoarse voice promised a huge sum of money to bribe her friend and carry out a ruthless act.

The next day I went to the clinic for my scheduled appointment. Everything went as normal. The doctor examined me, did an ultrasound, and prescribed iron and calcium supplements. I picked up the medicine from the pharmacy without suspecting a thing.

I didn’t know that in a moment of staff carelessness, the contents of my prenatal vitamin bottle had been switched. The pink pills had been replaced with a medication that caused strong uterine contractions, normally used to expel lochia after childbirth or to induce labor itself.

When I got home, I poured a glass of water and took the pill. The pill slid down my throat, carrying with it the cruel fate of my children and me.

I continued folding baby clothes, humming happily imagining the day my two little angels would be born. I had no idea that death was knocking at my door.

Sophia, hidden in a corner of the building’s lobby, watched my apartment window. A savage smile played on her lips as she murmured, “Eleanor, you’re very clever, but let’s see what you have left to fight me with. Without those two bastards, you’ve won the hearts of the people, but I’ll win with my tricks. In this game, the cruelest one wins.”

About 2 hours later, as I was getting ready for bed, a sharp sudden pain shot through my lower abdomen. At first it was dull, but it quickly became intense, twisting me in spasms. A cold sweat soaked my forehead.

I hugged my belly trying to breathe deeply but the pain didn’t subside; instead it became more frequent. A warm liquid ran down my legs sending me into a panic. I looked down. My white nightgown was stained red. Blood. A lot of blood.

“My children!” I screamed in despair, trying to reach the phone that had fallen to the floor. The screen was blurry through my tears. I quickly dialed the last number not knowing who it was, just seeking help with my last breath. “Help… my children…”

On the other end of the line was James’s alarmed voice, but my ears were already ringing. Darkness began to swallow everything. Only the heart-wrenching pain torturing my body remained. I curled up on the cold floor still clutching the phone as if it were my last lifesaver in a stormy sea. The blood kept flowing. It soaked the soft wool carpet. The dark red spread like cursed flowers in the night.

In that fragile moment between life and death, I didn’t think about money or hatred or the cruel words of the world. In my head only the cries of two children who hadn’t had time to be born echoed, the tender call of “Mommy” that I had dreamed of every night.

I later learned that this fateful call reached James just as he was in the middle of the most tense board meeting. When the phone rang, shattering the suffocating atmosphere, James almost hung up thinking it was me calling to argue or negotiate. But a father’s instinct, or an invisible blood tie, stopped him. He answered, and my faint broken cry for help made the cold man’s heart stop.

James later said he had never felt so much fear in his life. Not fear of losing honor or fortune, but the fear of forever losing a part of his own flesh.

James rushed out of the boardroom like a madman, leaving behind the astonished gazes of the veteran shareholders. He ran to the underground parking garage. His hands trembled so much that he dropped the keys twice before he could open the door. The car shot out into the pouring rain, running every red light, weaving through the dense city traffic.

As he drove, he shouted into the phone trying to keep me conscious, but he only got a terrifying silence and the sound of my increasingly faint breathing. He called an ambulance, his assistant, even his grandfather, mobilizing all his contacts to clear the way to the hospital as quickly as possible.

When James broke down my apartment door, the scene he found became a nightmare that would haunt him for the rest of his life. I lay motionless in a pool of blood, my face pale and colorless, my lips purple and tight. James ran and lifted me into his arms. His expensive suit was stained with my blood and that of my children. He ran as if racing against death, tears mixed with the salty rain on his lips.

He whispered in my ear, his voice broken with panic, “Eleanor, don’t fall asleep! I’m begging you, don’t fall asleep. Your children are waiting for you, I’m waiting for you. You can’t give up!”

In the ambulance, the siren wailed, tearing through the silent night. The nurses surrounded me, injecting medicine, starting an IV, constantly announcing my free-falling vital signs. James squeezed my icy hand, rubbing it incessantly to bring back some warmth. He watched the heart monitor, the faint green waves pulsing, and for the first time this arrogant man prayed. He prayed to God, to his ancestors, to any force that could save our lives.

In my delirium, I felt like I was floating in a frozen river, the cold seeping into my bones. But then a warm hand grabbed me, pulling me back, preventing the current from dragging me away. I heard James’s voice, a desperate and pained voice, so different from his usual authoritarian tone. That voice was like an anchor that kept my soul tied to this world, reminding me that I couldn’t die. I had to live to protect my children. I had to live to see tomorrow.

The ambulance screeched to a halt in front of the hospital entrance. Doctors were already waiting with a gurney. They rushed me inside. The ceiling lights passed like shooting stars. The emergency room doors slammed shut, leaving James outside.

In that instant, the line between life and death was as thin as a hair, and the fate of my children and me was entirely in the hands of the doctors and a miracle.

The Impossible Choice

The hospital corridor smelled intensely of disinfectant, that characteristic scent where life and death intertwine, causing nausea and fear. James was leaning against the wall with his head in his hands, trembling uncontrollably. His white shirt was stained with dried hardened blood. He looked more pathetic and desperate than ever.

The grandfather and the assistant had also arrived. The old man sat in the waiting room leaning on his cane, his eyes closed, muttering prayers. No one dared to say anything. The atmosphere was as heavy as if a thousand-pound slab was pressing on everyone’s chest.

The emergency room doors burst open. A doctor came out, pulling down his mask to reveal a tense sweaty face. James rushed to him and grabbed his arm, his voice broke. “My wife… my children… how are they, doctor?”

The doctor looked at him seriously. “The situation is critical. The patient has been poisoned with a high dose of a medication that causes uterine contractions, which has led to a placental abruption and massive hemorrhaging. The uterus is contracting violently and the heart rates of both babies are weakening rapidly. We need to perform an emergency C-section. If we delay, we could lose all of them.”

The words fell on James like a thunderbolt. His legs gave way. “Poisoned…” he murmured, not understanding why I would have taken such a lethal drug. But it was not the time to look for culprits.

The doctor handed him a surgical consent form, his voice was urgent. “You need to sign this right now. But I must warn you, due to the massive blood loss and the side effects of the medication, the operation is very high risk. In the worst-case scenario, if there are complications, we will be forced to prioritize saving one over the other. The family must be prepared.”

The doctor’s unfinished sentence was like a knife to James’s heart. He took the pen. His hands trembled so much he could barely write his name. Save one over the other? How could he choose? On one side, the wife he had just realized he owed so much to. On the other, the two unborn children he so longed for. This cruel choice was the most severe punishment for his indifference and arrogance.

As I lay on the operating table, the anesthesia began to take effect. My consciousness faded like a flame in the wind. In my half-sleep, I heard a heated argument outside the door. I heard the doctor’s urgent voice and then James’s cry which pierced the thick walls and echoed in my mind. “Save the mother! Do you hear me, doctor? You have to save her at all costs. If you have to choose, I choose my wife. I don’t want the children if she dies. Do you understand?”

Those words resonated in my head, clear and painful. Tears welled up in my eyes and rolled down my cold temples. I had always thought James only cared about the pregnancy, the heir. I had always thought he sought me out only for these two children. But in that moment of life and death, faced with the cruelest choice, he had chosen me. He had chosen the woman he once abandoned over the children his whole family awaited.

James signed the consent form. His handwriting was a scrawl of desperation. He rested his head on his grandfather’s shoulder and cried like a child. The grandfather patted his back. His old eyes were also red. He understood his grandson had matured, but the price of that maturity was too high.

James stood there watching as the operating room door closed again. The red light of the surgery switched on like the color of blood. He whispered into the void, “Eleanor, you have to live. Hate me if you want, don’t forgive me if you want, but you have to live. I was wrong. I was so, so wrong.”

Inside the operating room, doctors and nurses raced against time. The metallic sound of instruments, the rapid beeping of monitors, the short precise orders from the surgeon. I gradually sank into an infinite darkness, taking James’s late confession with me as a final faint ray of light that warmed my long frozen heart.

Time passed, each second, each minute slow and heavy as if someone had tied lead to the hands of the clock. Outside in the hallway, James paced back and forth until he wore down the tiles, his eyes fixed on the red surgery light. Every time the door creaked open, his heart would seize fearing bad news. The grandfather seated, fingered the beads of a rosary, praying ceaselessly.

The space was plunged into a terrifying silence broken only by the sound of nervous footsteps and heavy sighs. Inside the operating room, the battle for life was fierce. My blood continued to flow. My blood pressure dropped to alarming levels. The doctors transfused blood continuously, performing the C-section while trying to stop the uterine hemorrhage. There were moments when my heart flatlined on the monitor, leaving the entire team breathless.

But then, thanks to the superhuman effort of the doctors and a mother’s fierce will to live, I managed to pull back from the brink of death.