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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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attempting to mask the bruise blooming on her cheek. In the adjacent room, Bradley sat perched on the edge of a sagging, flea-bitten mattress. He was hyperventilating, staring blankly at the forged ultrasound printout clutched in his trembling hands. The mere concept of another pregnancy, another childbirth, triggered violent, suffocating flashbacks continue reading …

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