The Cake, The Collar, And My Dead Baby Novel – On our tenth wedding anniversary, I bit into the cake my husband had made and found a lace choker inside. Furious, I confronted him, but in the heat of the argument, I went into premature labor. I spent three grueling days in the delivery room before finally giving birth to a child no bigger than a kitten. But the day after the birth, James Carter suddenly took the baby. “Laura, Serena’s child has a sudden medical emergency. I just need a bit of the newborn’s stem cells.
I’ll return our child afterward!” Ignoring my post-delivery weakness, I tried to snatch my baby back, only to be pushed down by a security guard. A long streak of blood marked the corridor behind me. Later, the baby was gone. James knelt before me, tears streaming, insisting he hadn’t meant it, that both the doctor and Serena had deceived him. He transferred all his assets to my name and cut off all contact with Serena Evans. I said nothing. I simply wiped my daughter’s tombstone day after day.
A year later, on our anniversary, he dressed in the suit we had first met in and, holding a ring, proposed just like he had back then. I didn’t respond. I just clutched the keepsake locket I never sent to my child. James completely lost his temper. He stood, throwing the flowers and diamond ring to the floor. “Laura, enough! I’ve been trying to please you for a whole year, and you treat me like I’m nothing, completely indifferent!” “What do you want from me? Do you want me to tear my heart out for you to be satisfied?” Then I laughed unexpectedly, “Tired, huh? I made some soup, want a taste?” — After he slammed the door, the living room was left in chaos.
I calmly walked to the kitchen, poured the soup down the sink, and let the steam blur my vision. It wasn’t the right time yet. My phone buzzed. It was my friend Vivian Foster. “Laura! I saw James at Midnight Bar! Serena was there too, wearing a white dress almost identical to the one you wore at your wedding!” I hummed. “Just that reaction?” Vivian’s voice shook with anger. “She did that on purpose! I’ll send you the photos!” The photos arrived quickly.
Under the dim bar lights, Serena linked arms with James, her smile radiant. James’s face was angled, expression unreadable. I exited the chat and refreshed my social feed. The first post was Serena’s photo with the caption: [Thanks to someone letting go. We will be happy.] I calmly liked it. At three in the morning, the turn of a door lock woke me. James stumbled in, drunk, reeking of alcohol mixed with the faint scent of Serena’s perfume.
He froze when he saw me. “You liked her post?” he grabbed my wrist with excruciating force. “Laura, you can’t wait for me to leave, can you?” I pulled away and went to the kitchen to warm some milk. He followed, voice hoarse, “A year! I knelt before you, transferred everything to you, cut ties with Serena!” “What more do you want? That child… I was devastated too!” The microwave dinged. I took out the warm milk. “Stop talking.” I said calmly. His eyes reddened as he stared at me. “Would you only be satisfied if I were dead?” I held the cup, voice steady. “Live well.” His phone buzzed, “Serena” flashing on the screen.
After three ignored calls, he finally answered. Serena’s voice trembled with tears, “James, Noah has a fever… he keeps calling for you… can you come?” James rubbed his forehead. “Call a doctor.” “The doctor is here, but he won’t stop crying…” she sobbed. “Please, just see him for a moment…” James glanced at me, then barked into the phone, “Get lost! Don’t bother me!” and hung up hard. Silence returned to the room. I put down the half-drunk milk. “Go,” I said. He looked up sharply. “What did you say?” “Her child needs you. A 102-degree fever, don’t waste any time.” He grabbed my shoulder, fingers tight. “Say it again, Laura.” “I said, go take care of her and her child.” He released me and stepped back, then smiled suddenly. “Fine, as you said.” He pointed at the door, “This time, you’re letting me go. I’m leaving.
Don’t regret it.” The door slammed, shaking the house again. I walked to the window and watched his taillights disappear around the corner. Back in the living room, I retrieved the small pink diamond he had thrown, icy cold in my palm. I entered my daughter’s room. The small bed was empty. From under the pillow, I took out her framed photo. She was just a tiny baby, eyes closed as if sleeping. “Mom didn’t cry today. Mom didn’t make a fuss.” The sky brightened outside.
I curled up by the bed, holding the photo, listening to the dripping faucet. My phone vibrated. Vivian texted: [He went to that bitch again?] I replied: [Yes, I’m sleeping.] Lying on the bed, I stared at the crack in the ceiling, formed during last year’s earthquake. James had promised to fix it, then forgot. Under my pillow, something pressed into my hand, the keepsake locket, silver, engraved with “Health & Safety.” When I bought it, the store clerk asked what to engrave. James, distracted by Serena’s call, said, “Anything.” The lock was bought. The child was gone. I clenched the locket. Its edges cut into my palm. Good. Pain is a memory. I have to remember every day of this past year, each breath sharp as shattered glass, and what James said today.