Ethan's reasoning was that he wanted to have some time alone with me.
I respected his wishes, though reluctantly, and went through with the abortion.
The second time I was pregnant, he said he wasn’t ready to be a father yet.
The third time, he patted my belly and said he understood that the interval between pregnancies was too short, and it wasn't suitable to have a child.
...
The 98th pregnancy, Ethan still insisted that I terminate it.
I questioned him, wondering if he had any feelings for me at all.
His response was a reproach:
"How can you think that of me? I’ve made you have so many abortions just because my lucky number is 99."
"I hope our child can be as lasting and smooth as our relationship."
I was on the verge of tears, feeling that I had misunderstood him, eagerly anticipating the arrival of the 99th child.
Until today, I held the prenatal check-up report, happily planning to tell Ethan the good news that I was pregnant.
A car accident unexpectedly took away this hard-earned life.
I desperately protected my belly, but it was all in vain.
I could only watch as my stomach deflated, the blood pooling around me.
Shaking, I dialed Ethan’s number to tell him what had happened.