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“You’ll suffer naturally because you’re toxic,” my doctor husband sneered, blocking the nurses from performing a C-section for my giant 10-pound baby as revenge for his intern. I writhed in pain, clutching the bed rails until my knuckles turned white. When the grueling delivery finally ended, the heavy delivery room doors banged open. My husband staggered in, his face drained of color as he looked at the newborn chart, fell to the floor, and shrieked, “No… that’s impossible! Whose child is-“

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the color of a fresh bruise.

For the subsequent seventy-two hours, I remained a phantom, subjecting myself to cutting-edge hyperbaric therapy and aggressive pain management to accelerate the healing of my ruined core. On the twilight of the third day, my tablet chimed with a secure video link from Raymond Finch.

“Allison, your surgical strike was absolutely continue reading …

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