Chapter 1

After passing out from working overtime for days on end, I mysteriously started seeing strange numbers floating above people's heads.

After a bit of digging, I realized what the number meant: the number of abortions they’d had.

When my supposedly sweet, gentle wife—who had never been pregnant as far as I knew—fed me chicken broth, the glaring number 4 floating above her head sent a chill down my spine. She had secretly aborted four babies behind my back. And worse? Not all of them were mine.

"Babe, don't worry. He won't last much longer..."

Who?

Who's speaking?

Pain... God, it hurts!

A stabbing pain pierced my skull, jolting me awake from my nightmare. I opened my eyes through the haze of agony.

What happened to me?

I racked my brain. Right, I collapsed at the office while working late.

Ever since I married Chloe, our financial stress had gone through the roof. Between blowing my life savings on our lavish wedding and drowning in mortgage and car payments, I had no choice.

To pay off the mortgage early, I worked crazy overtime, desperate to bring in every extra cent. But just as the finish line was in sight, my body gave out.

Burning the candle at both ends finally caught up with me. Thinking of all those news stories about people dropping dead from overwork, a wave of lingering fear washed over me.

Still, I didn't regret it.

Chloe was gorgeous, with curves that rivaled any Instagram model or celebrity. Even after we tied the knot, she remained sweet and devoted. She cooked for me every day and even drove to my office to drop off warm meals, worried I'd skip lunch.

Besides, our house value had skyrocketed over the last few years. I hadn't lost out; in fact, I'd struck gold.

Thinking of that, my aches didn't seem so bad anymore. I honestly felt like jumping out of bed and heading right back to the office!

Rise and grind. The hustle never stops!

Right then, I casually looked up and froze at the number hovering over the nurse’s head. She was checking my chart and taking my blood pressure. As she moved around, the number followed her every motion.

0?

What did that mean?

I rubbed my eyes, thinking I was hallucinating.

When I focused again, the number was still there, clear as day. This time, I noticed numbers above the other doctors and nurses too. Most were 0, with a rare 1 here and there. Then I looked at the other patients in the ward. They had numbers too.

What the hell was going on?

Did passing out mess up my brain and give me visual hallucinations?

Just then, the door pushed open, and Chloe walked in, carrying a thermal container of chicken soup.

"Babe! You're awake! When did you wake up? How are you feeling? I brought you some chicken soup. Have some, okay?" Her tender voice snapped me out of my daze.

I looked up at her—and froze.

A number hovered above her head too. But hers was bigger, bolder, and more glaring than anyone else's. It was a 4.

4? What could that possibly mean?

Seeing me space out, Chloe walked over, sat by the edge of my bed, and asked with concern, "Babe, what's wrong? Are you hurting somewhere?"

A familiar floral scent drifted over. Snapping out of it, I shook my head, keeping my voice as normal as possible. "I'm fine. Just tired, I guess. Thanks for the soup, babe. Smells delicious."

Chloe gave a gentle smile, opened the container, poured some soup into a bowl, and dipped a spoon into it. She moved with practiced grace. When she lifted the spoon toward my lips, she even gently blew on it so I wouldn't burn my tongue.

Warmth spread through my chest. I opened my mouth, ready to take a sip, when the nurse suddenly barked, "He can't have that!"

Startled, Chloe's hand jerked. The spoon dropped onto the sheet, splashing soup across the blanket.

"Why can't he drink it?" Chloe asked, sounding suddenly tense.

The nurse frowned. "Your husband has severe hypertension. Didn't you know? From now on, keep him away from high-fat, high-sodium stuff like rich broth."

Chloe let out a long, heavy sigh of relief.

I chuckled and teased, "What's with the face? Did you think I had some terminal illness?"

Chloe forced a weak smile and changed the subject, bustling to clean up the spilled soup.

I didn't think much of it at the time. Watching her move around, all I could think about was that glowing number 4 above her head.

Once she finished cleaning, Chloe claimed she still had chores waiting at home and hurried off. I wanted her to stay a bit longer, but she rushed out so fast I couldn't even get a word in.

Was she in such a rush because she left the stove on or something?

Soon, my test results came back. The doctor said my dizziness was just triggered by a spike in blood pressure. They kept me for overnight observation and said I could go home the next morning.

I bounced back quickly. Left alone in the room with nothing to do, I began wandering the halls, studying the numbers above other people's heads.

Before long, I spotted a pattern.

Every single man had a 0 above his head. And the closer I got to the OB-GYN wing, the higher the numbers above the female patients became.

That discovery planted a dark, terrible thought in my mind.