Page 1 of My husband killed my five babies with his own hands

After I gave birth to my fifth stillborn child, my husband Wyatt Patel brought home his six-year-old stepson Logan Patel. He told me that from now on, this child would treat me as his biological mother. Since then, I devoted myself to caring for Logan for eighteen years.

Just as Logan graduated from college that year, Wyatt brought his ex-wife Victoria Flores back home. When their family of three reunited, I finally realized that my marriage had been nothing but an elaborate deception.

It turned out that Logan had a rare heart condition and they couldn't find a suitable heart donor match. So Wyatt married me. Over five years, I became pregnant with five children, and all five of those children became tools to find a heart match for Logan. Yet I spent eighteen years feeling guilty about giving birth to five stillborn babies.

The day Wyatt brought Victoria home, I was cooking in the kitchen. He casually ordered me, "Victoria will be living with us starting today. Move your things to the guest room. From now on, she'll be staying in the master bedroom."

My hands suddenly froze, and I stared at Wyatt in disbelief. The food in the pot quickly burned, filling the air with a acrid smell.

Wyatt sniffed and frowned with displeasure. "Stop cooking for now and go clean up the room. Victoria's been shopping all day and she's tired. She needs to rest."

Then he pulled out a list of requirements and slammed it down on the dining table. "Victoria has high standards for quality of life. Prepare everything for her according to what's written on this list."

I picked up the list and looked it over, finding it densely packed with items. Everything had to be the finest qualityit was incredibly extravagant. I smiled bitterly and asked, "Wyatt, do you realize what you're saying?"

Did he really mean that not only would he be living with his ex-wife, but he was also forcing me, his current wife, to give up the master bedroom to them? What did that make me? Was I supposed to be their live-in maid?

At that moment, Victoria feigned concern and said with a smile, "Wyatt, forget it. If Athena doesn't want me to move in, I can just stay at a hotel." Athena Brown is my name. After a pause, she continued, "After all, I've already endured eighteen years of this. I don't mind enduring a few more days."

Hearing her words, Wyatt's brow furrowed deeply. His eyes filled with sympathy for Victoria. Then Wyatt said to me, "Athena, when you gave birth to five stillborn children, I had no choice but to bring my son with Victoria home to keep you company. You're the reason they were separated for eighteen years. This is what you owe Victoria."

I was instantly speechless. Back then, he was the one who voluntarily brought Logan home. Why was I now being painted as the villain who caused their mother and son to be separated?

Wyatt kept going: "Although Victoria and I divorced, she's still my original wife. In the old days, you would have had to serve her properly. Now I'm just asking you to give up the master bedroomare you really unwilling to do even that?"

He acted as if I had received some great favor. Victoria just smiled at me quietly, as if to say, "Now do you believe me?"

I stood there stunned, fear coursing through my entire body. No one knew that Victoria had approached me alone a few days earlier. She told me she was getting back together with Wyatt and that I should be smart, pack my things, and leave this house. I thought she was talking nonsense and started to walk away.

But Victoria blocked my path and asked, "Do you really think those five children you gave birth to over the years were all stillborn?"

Then she showed me five videos. Although the footage was somewhat blurry, I could still make out Wyatt's face. In all five videos, he was holding a living baby, walking from the delivery room into another operating room.

I was stunned. Could those babies have been my five children? My five children were clearly alivewhy did Wyatt tell me they had all died?

After enjoying the sight of my distress long enough, Victoria finally revealed the truth with cold composure: "Logan has a rare heart condition, and we've never been able to find a suitable heart match for him. That's why Wyatt married you. He wanted to use your womb to produce a child who could provide a heart transplant for our son. But we never expected you to be so uselessit took you five whole pregnancies to finally produce one child whose heart could match Logan's."

I kept shaking my head, finding this too absurd to believe. I refused to accept that Wyatt could be so cruel. I rushed home to confront him, only to be told he was away on business. I spent the next few days in agony, waiting for his return so I could demand the truth. But when he finally came back, he brought Victoria with him.

Wyatt said, "Athena, you haven't given the Patel family a single child. Victoria and I will have to rely on our son Logan to take care of us in our old age. If you behave yourself now, your life might be easier when you're older."

I snapped back to reality and stared at him. "Is it really true that I can't have children? Did the five stillborn babies I delivered really die at birth?"

Wyatt replied, "Of course they did."

He unconsciously touched his nosea habit of his when lying. My heart raced as overwhelming helplessness consumed me. He really had killed our five children! The next moment, my legs gave out and I collapsed to the floor.

But Wyatt thought I was just trying to get his attention. He let out a disdainful laugh: "Athena, we're not kids anymore. Stop playing these childish games. I'm taking Victoria out to dinner tonight. You'd better do some soul-searching. I expect the master bedroom to be cleared out by the time I get home."

The door slammed shut, and my tears finally began to fall. The husband I loved so deeply was the murderer of my five children, and he had only married me to produce a transplant tool for his child with his ex-wife. I couldn't accept this reality and collapsed on the floor, letting out anguished screams.