"I don't need it, and I'm not going back to teaching. I'm staying at the factory. The director actually values my work and gave me the chance to make more by switching to night shifts."
Weston yanked the phone out of my hand and flopped down onto the couch like he was ready to dig his heels in and dare me to challenge him.
My eyes stung immediately. I leaned back against the wall, one hand supporting my lower back, the other resting on my belly. I was exhausted, and my body felt like it was carrying more than just this child—it felt like it was bearing the weight of everything.
The tears I'd been trying to hold back quietly slid down my cheeks, soaking into the fabric of my dress, one after another, steady and unrelenting.
"Weston," I whispered, voice cracking, "do it for the fifteen years we've been together. For the baby I'm carrying. Please don't take the night shift. I'm begging you."
But all I got back was silence.
And so, I took a shaky breath, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and forced a bitter smile.
"Alright. I get it now. Just… don't come crying when you regret it."
Time passed slowly, each minute heavier than the last. His parents and all the relatives were still trying to talk sense into him, urging him to give up the night shift and stick with day hours.
Meanwhile, I had already packed my suitcase.
When I wheeled it out of the bedroom into the hallway, that's when Weston finally broke.
His eyes were red and raw, and he rushed toward me in a panic.
"Rachel, my low sperm quality has caused you to endure numerous IVF cycles over the last seven years. You've been through hell. We both know how hard it was to have this baby. And now, at 35, your pregnancy's already considered high-risk. If you abort our baby, it's going to do real damage to your body. Can you stop being so impulsive?"
I met his gaze and held it.
"Then promise me. Don't take the night shift!" I stared at him stubbornly, making one final plea. "As long as you don't work nights, I'll agree to anything. The betrothal gift, I'll return it. The house, the car… hell, even if you cheat on me someday, I won't take a single thing. I'll walk away with nothing. Weston, you've always listened to me. Just this once, can you please listen to me again?"
But his face hardened. His warmth vanished.
Without saying a word, he peeled my fingers off his hand one by one and snapped back, sharp and cold.
"I'm working nights so I can earn more. Why are you stopping me? What the hell is so wrong with the night shift?"
His voice rose, anger creeping in. "I just want to make some money for you and the baby. Is that such a crime? I'm trying to give you a better life so you don't have to work yourself to death. I'm doing this for us. Why can't you try to understand that?"
Then he threw his hands up in frustration. "You've always had my back. Why are you pushing me like this now?"
Yes, we had been together for fifteen years. And even when that student falsely accused him of assault and he ended up in jail, I didn't leave.
I found a lawyer. I dug up the truth. I stood by his side when everyone else turned their backs.
When we found out he had oligospermia and our chances of conceiving naturally were almost nonexistent, I didn't complain and immediately signed up for IVF.
Seven years of heartbreak and injections and hospital visits, and finally, this little life came to us.
I had dreamed of our future—me, him, and our baby.
But now, he was still choosing the same road he had gone down in our past life.
I wiped my face again, pressing my nails into the soft skin of my palm, needing the sharp pain to bring me back to focus.
And when the tears ran dry, what remained inside me was pure ice.
"Fine," I said coolly. "I won't stop you. If you're so set on working nights, then do it. But don't expect me or the baby to stick around."
I shoved past him and placed my hand gently on my belly.
My voice came out calm as I announced, "I'm getting the abortion tomorrow."
Karen's face went pale, her voice trembling as she grabbed my arm and pulled me aside.
"No, you can't. We won't allow it!"
"Rachel," Karen added, "ever since you became part of our family, haven't I always treated you nicely? The child belongs to you and Weston. Can't you step back and consider everything we've been through? Weston is working the night shift for the family and trying to earn more for you."
"For me? For the family? To earn a little more?" I repeated, letting out a quiet laugh that didn't quite sound like one. "Mom, he's not doing this for me. He's already fallen for someone else's promises about getting rich."
She blinked, confused, not understanding what I meant.
But there were things I couldn't tell yet. I didn't want to create unnecessary danger.
Then, she gently touched my arm, her voice soft and almost maternal.
"Silly girl. Of course, he's doing this for you. Weston doesn't even spend money on himself. Doesn't he deposit every paycheck straight into your account?"
I didn't answer. There was no point.
She wasn't wrong. But she wasn't right either.
There were things at play she couldn't even begin to imagine. And right now, I have to carry that truth on my own.
