My Stepson Caused My Miscarriage, So I Chose Divorce

When my stepson pushed me down the stairs, Garretts immediate reaction was to cover the little monsters eyes and scream at me.

Have you lost your mind? Hurting yourself just to frame my son?

Seeing me curled on the floor in agony, he threw out another line: That is enough! If this baby is gone, we can always have another. We can have countless children, but I only have one Danny! Stop being so dramatic!

Even as the blood began to pool beneath me, staining the hardwood, he was still murmuring comforts to his son, telling him not to be afraid.

Through the gaps in Garretts fingers, I saw the chilling, triumphant smirk on my stepsons face.

This was the third child he had managed to destroy.

By the time the man finally noticed the deep red pool expanding across the floor, panicking as he tried to lift me, my heart had already turned to ash.

On the stretcher to the ambulance, I pulled off the oxygen mask and looked at him with absolute calm. "Garrett, I want a divorce."

The moment I fell down the stairs, my instincts took over, and I wrapped my arms tightly around my swollen stomach.

The pain was immediate, a sharp, tearing sensation that soaked my dress and left a bright trail of blood on the floor.

"Clair!"

A desperate cry rang out. Garrett rushed toward me, his knees slamming hard against the floor, but he didn't seem to notice.

His hands shook as he reached for me, terrified to touch me. The usually composed, commanding CEO was weeping, his tears falling onto my face.

"Don't worry, don't worry... the ambulance is on its way... Clair, please hold on..."

Gathering my remaining strength, I grabbed his sleeve, pointing toward the top of the landing. "It was Danny... he pushed me... he did it on purpose..."

Garrett froze. He slowly turned his head to look at his eight-year-old son, Danny, who was shrinking into the corner of the landing, sobbing as if he were the one traumatized by the blood.

"Daddy... I am scared... there is so much blood..." Danny whimpered.

The conflict in Garrett's eyes lasted only a fraction of a second.

The next moment, he pulled the boy into his arms, using his hand to shield Danny's eyes from the scene. When he looked back at me, his gaze was filled with pleading.

"Clair, you are in too much pain. You are hallucinating."

He wiped the cold sweat from my forehead, his voice hurried and tense. "Danny is only eight years old. He is terrified. It was just a tragic accident!"

"An accident?" I whispered, my body shaking from the physical pain, though my chest felt even colder.

The first time, it was a bottle of lubricant left directly outside the bathroom door.

The second time, it was a high dose of laxatives mixed into my morning milk.

This was the third time.

Garrett continued to ramble, trying to convince me, or perhaps trying to convince himself. "I know you are hurting, and I am devastated about the baby too... but Danny is my only son. He has had a difficult life since his mother passed. As the adult, can't you be more understanding?"

More understanding?

At the cost of my unborn children's lives?

As Garrett leaned down to kiss my forehead, attempting to quiet my protests, Danny looked at me through the gaps of his fathers fingers.

His tear-streaked face held no trace of fear. He grinned, his lips moving silently to form three words: Go to hell.

In that moment, I finally accepted the truth.

Some people are born wicked, and some people choose to remain blind. Garrett's love was too crowded, trying to accommodate the role of a devoted husband while protecting his monstrous son, and my children were the ones sacrificed to keep the peace.

As they lifted me into the ambulance, Garrett clutched my freezing hand, his voice hoarse from crying. "Clair, don't close your eyes, please... we can have other children, I will make this up to you, but Danny is my only boy..."

With his other hand, he gently patted Danny's back, whispering, "Don't be scared, buddy. Daddy is right here."

The suffocating hypocrisy finally snapped my last nerve. I reached up and ripped the oxygen mask off my face.

The medical monitors began to beep frantically.

Garrett stared at me in terror. "Clair, what are you doing? Doctor! Help her!"

I looked at the man I had loved for seven years, my voice barely a whisper. "Garrett, I want a divorce."

When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at the sterile white ceiling of a hospital room. The heavy, warm weight in my abdomen was gone.

"Clair, you are awake..."

Garrett, who had been sitting by my bedside, gripped my hand. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw covered in dark stubble, looking as though he had aged a decade overnight.

"I am so sorry... it is my fault. I didn't protect you." He pressed his face against my palm, his warm tears wetting my skin.

Watching his display of grief, I felt nothing but a dull absurdity. I stared at the ceiling, my mind drifting back to three years ago, shortly after we married.

We were happy then. Danny had been living with his grandparents in the country, quiet and isolated. It was my own sympathy that drove me to suggest bringing him to live with us.

"Let us bring him home," I had told Garrett back then, wrapping my arms around his neck. "A child needs his father. I will treat him as my own."

Garrett had been deeply moved, holding me close and telling me how lucky he was to have me in his life.

I had naively believed that kindness could change a person. Instead, my misplaced sympathy had brought a natural-born monster into our home, a child who would systematically destroy three of my pregnancies.

"Garrett," I said, my voice dry and hollow. "When Danny pushed me, he stood at the top of the landing, waiting until I reached the exact step before he moved. He wasn't scared. He was smiling."

Garrett stiffened, his shoulders shaking. He buried his face in his hands, running his fingers through his hair as if trying to block out a truth he could not accept.

"Clair, I know you are angry... I am devastated about our baby too! That was my flesh and blood!" He looked up, his expression torn between grief and denial. "But the therapist said Danny is experiencing a severe stress response! He lost his mother at a young age, and he is deeply insecure. He is just afraid that a new baby will take away our love. He didn't mean to do it. He is only eight!"

"Does insecurity excuse murder?" I asked, my voice flat.

Garrett flinched at my tone. He grabbed my shoulders, his voice desperate. "He is still a child. He doesn't understand. We are still young, Clair. We can have other children. Please, don't blame Danny. He had nightmares all night, crying and saying he was sorry. He is terrified too..."

Looking at him, the last trace of warmth in my heart died. To Garrett, the lives of my three unborn children did not equal the weight of his son's insecurity.

I closed my eyes, pulling my hand from his grip. "Garrett, since you care about him so much, I will leave this house to him."

A heavy silence fell over the room. Panic flickered in Garrett's eyes. He tried to reach for me, but I pulled away, my cold expression silencing him.

Over the next two days, I refused to speak to him, refused to eat, and instructed my lawyer to send the divorce papers directly to the ward.

Garrett finally realized that I was serious about leaving.

On the third morning, the door to my room opened, and Garrett entered, dragging Danny behind him. His grip was firm, lacking his usual tenderness as he pulled the boy to the side of my bed.

"Kneel down."

Garrett's voice was hoarse, his eyes rimmed with red from days of sleeplessness.

Danny trembled, dropping to his knees on the cold tile. Tears immediately spilled down his cheeks, his small hands twisting together in a display of helplessness.

"Clair... I am sorry... I know I was bad..."

"I didn't mean to do it, I promise I will be good... please don't make Daddy leave..."

The boy sobbed hysterically. To any outsider, I would have looked like a cruel, heartless stepmother.

I watched the performance with a cold detachment. "Garrett, if you brought him here to put on a show, you can both leave."

"It is not a show," Garrett said, taking a deep breath as if he had reached a difficult decision. Ignoring Danny's crying, he looked at me, his eyes filled with a desperate resolve. "I know I have failed you, Clair. I have let you down."

"The car is waiting downstairs. As soon as he apologizes, I am having my driver take him back to his grandparents' estate in the country."

My fingers tightened around the bedsheet, my breath catching in my throat.

Sending him away?

Danny was Garrett's entire world. For seven years, even when Danny had physically injured a classmate at school, Garrett had never so much as raised his voice. Whenever I had suggested boarding school, it had led to explosive arguments, with him accusing me of being cold-hearted.

But now, he was choosing me over his son?

"Are you serious?" I asked, my voice dry.

"I am," Garrett said, kneeling beside the bed and burying his face in my hands. "I have thought about it for the past forty-eight hours. I am grieving our child too, but I cannot lose you. If his presence in this house causes you pain, then he cannot stay."

"This house needs you, Clair. Let us start over, just the two of us, please."

He looked up, his eyes filled with a raw, broken devotion.

Beside the bed, Danny continued to cry, begging his father not to abandon him, but Garrett did not look back. He kept his eyes locked on mine.

My heart, despite my best judgments, wavered. I had loved him for seven years, and I knew how much this boy meant to him. If he was truly willing to send his only son away to protect our marriage... perhaps I was his priority after all.

Perhaps, without Danny's influence, we could return to the life we once had.

My mind warned me to refuse, but looking at his exhausted, pleading face, my old affection took over.

"Garrett..." My eyes burned with unshed tears. "This is the very last time."

A look of immense relief washed over his face, and he pulled me into a tight embrace. "Thank you... thank you, Clair. I promise I will make this up to you. I will never let you suffer again."

I closed my eyes, letting a single tear slip down my cheek.

The first week after my discharge was the most peaceful time I had experienced in seven years. The house was quiet, free of Danny's screaming and malicious pranks.

Garrett was attentive, returning home early every evening to prepare meals and speak softly, as if terrified of disrupting my recovery.

"Clair, try this soup. I let it simmer for three hours." He held the spoon, blowing on it gently before offering it to me. "The doctor said you need to rebuild your strength. Once you are feeling better, we will take a trip together."

Seeing the exhaustion lingering in his eyes, I felt a touch of sympathy. Perhaps he had truly changed. Perhaps sending the boy away was the fresh start we needed.

A few days later, Garrett went to the study for a scheduled video conference.

As I sat on the balcony enjoying the afternoon sun, a gust of wind blew a freshly washed towel over the railing, landing in the courtyard of the neighboring villa. The house belonged to a neighbor who had moved abroad, and it had recently been leased to a new tenant.

Rather than bothering the staff, I decided to walk downstairs and retrieve it myself.

But as I approached the iron gate dividing our properties, a familiar, high-pitched laugh echoed through the garden.

"Die! Die! The little monster is dead! Hahaha!"

The blood in my veins turned to ice. I stepped closer to the climbing roses on the fence, looking through the metal gaps into the neighboring yard.

Danny, who was supposed to be hundreds of miles away at his grandparents' estate, was standing on a wooden play set, dressed in a brand-new track suit.

In his hand, he held a small, handmade red doll, the protective amulet I had spent weeks sewing for the baby.

"Go to hell! You don't get to steal my daddy!" Danny threw the doll hard against the gravel, laughing hysterically, his expression identical to the one he wore the day he pushed me.

And Garrett, who was supposed to be in his study on a business call, was standing right below the play set.

He didn't reprimand the boy. Instead, he picked up the muddy doll, dusted it off, and pressed a finger to his lips. "Danny, keep your voice down!"

Garrett's tone was filled with a gentle, indulgent sigh. "What did you promise Daddy? Until Clair calms down, we have to play the secret game. If she hears you, Daddy won't be able to sneak over through the back gate to see you every day."

"She is just being dramatic," Danny sneered, crossing his arms. "Daddy, when can I come back? I want to live in the big house again."

Garrett patted his head, sighing softly. "Soon, buddy. Just be patient. Once she is fully recovered and stops bringing it up, Daddy will bring you home. You are my boy, nobody can send you away permanently."

The world seemed to fracture around me.

The country estate had been a lie; Danny had simply been hidden next door.

His remorse had been a temporary tactic, and my grief was dismissed as mere drama.

He had made his choice. He chose to treat me like a fool, continuing to harbor the monster who had killed my children.

An absolute numbness settled over me. My love, my grief, and the seven years I had invested in this man dissolved into nothingness.

I walked back to our house, pulled my suitcase from beneath the bed, and packed my belongings. I took nothing that Garrett had bought me, leaving only the signed divorce agreement on the kitchen counter, tucked beneath the cold, unfinished soup.

Goodbye, Garrett.

Take your fatherly devotion and your monstrous son, and burn in hell together.