My Husband Killed My Eight Children For My Best Friend Chapter 01
Three hours before my wedding was supposed to start, my fiancé Ethan ran off with my best friend Sophie to file for a marriage license.
I stood alone in the reception hall in my wedding dress, listening to the guests whisper about me.
At the height of my humiliation, Ethan’s uncle Adrian arrived with a full motorcade, filled the hall with red roses, and announced in front of everyone that he had loved me in secret for years, that marrying me was the stuff of his dreams.
I nodded and said yes.
Three years into the marriage, I had miscarried seven times.
Then, when I had finally conceived again, I stopped outside the study door and overheard him talking to his private physician.
“Mr. Blackwood, same as the last seven times. The abortifacient’s been mixed into your wife’s milk.”
“I don’t understand. Why let Sophie carry your child instead of your own wife?”
Adrian gave a low laugh. His voice was cold.
“The Blackwood family charter is clear. Whoever produces an heir first takes priority in running the group. Ethan can’t father a child. Once Sophie delivers mine, Emily can have as many babies as she wants.”
So those seven children I had lost — none of it had been an accident.
He had killed every one of them himself.
……
The doctor was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke again.
“By doing this, you’re not just walking away from the chance to be the next CEO of Blackwood Group. You’re giving up seven children of your own.”
“You’ve had me falsifying Ethan’s medical reports for years. He still doesn’t know he’s infertile. And once Sophie’s baby is born, that child will never call you father. Is any of this really worth it?”
Adrian’s voice sounded calm — gentle, even.
“So what? I couldn’t marry Sophie back then. At the very least, I can make sure she has a good life now. No one gets to stand in her way. Not even a child of mine and Emily’s.”
Emily.
That was my name.
He said it so lightly. As if I, and the children I had carried, were nothing more than an inconvenience to be swept away.
The doctor hesitated.
“But Mrs. Blackwood has miscarried seven times already. One more, and I’m afraid she may never be able to conceive again.”
Adrian was quiet for a long time.
Then he said, “That’s fine. I’ll take care of her for the rest of her life anyway.”
I couldn’t listen to another word.
Before he could find me there, I turned and ran back to the bedroom. I sank to the floor. My whole body was cold.
I had always believed my body was the problem — that was why I couldn’t keep our babies.
I had carried that guilt for years. I thought I was dragging Adrian down.
He loved me so much, and I couldn’t even give him one child.
But the truth was, he had never intended for me to give him one.
There was a cruel clause in the Blackwood family trust. Adrian’s father had laid it out long ago: whether it was Adrian himself or his nephew Ethan, whoever produced a legitimate heir first would take control of the group.
Ethan was infertile.
The baby in Sophie’s belly was Adrian’s.
That was why Adrian had let me get pregnant, over and over — and killed every child, over and over.
He had refused to use any form of contraception, so I would never suspect a thing. He let my body be torn apart, again and again. He let me wake up on an operating table, again and again. He let me believe every loss was my fault.
To him, my body and my dead children had only ever been obstacles standing between Sophie and the life he wanted her to have.
The bedroom door opened.
Adrian walked in.
The moment he saw me on the floor, he crossed the room in a few quick strides and helped me up.
“Emily, why are you sitting on the floor?”
His eyes were still full of concern.
I looked at him. My throat closed up.
“It’s nothing. Just a bit of morning sickness.”
He guided me to the edge of the bed and patted my back softly.
“You’ve been through so much,” he said. “Next time you feel unwell, just call me. Don’t try to bear it alone. It hurts me to see you like this.”
He rested a hand on my belly. His voice turned tender.
“When this one’s born, I’m going to have a serious talk with him. Making his mother suffer before he’s even out.”
Then he turned and picked up a glass of warm milk from the nightstand.
“Here. Drink this. The doctor says it helps with sleep.”
I looked at the glass. My chest ached.
Every time before a miscarriage, it had been like this.
Sometimes he’d fix me a late-night snack himself. Sometimes a fruit dessert I loved. Sometimes just a glass of warm milk.
I had thought it was love.
It had only ever been the mask he wore before the knife came down.
I said quietly, “Adrian, I don’t like the taste of milk. Can I skip it?”
He gave a small laugh — gentle, but leaving no room for refusal.
“Don’t be difficult. The doctor says whatever you don’t want is usually what your body needs most.”
“If you don’t sleep well, the baby won’t either. Isn’t he the most precious thing in the world to you? Come on. For our baby. I’ll feed you.”
He pressed the rim of the glass to my lips.
There was nowhere left to go.
Adrian, are you really that afraid our child will get in Sophie’s way?
Or is it that only Sophie is allowed to bear your children?
I closed my eyes and drank it down.
Less than half an hour later, the drug took hold.
My abdomen felt like it was being torn open. I curled up on the bed, drenched in cold sweat, my nightgown soaked through.
Adrian had barely finished his call to the private doctor before the man walked in.
I had been through it seven times. And still, losing this one hurt so badly I could hardly breathe.
Somewhere in the fog of consciousness, I heard the doctor say, “Mr. Blackwood, she’s bleeding worse than any of the previous times. Her body may be beyond repair. There’s very little chance she’ll ever conceive again.”
Adrian didn’t answer.
His eyes were red. He gathered me into his arms.
“Emily, it’s alright,” he said. “Even without a child, I still love you. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.”
He cleaned the blood off me with his own hands. Afraid I might get cold, he held me tightly as I slept.
If I hadn’t overheard him earlier, I might even have been moved.
Late that night, after he fell asleep, he murmured something in his dreams.
“Sophie. Don’t be afraid. I’ll make sure you’re happy.”
I had held back my tears all night. That was the moment they finally fell.
At our wedding, he had also promised he would make me happy.
So that had been a lie, too.
He had only ever wanted me quiet, tucked away beside him, out of Sophie’s way.
My marriage had been a fraud from beginning to end.
I picked up my phone and texted my friend Mia, who was living abroad.
You said last time you wanted me to come traveling with you. I’ve made up my mind. I’m flying to France the day after tomorrow.
I put the phone down.
My abdomen still ached.
I had just lost another child.
And that child had been killed by his own father.