Part 2My Stepson Caused My Miscarriage, So I Chose Divorce

When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The heavy, warm weight in my abdomen was gone.

"Clair, you are awake..."

Garrett, who had been sitting by my bedside, gripped my hand. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw covered in dark stubble, looking as though he had aged a decade overnight.

"I am so sorry... it is my fault. I didn't protect you." He pressed his face against my palm, his warm tears wetting my skin.

Watching his display of grief, I felt nothing but a dull absurdity. I stared at the ceiling, my mind drifting back to three years ago, shortly after we married.

We were happy then. Danny had been living with his grandparents in the country, quiet and isolated. It was my own sympathy that drove me to suggest bringing him to live with us.

"Let us bring him home," I had told Garrett back then, wrapping my arms around his neck. "A child needs his father. I will treat him as my own."

Garrett had been deeply moved, holding me close and telling me how lucky he was to have me in his life.

I had naively believed that kindness could change a person. Instead, my misplaced sympathy had brought a natural-born monster into our home, a child who would systematically destroy three of my pregnancies.

"Garrett," I said, my voice dry and hollow. "When Danny pushed me, he stood at the top of the landing, waiting until I reached the exact step before he moved. He wasn't scared. He was smiling."

Garrett stiffened, his shoulders shaking. He buried his face in his hands, running his fingers through his hair as if trying to block out a truth he could not accept.

"Clair, I know you are angry... I am devastated about our baby too! That was my flesh and blood!" He looked up, his expression torn between grief and denial. "But the therapist said Danny is experiencing a severe stress response! He lost his mother at a young age, and he is deeply insecure. He is just afraid that a new baby will take away our love. He didn't mean to do it. He is only eight!"

"Does insecurity excuse murder?" I asked, my voice flat.

Garrett flinched at my tone. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice desperate. "He is still a child. He doesn't understand. We are still young, Clair. We can have other children. Please, don't blame Danny. He had nightmares all night, crying and saying he was sorry. He is terrified too..."

Looking at him, the last trace of warmth in my heart died. To Garrett, the lives of my three unborn children did not equal the weight of his son's insecurity.

I closed my eyes, pulling my hand from his grip. "Garrett, since you care about him so much, I will leave this house to him."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Panic flickered in Garrett's eyes. He tried to reach for me, but I pulled away, my cold expression silencing him.

Over the next two days, I refused to speak to him, refused to eat, and instructed my lawyer to send the divorce papers directly to the ward.