I stared at him, my mouth slightly open in disbelief.
'This is the man I married?' I thought. 'How could I have been so stupid?'
But I couldn’t lose my cool—not yet.
“I’ll wash the dishes,” I said, my voice steady. “But after that, can I go to the hospital? This is our first child, and I’m really worried. David, please help me explain to Mom. I’ll come right back—I promise.”
David nodded. “Alright.”
As I climbed out of bed, I pretended to stumble, falling into him just long enough to swipe the car keys from his pocket.
'Wash the dishes? Not a chance.'
Moments later, I was in the car, gripping the steering wheel as I navigated the winding mountain roads. My knuckles were white, and I didn’t dare glance in the rearview mirror. I didn’t want to see that house again.
I called my mom, my voice shaking as I told her everything and asked her to schedule the abortion.
Barely ten minutes later, my phone buzzed.
It was a text from David: [Did you take my car? Stop messing around and come back. The mountain roads are slippery.]
'His car?'
The audacity. The registration was in my name, not his.
When I didn’t reply, my phone started ringing.