Born to Be Harvested The Unborn's Revenge

Mom's health was never good. Carrying me put her through hell.

When the doctors said I wouldn't make it, she insisted on keeping me anyway.

Hormone injections, nutrient IVs—every single day. After each round, I'd squirm inside her, my tiny body aching all over.

Mom would endure the pain in her belly just to comfort me.

"Be good, little one. You have to grow up strong and healthy."

Her morning sickness was brutal. She'd eat, throw up, eat again—all so I could be healthy.

To spare her even a little discomfort, I held still no matter how much I hurt.

Until the day Mom asked the doctor: