Buried Our Dead Marriage Novel by Nona Morphy _ Novel




Buried Our Dead Marriage Chapter 01

"Mrs. Dunham wants a daughter. Since you've recovered, you'll bear another child for her."
With that single sentence from Vivienne Merrill—Donovan Dunham's wife—I was expected to get pregnant again. After carrying the baby for ten months, I was wheeled into the OR, risking my life to deliver a daughter for another woman.
The surgical lights had barely dimmed, and the umbilical cord had just been cut. Before I could even hear my baby cry, a nurse lifted her away and carried her straight to the VIP ward on the top floor.
This was the second child.
Everyone in Houston knew the love story of Vivienne and Donovan. Years ago, when Vivienne had accompanied Donovan overseas to expand the family business, she was involved in a devastating car accident. Her uterus was damaged, leaving her infertile.
Otherwise, someone like me would never have been allowed to remain in the Dunham's manor.
Once an heiress fallen from grace, now reduced to the Dunhams' live-in maid, I had simply appeared at the right time and in the right place—selected to bear heirs for their family.
Three years ago, when I gave birth to Donovan's firstborn—Elwood Dunham—I hadn't gotten a chance to see him either. Donovan took him straight from the nurse's arms.
With his back turned to me, he said coldly over his shoulder, "Vivienne will be listed as his mother. He's the eldest grandson of the Dunham family. Remember, you signed a confidentiality agreement. So know your place and keep your mouth shut."
Back then, I still had the strength to cry. Ignoring the searing pain from my incision, I struggled to get out of bed and chase after them, only to be pinned down by two nurses.
After that, I learned obedience. Inside that luxurious, gilded cage of a manor, I worked humbly as a maid. Every day, under the excuse of cleaning, I would pass by the nursery just to steal a blurred glimpse of Elwood's tiny face through the thick, soundproof glass.
At first, Donovan pretended not to notice. But then, Vivienne declared that the baby needed peace and shouldn't be disturbed by strangers. So I was forbidden from ever setting foot on the third floor.
Now, my second child had been taken from me as well.
Like an empty shell, I lay quietly on the hospital bed that reeked of disinfectant. My tears had long since dried.
Before I had fully recovered, Gemma Bates—Vivienne's personal maid—arrived with instructions for me to return to the manor. I had no choice but to drag my weakened body back to the Dunham's manor halfway up the hill.
The living room was warm from the heating. Vivienne was holding the month-old baby girl, cooing at her. She wore silk loubaikar from an exclusive luxury brand, her makeup flawless and exquisite.
When she looked up and saw my pale, lifeless face, the corner of her lips lifted into a graceful yet glacial smile. "Gwendolyn, you're back. Why do you look so awful? You have some problems with me?"
"I wouldn't dare." I lowered my head, my voice rough.
"Good." Vivienne passed the baby to a highly reputable nanny and leisurely smoothed the lace at her cuff.
"Since you signed the agreement to stay here, you should understand your position. Donny kept you because you come from a family of scholars. Good bloodlines matter. As for you..."
She paused, her smile widening while her eyes turned utterly cold. "You're nothing but a breeder. Bearing heirs in my place is the only value you have in this house."
Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sky darkened. Sleet began to fall in thin, icy streaks.
Suddenly, Vivienne's smile vanished. "You frowned when you walked in. Was the air in this house unpleasant to you? If that's the case, go stand on the balcony and let the sleet clear your head."

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