She accused me of doing it on purpose, as if I had any control over such a thing. The moment was seared into my mind, a mix of confusion and hurt, and then she spoke the words that still haunt me.
She told me a child would ruin her life, destroy her body, and that she’d be nothing more than a house-bound wife, chained to a life she despised. Her words were cold and flat.
I should’ve listened harder to what she was saying then, but love has a way of making us deaf.
Eventually, I agreed. We went through the motions, terminated the pregnancy, and “DINK” became our unspoken rule—Double Income, No Kids.
That was the lifestyle she said she wanted.
But it turned out to be a lie. It wasn’t that Naomi didn’t want to give birth. She just didn’t want to carry my child.
After the callous way she’d tossed my love and loyalty aside, I didn’t want to drag out the agony any longer.
I called my parents to let them know I was filing for a divorce and that I’d be coming back to take over the family business, a part of me that I’d left behind for her. My mom’s voice was a soft comfort, filled with surprise and a tinge of relief.