A package arrived. VIP contract from the city's most exclusive Elite Postpartum Retreat. Patient name: Elena Morrison. I stared at it, confused. Then I called Leon. "Babe, why are you booking this so early? I'm only three months along!" Silence on the other end. A few beats too long. Then his gentle voice came through. "Sweetheart, I'm new at this whole dad thing. I want everything perfect for you. Don't worry about it—I'll handle it when I get home." My chest warmed. I teased him for being ridiculous. "You're not clueless. You've been amazing." Leon was everyone's golden boy—the perfect husband who anticipated my every need through this pregnancy. Attentive. Thoughtful. Loving. But when I pulled out the contract, my fingers froze. Estimated delivery date: next month. My baby was only three months along. The realization hit like ice water. His "first time being a father" wasn't about my child. His experience came from another woman. *** It's a printing error. Had to be. That's what I told myself, even as my fingers betrayed me and pulled up the retreat's website. I dialed. My voice stayed steady. "Hi, I need to verify an order. Last four digits 8867. Patient name Elena Morrison." "One moment, please." The receptionist's voice dripped with professional warmth. "Ms. Morrison, your reservation is confirmed. Estimated delivery date is the 15th of next month. You've booked our premier suite. Mr. Morrison paid in full. The contract has been mailed!" My hand trembled around the phone. "You're certain it's... Elena Morrison? My ID number is—" "Confirmed, Ms. Morrison." She cut me off. "Mr. Morrison specifically noted that you're carrying twins and will need special care. Rest assured, we have state-of-the-art facilities and a 24-hour medical team. You and your babies will be in excellent hands." Twins? I ended the call. Sat on the couch. My hands and feet went numb. The name was right. ID number matched. But I was carrying one baby. Only three months along. This retreat was expensive—the kind of place that could handle a walk-in delivery the day before labor and still provide white-glove service. So why book months in advance? Whose babies were being born next month? *** Leon came home after midnight. I sat in the dark, the contract spread on the coffee table. I'd read that line so many times I could recite it from memory. "Elena?" He flipped on the light. "Why are you sitting in the dark?" I didn't answer. Just looked at him. He walked over, eyes soft, leaning down to kiss me. I turned my head away. "Elena?" Confusion crept into his voice. "Leon." My voice came out calmer than I expected. "I got the contract today." "Why does it say the delivery date is next month? And twins?" He paused mid-motion. Then he laughed. Crouched in front of me and took my hands. "I was going to tell you—their system made an error. I already contacted them to fix it." He looked up at me, eyes filled with that familiar tenderness. "Babe, you're pregnant. You can't stress yourself out like this. It's not good for the baby." If this were before, I would've believed him. But this time, I didn't miss the flash of panic in his eyes.
"System error?" I slowly pulled my hand away. "Then how did they get my pregnancy timeline wrong too?" Three months ago, when I found out I was pregnant, he cried. Said he'd never forget that day. But now this contract had two dates—and neither one matched my pregnancy. I looked at him, hoping he'd give me a reason I could believe. He said nothing. I felt my throat tighten. "It's because their premier suites are so limited, isn't it? That's why you rushed to book it." "Elena—" Leon stood, turning his back to me. His shoulders were rigid. Finally, he spoke. "Her name is Liana. She's an intern at our company." The name hit me like a gunshot. His voice dropped. "Last year at the holiday party, I had too much to drink... She's young. She's under a lot of pressure right now..." Too much to drink? I almost laughed. Didn't anyone tell him that when he's drunk, he can't even get it up? "After that night, she got pregnant. Turned out to be twins." His voice got quieter. "She wanted to terminate, but I said no. They're two lives..." I finished for him: "So she's giving birth at the retreat under my name?" "That way you get to keep your 'perfect husband' image." "After all, your wife—Elena Morrison—is pregnant." "Everyone will assume I gave birth to them. And your bastards become legitimate heirs." Leon's eyes stayed down. "You even made yourself a cover story," I said, smiling through tears. "How thoughtful." "Elena, I love you. I've only ever loved you." He crouched down again, gripping my hands. "She was an accident. I have no feelings for her. I just..." "I just couldn't let a young girl go through an abortion. It would damage her body. Once the babies are born, she'll leave. I promise." I looked at this man—the one I'd married three years ago, the one I thought I'd grow old with. My heart turned to ash. "You couldn't bear to make her terminate... So I should?" Pain flickered across Leon's face. Then he went silent. No more explanations. No more protests. No more declarations of love. That silence cut deeper than any words. He was waiting for me to say it. He didn't want my baby. The thought struck like lightning. My entire body went cold. "Elena." He looked up, pain still in his eyes—but what came out of his mouth was colder than anything before. "That girl has been... unstable lately. Threatening to hurt herself because the babies won't have legal status." He paused, the sympathy in his eyes undisguised. "Two days ago, she slit her wrists with a fruit knife. We caught her just in time." He lowered his gaze to the floor. "Your body is strong. You recover fast. And you've had a miscarriage before, so one more time won't matter." My blood turned to ice. "What did you just say?" He didn't look at me. Kept staring at the floor. "She's different," he said. "She's only twenty-three. First pregnancy... She's alone in this city, no family, no support." I opened my mouth. No sound came out. "I know this hurts you." His grip on my hand tightened. "But we can try again later. Your body is resilient—you got pregnant again after the last miscarriage. This time will be fine too." He looked up, actual tears in his eyes. "Just... do this for me. Please?" I stared into those eyes. Heard every word. And I laughed. "Leon." My voice came out soft. "Do you remember why I miscarried last time?"
He froze. "Because your mother thought I wasn't good enough for you. We argued. She pushed me down the stairs." His face went pale. "I was twenty-three then too. First pregnancy. All alone—I'd left my city, my parents, everything to be with you." My tone stayed flat. "You don't remember, do you?" "Elena, my mom didn't mean to—" "I know." I cut him off. "That's why I forgave her." "I believe she didn't mean it. She looked terrified afterward." "She just didn't expect that you were standing right behind me... and you didn't catch me." Leon's face drained of color. "Elena, how can you think that?" His voice rose. "That was my first child too. How could I deliberately not catch you?" I looked down at his hand gripping mine. That hand hadn't caught me three years ago. And now, three years later, it was asking me to terminate again. "So." I pulled my hand away. "Your mom pushed me, you failed to catch me, we lost that baby—all just accidents?" "Yes! Accidents. Nobody wanted that to happen." "Then tell me." I locked eyes with him. "Is this time an accident too?" He went silent. "Her pregnancy was an accident? You demanding I abort is an accident?" Each word landed like a hammer. "Leon, how is it that all your family's 'accidents' happen to me?" His face flushed red. The room stayed quiet for a long time. So long I thought he wouldn't speak again. Then he did. "Elena, what do you want me to do?" He looked up, eyes bloodshot. "It's you on one side, her and two babies on the other—what the fuck am I supposed to do?" I stared at him. "What am I supposed to do? That's what I should be asking you." My voice cracked into a scream: "She's young, first pregnancy, abortion would hurt her body—so she can't be harmed, but I deserve it?" "That's not what I meant—" "Then what DID you mean?" He said nothing. I looked at this face I'd known for three years. Suddenly it seemed like a stranger's. So unfamiliar I didn't even recognize who he was anymore. "Leon." My voice steadied. "You're asking me to kill my own child to make room for someone else's. Do you know what that's called?" His lips moved. "It's called murder." Each syllable deliberate. "You want me to murder my baby so I can raise your bastards." "Elena—" I slapped him. The crack echoed through the room. His face whipped to the side. He stood frozen. My palm stung, but my chest hurt worse. "That slap was for my baby." My voice didn't shake. "Remember—you're the one who didn't want him." "We're getting divorced."
He clutched his cheek, and there was even grievance in his eyes. "You can hit me. But don't you dare say divorce." "I told you—I never wanted to cheat. Our marriage is fine—" His phone rang. He hesitated for a few seconds, then walked away to answer. When he came back, his eyes held conflict. "Emergency at the office. I need to go." I didn't respond. "Just... cool down. We'll talk when I get back." He took a step toward the door, then turned back. "Given her condition, I have a responsibility to look after her right now." "She's about to give birth. I won't have time for you these next few weeks. You'd be miserable anyway, heavily pregnant with nobody around." "Better to do it while it's early... You'll suffer less." "Once her babies are born and registered under your name, you'll still be Mrs. Morrison. The children will be legitimate. Between us, nothing will change." He looked at me, waiting for me to nod. But I had no energy left to deal with him. He sighed and left. The door closed. I stared at it and laughed. He made such perfect sense. She was giving birth. He had no time for me. I'd be alone, pregnant, with nobody. So better to terminate first? The night outside was deep. I sat motionless until dawn. The doorbell rang. I finally moved to answer it. Leon's mother stood there with my sister-in-law Olivia, who'd just married into the family. "Elena, sweetie." Olivia grabbed my hand immediately. "Mom got the call last night and couldn't sleep. We came at first light to check on you." The old Mrs. Morrison pulled me to sit on the couch. "I know you're hurt. I'll talk to Leon. But Elena, you need to understand his position too." "That girl is carrying twins. Two lives." I looked at her kind face, listening to her talk about "understanding" and "compassion." "Mom." My voice came out hoarse. "So you agree with Leon? I should abort my baby?" Her expression didn't change. "They're all my grandchildren. Of course I'd rather not lose any. But that girl threatened suicide. One wrong move and it's three deaths." She patted my hand. "The Morrison family can't do something so immoral." Immoral? Making me kill my own child wasn't immoral? I yanked my hand back and stood. "I can't do it." My voice was firm. "This is my baby. Three months along. He has a heartbeat. I won't abort him."
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