I Died Carrying His Children, and He Lost His Mind in Regret

Nine months pregnant with twins, I begged my husband to take me to the hospital.

Instead, Cole locked me in the abandoned attic—because his first love, Ivy, claimed my belly “hurt her feelings.”

I screamed through hours of contractions. No food. No water. No help.

Downstairs, he held Ivy and kissed her like I no longer existed.

Three days later, I died with my unborn children in my arms.

Now I stand beside them as a ghost.

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Three days later, Cole, sipping a bowl of rice porridge that didn't suit his taste, said: