For A Son

The warmth and stickiness from the heavy bleeding still lingered on my fingertips, but suddenly, everything brightened before my eyes. I snapped my eyes open and realized I was lying in my bedroom bed, with the familiar old locust tree swaying outside the window. My hand instinctively reached toward my lower belly, where a soft bump showed—a little over a month pregnant—I had truly been reborn, back to the day the tragedy began. I remember that past life clearly—it started the moment I learned I was pregnant, when this home completely turned into a prison. My father-in-law's pulse diagnosis, the family's pressure, the cold traditional medicinal tonics, and the brutal folk method of scraping out the womb—each moment stabbed my heart like a knife. At that time, I was four months pregnant. Father-in-law finished taking my pulse and slammed the table, saying, "It's a girl." That same day, mother-in-law brought a bowl of pitch-black medicine and said, "Drink this, and you'll have a boy next time." Hugo Clark stood nearby watching, without saying a word. This time, I clenched the bedsheet tightly, my nails digging deep into my palm. The pain sharpened my resolve: I absolutely could not let them control me anymore. I had to protect my child—and, more importantly, save myself. "Quinn, come down for dinner once you wake up. Your dad specially made a medicinal chicken soup for you, saying it's to strengthen your body and good for carrying a boy." My mother-in-law's voice came from downstairs, with a deliberately flattering tone. In my past life, she wasn't this "gentle." When she saw I refused to have an abortion, she directly called me a "hen that couldn't lay eggs." This so-called kindness now is just to get me to drink that bowl of "poison." I sneered inwardly. That so-called "medicinal stew" in my last life only made me weaker and weaker. Looking back now, there's definitely nothing good in it. I slowly went downstairs. Father-in-law was sitting at the head of the dining table, holding a celadon bowl. A few slices of Angelica root floated in the bowl, steam rising around the wrinkles on his face. There was still some brown medicine residue under his fingernails. I remember in my previous life, every time he finished simmering the tonic soup, this color would linger in his nails. Back then, I thought it was just from the herbs. Now, I think it might have been traces of that diuretic. "Quinn's here—sit down quickly. I've put some precious medicinal herbs in this chicken soup, specially to nourish your body. You need to drink more so this pregnancy produces a big, healthy boy." He pushed the bowl in front of me, his eyes so full of hope they almost spilled over. I stared at the bowl of chicken soup, a strange smell lingering at my nose—not the usual herbal scent, but something bitter and sharp. While they weren't looking, I scooped up some soup with a spoon and quietly poured it into the small glass bottle I had prepared—the one I bought just yesterday, anticipating something like this. I'll have it tested to find out what this so-called 'precious tonic' really is. After dinner, I used the excuse of going to the supermarket to buy something, took the small glass bottle, and went straight to the city hospital's testing department, where I asked a nurse friend I knew well to help with the analysis. On the way, I sent Tessa Young a W Chat message, briefly explaining the situation with the tonic. She replied instantly, "Don't worry, I'll wait with you for the results." Seeing her words on the screen warmed my heart. Thankfully, in this life, I still have her. During the half-hour wait, I paced back and forth in the hospital corridor, feeling both anxious and hopeful—afraid to confirm my suspicions, yet afraid I was just overthinking. "Quinn, the results are in. The main ingredient in this tonic is furosemide, also known as Lasix, a powerful diuretic. Long-term use is very harmful to the body, especially for pregnant women." My friend's words exploded in my ear like a grenade. I suddenly remembered my past life: every time I drank the chicken soup my father-in-law made, I always felt dry mouth and throat, and my legs would sometimes go weak. At the time, I thought it was just a normal early pregnancy symptom. Now I realize those symptoms were caused by the diuretic at work. He was slowly draining my body bit by bit, making sure I wouldn't even have the strength to fight back. Clutching the lab report, my fingers went pale from gripping it so tightly. My father-in-law actually used a diuretic, pretending it was a precious medicinal herb. Not only did he betray my trust, but he also tried to harm me and our baby!