“Are you sure?” she asked. “You might regret this.”
“I won’t,” Nathan replied. “I love you—and the children.”
That night, in the silence of their honeymoon suite, Emily trembled. Nathan approached her gently, prepared to see the marks of sacrifice—stretch marks, scars, reminders of motherhood. To him, they would have been symbols of love.
Emily removed her robe.
Nathan froze.
Her skin was smooth. Untouched. No signs of pregnancy. No marks at all.
“Emily…” he whispered. “I thought you had children.”
She looked down, shaking. Then she reached for a small bag and pulled out an old photo album—and a death certificate.
“I never lied,” she said quietly. “I just never knew how to tell the truth.”
The photos showed a younger Emily standing beside three thin children in front of a broken-down house.
