After I was rescued from the kidnappers, Thorian Tudor kept his promise and made me his wife.
Seven years of grueling IVF treatments, and at last, we were blessed with a child.
Two weeks before my due date, while he was at a care center taking fatherhood classes, I was quietly erasing every fragment of my personal information.
Just as I thought I’d finished, a message from his childhood friend flashed across my phone, unraveling the fragile peace I had built.
The message read, [With a doting father like Thorian, the baby and I are bound to be happy.]
Attached was a photo of him cradling a practice baby doll, leaning in to kiss Breanna Alpin, her pregnant belly prominently displayed.
I glanced down at my own nine-month belly, the weight of betrayal pressing harder than the life growing inside me.
Silently, I signed the consent form for an abortion.
The surgery papers and a divorce agreement went into an envelope.
A registered letter that would reach him exactly in half a month.
…
After dropping the letter into the mailbox, I lingered outside the door, lighting a cigarette as the cool evening air bit at my skin.
Thorian was already home, standing in the kitchen with an apron tied neatly around his waist, focusing on the simmering pots.
Hearing me enter, he turned quickly, his face lighting up. He stepped over to hang my coat, take my bag, and gently kiss the side of my head.
The rhythmic scrape of the spatula and the savory aroma swirling through the air blurred the lines of reality, pulling me into a haze of recollection. It felt like time had rewound for a moment, and I was living in the comfort of yesterday.
We had built a love story spanning ten years and spent seven of those as husband and wife. In those early days, he insisted on cooking dinner every night, no matter how long or grueling his workday had been.
His gaze always held a warmth that felt like home, as he’d said that sharing dinner together made us a family.
His words had once moved me deeply, etching themselves into my heart. But sadly, that promise had crumbled long ago, and the dinners that once made us a family became a distant memory.
Thorian came over like an overgrown puppy, wrapping me in a warm embrace and guiding me to the dining table.
It was beautifully set, adorned with all my favorite dishes, flickering candlelight, and elegant wine glasses.
“You can’t have wine. So, I warmed some milk for you instead.”
The warm cup of milk was handed to me, and as he lowered his head, his apology was sincere but empty.
“I’m sorry. The courses were too packed, and I didn’t have time to take care of you. How was your checkup today? Is the baby okay?”
His words, once comforting, now felt like a cruel reminder.
It wasn’t the packed courses but the empty space I no longer occupied in his heart.
I turned away from the kiss mark on his neck, lifting the glass of milk to my lips, drinking it all in one go.
But all I could feel was the dull, aching throb of pain, pain that spread from my belly to my heart, a reminder of the choice I had made.
Thorian’s face shifted with surprise, his eyes widening as he immediately checked to ensure I was all right. But soon, a smile returned to his lips.
“A little bit of wine is fine,” he said gently. “The doctor said pregnant women can be emotional before delivery, but it’s okay. I understand.”
He pulled out a chair for me to sit, serving soup with tender care and expertly picking out fish bones.
Then, he proudly showed me the baby clothes he had carefully picked out. He asked me to look at each piece, his excitement palpable.
The soft blue of the clothes caught my attention, and I instinctively ran my fingers along the label inside.
The words “boy” stared back at me, and my smile faltered.
Because deep down, I knew I was carrying a girl.
During the IVF process, Thorian had been clear about his wishes. He had specifically requested a girl, hoping she would be like me, spoiled and adored, raised as the happiest little princess in the world.
Just then, my phone buzzed again.
Breanna had sent another message. [I bought too many clothes for a boy while shopping and picked out some ugly ones for the dad to throw away. They should be in the trash now.]
The photo circled the very clothes Thorian had shown me earlier.
A sharp pain twisted in my stomach as though the child inside was fighting against the drugs, struggling in silent protest.
I clutched my belly, the sensation like a giant hand squeezing the life out of my lungs.
The pain twisted inside me, pulling me into a tight curl.
Thorian froze, his face pale with alarm as he rushed to lift me and settle me onto the sofa.
“Did the alcohol affect the baby? Don’t move; I’ll call the doctor right now!”
I grabbed his arm, holding it tightly as I pressed his hand gently against my belly, trying to find some comfort in his touch.
“Don’t go, it’s not…”
An ugly scar marred my lower abdomen, a reminder of the wound I’d suffered when I hesitated to save Thorian.
I had covered it with a delicate feather tattoo to spare him the weight of his guilt.
Every night, when his lips brushed against the ink, he became particularly tender, as if the touch somehow softened the past.
But that very scar became the barrier between us; over time, he pulled away, and we were left with no choice but to try IVF.
Thorian ran his fingers over the scar on my palm, his dark eyes clouded with unspoken thoughts.
He lowered his head and kissed the feather, his lips soft against the ink, before apologizing once more.
“Baby, I’m sorry. I should’ve been here with you today.”
“Don’t worry, okay? I’ve taken care of everything for us. From now on, I’ll handle the baby and change the diapers, and I’ve already picked a name; Sarah, Sarah Tudor.”
“Our little Sarah, don’t make mommy upset, okay? Let’s sleep together with Daddy.”
He gently pressed my face into his shoulder, patting me softly as if I were a child, his voice a tender whisper.
As I turned my head, I caught a glimpse of his phone on the table, its screen lighting up.
A message from Breanna appeared, catching my eye. [Sarah, Thorian, and Breanna’s relationship is really something. It’s such a shame the boy’s clothes can’t be used, but don’t worry, they’ll go to your girl instead.]
Tears soaked into his shoulder, my body trembling as I fought to hold back the sharp, dying ache of the baby inside me.
With shaky hands, I placed mine over his, pressing it against my back.
“Okay.”
I didn’t want the baby. I didn’t want him anymore.
Halfway through the night, I woke to a fresh wave of pain, only to find Thorian was already gone.
The house was empty, and I struggled to call a cab.
By the time I was being rushed to the hospital, I ran into Thorian, who was with Breanna, accompanying her for a checkup.
He carried the bags, looking like an ordinary, worried husband escorting his wife to the doctor.
He reassured Breanna, who seemed to be both complaining and acting cute on the chair.
Meanwhile, he scribbled notes, hanging on every word the doctor said.
When the doctor finished, they leaned in for a kiss, radiating the kind of love that made them appear inseparable.
“If you regret it, there’s still time,” the doctor said, studying my face closely.
The pain in my abdomen felt like a storm tearing through my insides.
I clutched my chest as if my heart might shatter at any moment and dialed Thorian’s number.
He frowned, staring at the phone for a long moment before he gently hushed Breanna and answered my call.
“Baby, are you awake? Are you hungry?”
His voice was still warm, the same tenderness he always had as if he wasn’t sitting beside Breanna, comforting her.
I gripped the bed rail, my fingers tight and knuckles white, my voice cutting through the air like ice.
“Where are you?”
He paused, his eyes scanning the room, instinctively searching for something.
The throng of patients passing by blocked my view, leaving me in a painful limbo.
His voice returned, lower now, laced with laughter.
“What, do you miss me? I’m at the office. I’ll come back when I’m done and bring you your favorite crab roe buns. Okay?”
He’d try to buy my forgiveness with crab roe buns each time he broke a promise.
But what he didn’t know was that the only time I truly enjoyed them was when I couldn’t have them.
After all these years, the crab roe buns had lost their appeal, especially the ones he brought when he was late.
“My stomach hurts so much, Thorian…”
Breanna’s soft voice drifted through the air.
Thorian knelt quickly in front of her, his expression laced with concern.
He didn’t even seem to hear the doctor, who was urging me to make a decision before both mother and child would be in jeopardy.
“Alright, enough. I have things to do. Stop calling me all the time.”
Thorian ended the call abruptly, his tone sharp and without hesitation. He scooped up Breanna and hurried toward the doctor, their figures retreating together like a heavyweight crashing down on my chest.
