He was three years older than me, gentle, considerate, from a wealthy family, and a respected psychologist.
The first time I visited his home, I already felt the distance between us. As I had expected, his whole family greeted me with cold indifference, and even the glances from his close friends carried sarcasm and envy.
I turned down his proposal and chose once again to run. But in chasing after me, Felix ended up in a car accident. Before being wheeled into the operating room, he was still murmuring my name.
I stayed by his side without leaving, and when he finally woke, he clutched my hand tightly.
“Fiona, I love you. If I hadn’t made it, we would never have seen each other again. Can you really be so heartless?”
I accepted his proposal after that, and his family said nothing more. Happiness washed over me, yet even in the middle of it, I hesitated to open the packet.
Not long after, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovaries, which made conception difficult. Only when I finally succeeded in becoming pregnant did I dare to carefully open it.
I had countless guesses, perhaps blessings, or advice for becoming a new mother. But it was none of those. Only three bloody words stared back at me:
Abort!! Run now!!
In my memory, Grandma had always been calm and steady, as if even the fall of the sky could not move her. For her to scrawl such words in blood could only mean a disaster beyond measure.
Felix’s calls came one after another, and when I refused to answer, his text messages flooded in.
[Why do you want to abort the child?]
[Is it still because of that damn packet? Is it really that important!?]
[Fiona, you’ve really disappointed me.]
The sharp tone of disappointment cut through the screen, leaving me at a loss as tears of shame and grief streamed uncontrollably.
For three years, Felix had cared for me with meticulous tenderness.
He was the one who treated me best, second only to Grandma.
When my mother-in-law mocked me as nothing more than an old hen who couldn’t lay eggs, Felix had taken me away and even borrowed money to buy us a new house.
Three years of IVF had left my stomach covered in needle marks, and every time Felix saw them, he would cry as if the pain were his own.
Rain or shine, he went with me to every checkup, even saving my doctor’s number in his phone. When work kept him away, he always asked about my condition.
This child was the fruit of our shared struggle, yet now I was about to destroy it on my own.
Soon, Felix sent another message. This time, his tone was softer.
[Wife, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I just can’t bear to think of your three years of effort.]
[Where are you?]
[What did the packet say?]
[Fiona, tell me. I can face it with you.]
I fought the urge to reply and shut off my phone.
I didn’t dare return to my hometown, so I got off one station early and found a hotel. Holding the last packet in my hand, I remembered Grandma’s words. This one was meant for when I was most lost and helpless. Wasn’t that exactly what I was now?
Why must I abort the child? Why must I run? And after that, where would I even go?
I desperately needed an answer.
Taking a deep breath, I tore open the packet, my trembling fingers quickly unfolding the note.
Once again, it carried only a short sentence. [Keep your phone open at all times]
What did that mean?
I stared at the black screen of my phone and, following the instructions, powered it on.
Messages poured in one after another, but just as I was about to check them, the electronic sound of the door unlocking broke the silence.
Faint noises drifted from the entrance. My heart froze.
I crawled off the bed, my eyes darting toward the door; the chair I had wedged against it now stood crooked.
Someone was outside!
Almost by instinct, I rushed into the bathroom and locked the door in one swift motion.
At that exact moment, the chair was shoved violently aside. Two men stormed in, pounding and kicking at the bathroom door.
“Fuck! That bitch noticed us!”
