Five Years as Spare Parts
Language: en
After my miscarriage, my abdomen felt like it had been crushed by a truck. My husband William walked in wearing his white coat. He pulled off his gloves while coldly informing me: "It's good this baby's gone. Now we can remove part of your uterus and transplant it to Juliet." I thought I'd misheard. I weakly asked: "What did you say? Who's Juliet?" His eyes held no warmth, as if looking at an organ container: "My first love. She has congenital underdeveloped uterus and can't be a mother. You have a good constitution. We won't be having children anyway, so you might as well help her…