“Fetal heart rate is seventy! We can’t wait any longer. Prep her for a C-section now!”

“Where’s her family? We need a signature!”

I lay on the delivery bed at Salton Hospital, my amniotic fluid long gone, cramps twisting through my abdomen like someone was churning a knife inside me.

The monitor’s alarm grew more and more urgent. A nurse pushed medication while calling my husband, Benjamin Whitaker. No one answered. She called my mother-in-law, Mrs. Whitaker. Still no answer.

The pain made my vision go dark. With trembling fingers, I unlocked my phone and called the smartwatch of my six-year-old son, Sebastian.

The moment the screen lit up, applause poured through first. Sebastian stood in a concert hall in a little suit, frowning at me. “Mom, why are you calling again?”

My throat was dry and raw. “Sebastian, give the phone to Dad.”

“Dad said he can’t answer the phone. Aunt Evelyn’s concert is about to start.”

Evelyn Ashford. My younger sister by adoption. Tonight was her first cello solo recital.

My husband was there. My mother-in-law was there. My adoptive parents were there. Even the son I had raised with my own hands was there. I was the only one absent, because they had said a pregnant woman shouldn’t go and cause trouble.

I endured the stabbing pain. “Sebastian, Mommy’s about to give birth. Tell Dad to answer the phone.”

The screen jolted. Mrs. Whitaker’s face crowded into the frame, her brows deeply furrowed.

“Jasmine, isn’t your due date next week?”

“Today is Evelyn’s big day.”

“Don’t start trying to steal attention again.”

Steal attention? A bone-deep chill spread through me.

My adoptive mother, Mrs. Ashford, also appeared on the screen, disappointment in her voice. “Jasmine, you’ve been sensible since you were little. Why are you being so willful today of all days?”

Sensible. I had heard that word for more than twenty years.

When I was a child, Evelyn went missing, and the Ashfords adopted me from an orphanage. But three years ago, after Evelyn was found and brought back, I finally understood. Being an adopted daughter wasn’t an identity. It was a term limit.

I bit my lip, the taste of blood spreading through my mouth. “Mom, someone knocked me down. I really am going into labor...”

The call was cut off. Cleanly.

I lay on the hospital bed, sweat sliding from the corner of my eye into it, the pain leaving me almost powerless. I was anxious and furious, but I couldn’t collapse.

I called Benjamin again. Just before the ringing ended, he finally picked up.

“Jasmine. If it isn’t urgent, why do you keep calling?”

“I’m in labor. They’re doing a C-section right now. Come back and sign.”

Silence.

It was brief, but long enough for me to hear him weighing his options.

“Aren’t the doctors with you? Listen to them for now. Evelyn is about to go onstage. I can’t leave.”

I can’t leave. Those words poured over me like ice water from head to toe. So at the edge of life and death, my life and my child’s life still mattered less than one piece of music from Evelyn.

Sebastian’s voice suddenly came from the other end of the call. “Dad, Mom is so annoying. Why is Aunt Evelyn so gentle, but Mom always makes people unhappy?”

My heart sank hard.

The next second, he said again:

“I really wish Aunt Evelyn were my mom.”

In that instant, the world went quiet. All I heard was the son I had raised with my own hands, driving the deepest knife into me in the lightest tone.

Benjamin didn’t scold him, nor did he correct him.

He only said flatly, “Jasmine, if you’re not going to talk, I’m hanging up. We’ll discuss this after the concert.”

The call was cut off again.

I was still holding the phone to my ear. Another wave of agony tore through my abdomen before reality dragged me back by force.

The doctor asked in a low voice, “Do you want to keep calling?”

I stared at the ceiling and suddenly gave a small laugh. “No.”

I should have woken up three years ago, when Evelyn came back. My parents favored her. My mother-in-law doted on her. My husband protected her. Even my son revolved around her.

I had kept being sensible, kept giving way, hoping they would finally see me.

Only now did I understand. It wasn’t that I wasn’t good enough. From beginning to end, I had never been their choice.

I propped myself up, cold sweat dripping onto the consent form.

The nurse hurriedly supported me. “Are you sure you want to sign it yourself?”

“I’m sure. I’ll bear the consequences myself.”

The pen tip fell. Jasmine Ashford. Not the Whitaker surname.

An hour later, my daughter was born. Her cry was bright and clear, like a little beast refusing to admit defeat.

The nurse carried her to my side and smiled. “She’s a healthy little princess. What’s the baby’s name?”

I looked at her wrinkled little face and reached out a finger. She grabbed it at once. So soft. Yet so strong.

“Serena,” I said softly. “I hope her life will be calmer than mine.”

The nurse lowered her head to write it down. “Serena Whitaker?”

“No. Serena Ashford.”

The nurse paused, then quickly wrote down Serena Ashford.

Looking at those words, I felt something in my chest loosen a little, as if I had finally torn open a gap in the Whitaker surname for both myself and her.

I picked up my phone and sent Benjamin a message.

【Divorce.】

【Sebastian goes to you. Serena goes to me.】

【Prepare my half of the assets.】

After sending it, I turned off the screen. This time, I wasn’t waiting for his reply. I was informing him.

Six hours after giving birth, the caregiver arrived. Seeing the birth certificate, she smiled and asked, “Serena Ashford, nickname Bella?”

“Yes. Bella.”

May she be beautiful and brave, and may she never be like me, mistaking someone else’s scraps of kindness for a life-saving light.

My phone suddenly vibrated.

Mrs. Whitaker had sent a photo. In it, Evelyn held a bouquet of flowers, smiling brightly.

The Ashfords were there. Benjamin was there. Sebastian was holding Evelyn’s hand, smiling happier than he ever had.

The caption read:

【Family photo. Our Evelyn was amazing!】

My chest felt as if it were being pricked over and over with fine needles. My daughter had just come into this world. But in their Family photo, there was no me, and no Bella.

Soon, another video popped up.

Sebastian stood on tiptoe and kissed Evelyn. “Aunt Evelyn, Sebastian likes you the most!”

Evelyn smiled and asked, “Then do you like Mommy more, or Aunt Evelyn?”

Sebastian tilted his head and thought for a moment. “Aunt Evelyn a tiny bit more.”

Then he raised a finger to his lips. “Shh, don’t tell Mommy. She’ll cry.”

The camera shifted, and Benjamin was standing right beside them. He didn’t stop it. He even smiled. That gentle smile—I had waited six years for it. It turned out he was capable of it. He just wouldn’t give it to me.

Late that night, the door to my ward was pushed open—they had come. Too late, and all at once.

Evelyn was the first to rush to my bedside, tears falling on command. “Jasmine, I’m sorry. We really didn’t know you were going into labor. If you had made it clear earlier, we definitely would have come.”

I looked at the tears in her eyes and felt a wave of nausea.

Hadn’t I made it clear? They hadn’t been unaware. They were simply used to judging whether Evelyn was happy first, then deciding whether my situation mattered.

Evelyn reached out, trying to help me. But her hand landed right on my incision.

Agony exploded through me in an instant. I slapped her hand away on instinct.

Evelyn’s eyes immediately reddened.

Mrs. Whitaker pulled her behind herself at once.

“Jasmine, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Evelyn was worried about you the whole way here!”

“It’s just giving birth to a second child. Is this really necessary?”

My adoptive mother frowned too.

“We didn’t do it on purpose.”

“If you had gone into labor even a little later, we would have been here with you.”

I lifted my eyes and looked straight at her.

“So giving birth tonight was my fault?”

The ward fell silent.

Evelyn clutched the back of her hand and cried.

Sebastian immediately ran over, cupping her hand and blowing on it. Then he turned and glared at me. “Mom, why are you always bullying Aunt Evelyn?”

I looked at the son I had raised with my own hands.

When he had a fever, I held him all night and didn’t dare close my eyes. When he fell, my heart ached so much I nearly cried. On his first day of school, I waited outside the school gate for three hours, afraid he wouldn’t adjust.

But now, all he cared about was blowing on another woman’s hand. The last bit of warmth in my heart finally went out.

The caregiver came over with Bella in her arms. Mrs. Whitaker’s gaze fell on the birth certificate, and her face changed sharply, her voice turning shrill.

“Jasmine, what is the meaning of this? How dare you give our Whitaker granddaughter your surname?”

I looked at her calmly.

“I gave birth to this child with my life on the line, alone on the operating table. She takes my surname.”

“Is there a problem?”

“You married into the Whitaker family. You should know the rules!”

“The rules?” I gave a soft laugh.

“When a signature was needed, none of you were here.”

“When the child was born, none of you were here.”

“Now that you’ve seen the surname, you suddenly remember she’s the Whitaker family’s granddaughter?”

No one spoke.

Evelyn reached out again with red eyes. “Jasmine, can I hold Bella?”

Before she could touch her, Bella suddenly burst into tears. Her cry was sharp, as if she were rejecting this roomful of hypocritical relatives for me.

All my restraint snapped in that moment.

I pointed at the door. “Get out.”

Evelyn froze.

My voice turned colder. “All of you, get out!”

Benjamin frowned. “That’s enough, Jasmine. Don’t take your anger out on Evelyn.”

I looked at the man I had loved for six years.

In the past, I had always wanted to ask him why. Why didn’t he believe me? Why didn’t he protect me? Why did he choose Evelyn again and again?

But now, I suddenly didn’t want to ask anymore—the answer no longer mattered.

A person who loved you wouldn’t make you beg him to turn back at the edge of life and death.

I said calmly, “Benjamin stays. We need to talk.”

After the door closed, I asked, “Did you see the messages I sent?”

He frowned. “What messages?”

“Then I’ll say it again. Benjamin, I want a divorce.”

His expression darkened.

“Don’t use divorce to throw a tantrum.”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum. Sebastian goes to you. Bella goes to me. I want the half of the assets under your name that I’m entitled to.”

Benjamin gave a cold laugh. “Jasmine, where can you even go if you leave the Whitaker family? You haven’t worked in six years.”

That sentence left me completely clear-headed.

So in his eyes, I wasn’t his wife. I was only an accessory who couldn’t survive without him.

I looked at him, my chest aching with tightness, too exhausted even to argue. “Then just wait and see.”

Benjamin stared at me for a few seconds, as if he had finally lost his patience.

“You just gave birth. I won’t hold this against you. Talk about divorce when you’re thinking clearly.”

“I’ll arrange a caregiver tomorrow.”

With that, he turned and left.

Even now, he still thought I was only making a scene.

I thought that after this night, I had no one left but myself.

But the next day, the first person to push open the door to my ward wasn’t Benjamin, nor anyone from the Whitaker family.

It was the future I had given up with my own hands six years ago.