Then came a stab of pain deep in my abdomen. Warm liquid ran down my legs.
“My baby... my baby!” I scrambled to the door and pounded on it, frantic. “Let me out! Please, save my child!”
Mrs. Turner’s cold voice came from outside. “Didn’t you say you aborted it already? Why didn’t you finish the job?”
Sobbing, I dug my fingernails into the wooden door, leaving smears of blood in the cracks. “It’s Lucas’s baby! It’s his! It’s his!”
But the only answer was the sound of retreating footsteps, growing farther and farther away.
I spent the entire night alone, soaked in blood.
By morning, the door finally creaked open.
A man in black stood there, face emotionless. “Ma’am, I’ll take you to the hospital.”Lying on the operating table, I opened my eyes and felt life inside me slipping away, little by little.
My phone buzzed beside me. A message from Lucas appeared on the screen:
"Nina, I'm sorry. I’ve wronged you. I’ll explain everything to Mom later."
My fingers trembled, and a single tear rolled down the side of my face.
The day I received the divorce certificate, I dialed a number I hadn’t touched in five years.
The call connected, and a familiar deep voice, warm and amused, came through.