My name is Jennifer. For seven years, my life had been a portrait of quiet, domestic happiness. I married Mark, a man whose kindness seemed as boundless as his ambition. He worked as a sales manager at a pharmaceutical company, a job that kept him busy, but he was a husband who always put our family first. Our five-year-old daughter, Lily, a bright and cheerful child with my eyes and Mark’s smile, was our treasure.

Now, at eight months pregnant, I was carrying a baby boy. Lily was so excited about having a little brother that she would press her cheek to my belly every night and whisper secrets to him. I used to work as a nurse, a demanding but fulfilling career, but after Lily was born, I became a stay-at-home mom. I never regretted this choice. The time spent with my loving family was the most precious thing to me.

On weekends, Mark always made time for us. We would go on picnics in the park, see movies, and do anything that made Lily happy. He would carry Lily on his shoulders while walking, his laughter echoing through the trees, and he always looked after me. He’d been especially gentle since my belly grew bigger with this pregnancy, refusing to let me carry anything heavier than a handbag.

However, since around the fifth month of my pregnancy, my health had taken a downturn. I frequently felt dizzy and was plagued by a persistent nausea that went beyond typical morning sickness. Sometimes, I was hit with terrible, debilitating headaches that left me seeing spots. I consulted with my regular OB/GYN, but the doctor said there were no particular abnormalities, chalking it up to the strains of a difficult pregnancy. Mark comforted me, saying it couldn’t be helped. I blamed myself, thinking it was because my body was weak.

Mark supported me through all of this. Every morning, he would prepare a series of supplements for me—prenatal vitamins, iron, and a few herbal capsules he said would help with the nausea. He’d hand them to me with a smile, saying, “Take these and feel better, Jen.” He’d been cooking meals more often, too. Seeing him standing in the kitchen, telling me, “You rest. I’ll handle this,” I truly felt grateful to have such a kind, devoted husband.

But lately, something had been bothering me. A small, cold knot of unease in the pit of my stomach. Mark had been secretly making phone calls in the middle of the night. I could hear him leave the bedroom, the soft click of the door, and the low murmur of his voice from the living room. When I asked about it in the morning, wondering if it was a work call, he would casually answer, “Yeah, just a client from a different time zone.” His weekend trips to the office had also increased. He’d say he was just going to pick up some documents, but sometimes he was gone for two hours or more.

One day, Lily whispered softly, her small hand in mine, “Daddy’s always talking to someone.”

I stroked Lily’s head and explained, “Daddy’s busy with work, sweetie.” Lily just nodded silently, but she looked anxious. I didn’t think too deeply about it. Mark was a responsible man, likely handling a big project. He was working hard for our family. That’s what I told myself.

The baby in my belly was moving energetically, a constant, reassuring presence. Just a little longer until we meet, I would think. Lily, me, and Mark were all looking forward to having one more person join our family. That’s what I believed. We were the perfect family, and I thought this happiness would continue forever.

At that moment, I didn’t know anything yet. I didn’t know how fragile and fleeting this happiness was.

---

There were still two weeks until my due date, but that morning, I woke up to a sudden, sharp pain. My belly was aching in regular, tightening waves. This is labor. From my experience as a nurse, I knew immediately.

“Mark, it hurts! The baby’s coming!” I shook my husband awake.

Mark jumped up, looking surprised, but quickly composed himself. “It’s okay. We’ll go to the hospital right away.” He squeezed my hand as he said this.

But then, Mark didn’t move. “Wait a minute. I need to get ready,” he said, and left the bedroom.

I waited on the bed, breathing through the pain. Twenty minutes passed. The contractions kept getting closer, more intense. “Mark, hurry!” I squeezed out the words, but there was no response. I could hear sounds from the living room, a drawer opening and closing, the rustle of papers. What is he doing? My head couldn’t think straight from the pain. I just wanted to get to the hospital.

After more than thirty minutes had passed, Mark finally came back. “Sorry, I was looking for the insurance card,” he said, but his voice was flat, devoid of the urgency I felt.

On the drive to the hospital, the pain grew even more intense. Mark’s driving seemed agonizingly slow. “Please, hurry,” I begged.

“We have to drive safely, Jen,” he replied, his eyes fixed on the road. I stared out the window, praying we’d get there soon.

When we finally arrived, I couldn’t stand anymore. Leaning on Mark, I headed to the maternity ward reception. The nurses hurriedly brought a wheelchair, and I was immediately taken to an examination room. The moment the doctor performed the ultrasound, his expression froze.

“The baby’s heartbeat is very weak. Prepare for an emergency C-section, immediately!”

The doctor’s voice sounded distant. I couldn’t understand what was happening. “Wait, what do you mean? Doctor, is the baby okay?” I asked desperately, but the doctor didn’t answer, just kept giving instructions. Nurses ran around. “The operating room is ready!” someone shouted.

I was placed on the operating table. While they were preparing the anesthesia, Mark came into the room. “Hang in there,” he said, but there was no warmth in his voice. It had a cold, detached ring to it, as if this didn’t truly concern him. But I was in too much pain and fear to notice.

The surgery began. I couldn’t feel my lower body, but I could sense the tense atmosphere. Please, baby, please be safe. I kept praying. This is the little brother Lily’s been looking forward to. This is the baby we’ve been waiting for.

The only sound was the loud, methodical tick of the clock in the operating room. Time felt like it had stopped. After what felt like an eternity, the doctor’s movements stopped. He turned toward me. The moment I saw his face, I understood everything.

“I’m so sorry.” The doctor’s voice was trembling. “The baby… he didn’t make it.”

The moment those words entered my ears, the world lost all sound. “No, you’re lying,” I said, my voice a raw croak. “Doctor, please check again. Please!”

The doctor bowed deeply. “The cause is unknown, but the fetus weakened rapidly. We did everything we could.”

Even hearing those words, I couldn’t accept it. It’s my fault. Because my body was weak. If only I’d noticed sooner. If only I’d taken better care of my health. Words of self-blame poured out, and the tears wouldn’t stop. The small life that had been moving inside me… I would never meet him.

---

After the surgery, I was taken to a private hospital room. Mark rushed in right away. “It’s not your fault, Jen. Don’t worry about it,” he said, holding me. But there was no warmth in his arms. His words were mechanical, as if he were reading from a script. I didn’t notice. Or maybe I didn’t want to notice. I was blinded by grief.

“I’m going outside for a bit,” Mark said, and left the room.

Wait, don’t leave me alone, I wanted to say, but no voice came out. Left alone, I just kept crying. It was sunny outside the window. Even though I was this sad, the world kept moving as if nothing had happened. People were laughing, cars were driving, birds were singing. But my world had stopped.

Why? Why my baby? What went wrong? Questions with no answers kept spinning in my head. What am I going to tell Lily? Mommy and Daddy couldn’t give you a little brother. The pillow became soaked with my tears. All the strength drained from my body. I didn’t understand the meaning of being alive anymore. If it was going to be this painful, maybe it would be better to…

The moment that thought crossed my mind, the hospital room door slowly opened. When I looked up, there was a small shadow. It was Lily. My daughter was looking at me, her face a mask of solemnity.

“Mommy,” a small voice said.

“Lily, you came,” I reached out toward her.

Lily slowly approached my bed. Her eyes were filled with tears, but I could also sense a kind of determination and strength. It was a serious expression that a five-year-old child shouldn’t have to show.

“Mommy,” Lily said, her voice trembling. “Do you want to know why the baby died?”

At those words, I caught my breath. “Wait, Lily, what are you saying?”

My daughter pulled out a small, pink toy iPad. “Look at this,” she said, and turned the screen toward me.

What was shown there was an unbelievable scene. Mark, standing in our kitchen, mixing something into my supplements. My world collapsed once again.

“What is this, Lily? What is this?” My voice cracked.

My daughter operated the screen with her small fingers. The next video played. It was Mark again, opening the bottle of my supplements. After checking his surroundings, he took out a small bag from his pocket. It contained something that looked like white powder, which he mixed into the capsules carefully, cautiously, with movements that seemed practiced. Looking at the date, it was three months ago. It perfectly matched the time when my health started declining.

No, that’s wrong. This must be a coincidence. I desperately tried to deny it, but deep inside, I was beginning to understand the truth.

Lily kept switching screens. Many photos were saved. Pictures of Mark talking on the phone in the living room late at night. Photos of him meeting with an unknown woman on a street corner. That woman was wearing this hospital’s nurse uniform. The two of them were smiling, talking intimately.

Then, an audio file. Lily pressed the play button.

Mark’s voice flowed out. “It won’t be long now. Everything’s going according to plan.”

A woman’s voice answered. “Are you sure it’s okay? We won’t get caught, will we?”

Mark replied, “It’s fine. It’s perfect. Once the insurance money comes in, we’ll be free.”

Insurance money. Those words echoed in my head. I had a high-value life insurance policy. Mark had suggested it two years ago. He said it was for the family in case something happened, and I signed without any suspicion.

The audio continued. The woman’s voice, “But what if the baby is born?”

Mark’s voice, cold and final, “We won’t let it be born. If I keep giving her the drugs, she’ll miscarry naturally. Then Jennifer will be emotionally devastated. After that, I’ll give her a large dose of sleeping pills and make it look like she took her own life out of postpartum grief. Perfect plan, right?”

I could hear the woman laughing. “You’re so clever, Mark. Ten million dollars. A new life awaits us.”

Their laughter stabbed my ears. The strength drained from my hand holding the iPad. I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. But the evidence was right in front of me. Mark was trying to take my life. He had already taken our baby’s. And he was going to make it all look like an accident or a personal tragedy to collect the insurance money.

“Lily,” I called my daughter’s name in a trembling voice. “How did you… When did you?”

Tears spilled from Lily’s eyes. “Daddy was sneaking around at night. I saw him. I thought he was doing something weird, hiding it from Mommy. So, I started taking pictures with my toy iPad,” she said.

At first, she didn’t understand what he was doing, but when she heard the recorded conversation, she realized Daddy was trying to hurt Mommy. “I was scared,” she whispered. “But I thought I had to protect Mommy.”

My five-year-old daughter had faced such a terrifying truth all alone. How frightened she must have been. How anxious she must have felt. I hugged Lily tightly. “I’m sorry, Lily. Mommy didn’t notice. Thank you. Thank you for being here.” My daughter’s small body was trembling in my arms.

“Mommy, I was scared of Daddy, but I wanted to help Mommy,” she sobbed. At Lily’s words, my own tears overflowed and wouldn’t stop. This child had been fighting to protect me.

---

In my head, past events started connecting with horrifying clarity. The frequent health problems, the reason the doctor said there was nothing wrong. The supplements Mark prepared for me, the murderous intent hidden behind his gentle smile. The phone calls in the middle of the night, the weekend outings—it had all been part of the plan. Being made to wait more than thirty minutes before going to the hospital was also on purpose, to make the baby’s condition worse. The slow driving was also to buy time. My baby was killed by Mark.

Anger welled up inside me. Sadness transformed into a white-hot hatred. But at the same time, I felt fear. What if Mark came back now? What if the next part of the plan was carried out? Made to look like a personal tragedy from postpartum grief, I’ll be killed.

“Lily, press the call button,” I said to my daughter.

Lily immediately pressed the button next to the bed. Seconds later, a nurse came in. “Is something wrong?”

“Call the police, right now!” I said desperately.

The nurse looked at me with a surprised expression. “Please calm down. What happened?”

“My husband is trying to take my life.” My voice was shaking, but I stated it clearly. “I have evidence. Please look at this.” I handed the iPad to the nurse.

The nurse looked at the screen, and her face drained of color. She played the video, listened to the audio, and checked the photos. Her expression changed from shock to horror. “I’ll contact the police immediately,” she said, and hurried out of the room.

Lily squeezed my hand. “Mommy, it’s okay. You don’t have to be scared anymore. I’ll protect you.” At my five-year-old daughter’s incredibly strong words, tears overflowed again. But this time, it wasn’t just sadness. I was feeling hope, too.

Ten minutes later, two police officers entered the hospital room. I explained everything: that Mark had been mixing drugs into my supplements, that he was after the insurance money, that he was conspiring with his lover, a nurse, and that there was a plan to make my death look like a personal tragedy. The police officers reviewed the evidence on the iPad and nodded with serious expressions.

“We’ll secure your husband immediately. Then we’ll also identify the nurse we believe to be his accomplice. Please rest assured, everything will be okay now.”

But I couldn’t feel reassured. Where was Mark right now? One of the officers radioed in and then left the room. All I could do was hold Lily and wait. Time felt eternal.

“Mommy, Daddy can’t hurt you anymore, right?” Lily asked in a small voice.

“That’s right, Lily. It’s okay now. We’re safe.” I answered that way, but my heart kept pounding violently.

Before long, I heard voices from the hallway. “Don’t move! Put your hands up!” A police officer’s voice. And then Mark’s surprised voice, “What? What are you doing? I haven’t done anything!”

Liar, I screamed in my heart. You tried to take everything. My life, the baby’s life, our future. But Lily protected me. My five-year-old daughter saved me.

---

The police officer returned to the hospital room thirty minutes later. “We’ve secured the suspect.” Hearing those words, I finally felt like I could breathe a little.

The officer sat down in a chair. “I’d like to hear the details, if that’s all right.”

I told them everything. The officer listened with a serious expression. “Actually, when we apprehended your husband, he was with the accomplice nurse. They were in the hallway on the third floor, discussing how to dispose of you next.”

Those words sent a chill down my spine.

The officer continued. “We recorded the conversation. Your husband was saying he’d soon make Jennifer’s death look like it was caused by postpartum issues. The plan was to make it look like a personal tragedy by giving you a large dose of sleeping pills. The nurse was set to prepare the drugs.”

My body trembled. If Lily hadn’t noticed, if she hadn’t gathered evidence, I would have been killed by now.

The police began investigating immediately. The data on the iPad was crucial evidence. They also confiscated Mark’s cell phone, where they found even more incriminating evidence: message exchanges between Mark and his lover, the nurse Amber. The two had been involved for two years and had started planning to take my life around that time.

“The first plan was to make it look like an accidental death,” the officer explained. “There are traces that they attempted methods like pushing you down the stairs or tampering with the car brakes, but all of them apparently failed.”

I traced back through my memories. About six months ago, I almost slipped on the stairs. At that time, Mark was right behind me. And three months ago, when the car brakes weren’t working well. Was that all Mark’s doing?

“The next plan used drugs,” the officer continued. “Gradually administering harmful substances to you while you were pregnant, causing a miscarriage to mentally break you down, and ultimately taking your life disguised as a personal tragedy. It’s an extremely calculated and malicious crime.”

I thought about my baby, and tears overflowed again. My son was poisoned, weakening little by little. And Mark had deliberately delayed going to the hospital so the baby wouldn’t survive.

“The insurance amount is ten million dollars,” the officer said. For that amount, Mark tried to take my life and our baby’s. What was our seven-year marriage? Was his love for me all a lie?

They also investigated the accomplice, nurse Amber. She was twenty-eight years old and had met Mark at a pharmaceutical exhibition. They combined their knowledge of drugs to plan a perfect crime. After their arrest, the two blamed each other. Mark shouted at Amber, “It was all your idea!” Amber shot back, “You’re the one who said you wanted the insurance money!” The two people who were supposed to be in love betrayed each other as soon as they were caught.

The officer stood up. “Your husband will be charged with attempted murder, insurance fraud, and drug tampering. Nurse Amber will also be charged as an accomplice. We’ll protect you and your daughter’s safety.”

“Thank you,” I bowed deeply. Then I stroked Lily’s head. If it weren’t for this child, I wouldn’t be here.

The officer looked at Lily with kind eyes. “Your daughter is truly brave. To be able to do all this at five years old is remarkable.”

Lily looked down shyly but smiled a little.

---

The trial of Mark and Amber continued for four months. I testified, my voice shaking but firm, recounting every detail of the betrayal. The evidence Lily collected was the cornerstone of the prosecution’s case.

Mark received a sentence of twenty-five years in prison. Amber got fifteen years for conspiracy. They both appealed, but the appeals were dismissed. When I last saw Mark in court, he looked like a different person—gaunt, with no light in his eyes. Just once, our eyes met. He looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he said nothing and looked away. I felt nothing. No hatred, no sadness remained anymore. I just quietly accepted that this person had disappeared from my life.

After the verdict was finalized, Lily and I moved to a new home. It was a small apartment, but it got good sunlight and was close to a park. I returned to nursing, and though the field had changed after seven years, I found it rewarding. My colleagues, knowing my past, supported me warmly.

At night, the time Lily and I spent together was my greatest happiness. “Mommy, today at school, I did a drawing,” she’d say excitedly. “Look, Mommy and Lily are holding hands.” The picture she showed me had two smiling figures.

“That’s so lovely, Lily,” I’d say, hugging her. Because this child was here, I could move forward.

One night, Lily suddenly asked, “Mommy, is the baby happy in heaven?”

I looked up at the starry sky outside the window. “I’m sure he is. And I think he’s always watching over us.”

Lily thought for a moment and then said, “I wonder if the baby is happy that I protected Mommy.”

“Of course he is,” I gently stroked her head. “Because you were brave, Mommy is here now. The baby must be so proud of his big sister.”

Lily smiled happily. “Mommy, I’ll always protect you.”

At those words, I felt tears coming again, but this time, they weren’t tears of sadness. “Thank you, Lily. But from now on, it’s Mommy’s turn to protect you. Let’s be happy together, the two of us.”

A year passed. Life for Lily and me became peaceful and warm. On weekends, we had picnics in the park. Watching Lily run around on the grass, I thought, family isn’t just about blood ties. Protecting each other, supporting each other, loving each other—that’s what real family is. Mark was my husband, but he wasn’t real family. But Lily is different. This child risked everything to protect me.

“Mommy, look! Look!” Lily had picked some flowers.

“They’re beautiful,” I said, accepting them and kissing her cheek. “Thank you, Lily. You’re my treasure.”

The sun shone gently on us. The breeze blew pleasantly. Lily’s laughter echoed in the sky. I took a deep breath. This was my new life, a life full of hope, walking together with this child. I was betrayed, I lost my precious baby, but I survived. Lily saved me. And now, we were happy. That was enough.

At dusk, on the way home, Lily held my hand. “Mommy, I love you.”

“I love you too, Lily.”

We walked hand in hand. No matter what difficulties we face, if I’m with this child, we can overcome them. The bond between mother and daughter won’t lose to any evil, because we are real family. When I looked up at the sky, the first star was shining. Surely, that was the baby, watching over us from heaven. I believed that and spoke in my heart. Thank you. Your big sister is truly a wonderful child, and Mommy is okay now. So rest easy, and be happy in heaven, until we meet again someday.

Lily and I kept walking home—tomorrow, the day after, and from now on, forever—supporting each other, living with smiles. That was the path we chose.