On the day of my prenatal checkup, my husband’s first love, a doctor, spread rumors that I wasn’t carrying my first child and had undergone multiple abortions. I angrily explained that I’d only had surgery to remove uterine polyps. I was so furious that I got into an argument with her, unaware that she was a famous influencer doctor and that our fight was being livestreamed. After I left the hospital, my husband believed her and asked for a divorce. Someone even filed a complaint with my workplace, and I was fired. The entrance to my parents’ home was splashed with paint, and our neighbors, afraid of being dragged into it, cursed my parents to their faces. My father was so enraged that he suffered a fatal heart attack. After he died, my mother wasted away in grief. After one blow after another, I fell into depression and jumped from the building. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of my prenatal checkup.
