1 My husband, Bennett, was a man ruled by cold, unrelenting logic. Whenever I bought him a gift, he would analyze its design, calculate its market value, debate its utility, and ultimately conclude that I had overpaid and made a foolish purchase. When I was criticized at work and came home upset, he never offered a single word of comfort. Instead, he would look at me and say, "Clearly, you made a mistake. If you had done your job perfectly, why would your supervisor criticize you?" So, when I recently found out I was pregnant and struggled with severe morning sickness, I leaned against him and whispered, "This is too hard, Bennett. I don't think I can do this." He looked at me, his eyes entirely serious, and said, "If you find it so miserable, get an abortion. You don't have to carry it." I froze. Eventually, I took his advice and terminated the pregnancy. But when we returned from the clinic, he fell to his knees in front of me, weeping, promising he would never let his logic get the better of him again. The day I returned from my initial prenatal checkup, my lower back was throbbing. I walked into the house, supporting myself with one hand, stepping with agonizing care. Bennett was sitting on the couch, his eyes glued to his phone. He did not say a word, nor did he look up. A surge of resentment flared in my chest. Since I had discovered the pregnancy, I had gone to every single hospital appointment alone. I watched other expectant mothers accompanied by attentive partners, while Bennett never once offered to join me. He had not even brought it up. Even now, after a long day at the clinic, he did not care to ask how the baby was doing. I had tolerated his neglect in the past, telling myself that his work was stressful, but this time, the silence was too heavy to bear. "Bennett, the baby in my womb is yours," I said, my voice trembling. "Can't you show a little fatherly responsibility?" He set his phone down, turning his head to look at me with that familiar, analytical stare. "What exactly do you want me to do?" It was always this question. Every time I expressed frustration, he would calmly ask what I wanted him to do, as though he were incapable of human empathy unless provided with an explicit checklist. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my voice. "You see how much I've been struggling since the pregnancy began. I can't sleep at night, I'm constantly running to the bathroom, and I'm taking multiple medications just to keep my thyroid levels and blood sugar stable. You..." "It is indeed a difficult process," he interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact. "But you have a logical alternative. You can terminate the pregnancy. You can choose not to have it." I stood frozen, my ears ringing. An abortion? I had only been venting, seeking a gentle word or a warm embrace to soothe the erratic emotions brought on by pregnancy hormones. Instead, he had offered to end our child's life. I knew he was a man who took everything literally, analyzing every statement as a sterile problem to be solved without ever considering the human heart behind it. But was I just another problem to him? Was our unborn child merely a variable to be eliminated? My heart throbbed with a sharp, physical pain. "Are you joking with me?" I whispered. "Of course not," he replied, his voice flat and even. "I am looking at the root of your physical distress. To resolve the issue permanently, abortion is the only logical solution." The pain in my chest deepened. "So, you are suggesting this for my sake? You are looking at this from my perspective?" I stared at him, desperately hoping for a nod, a sign that some part of his advice was born of love. If he said yes, I could forgive him, just as I had forgiven his coldness a thousand times before. But he shook his head. "No. It is not about your feelings. I am simply analyzing the facts." A hollow, bitter laugh escaped my lips. I tilted my head back, forcing the tears to stay inside my eyes. "Right. I understand." "Good," Bennett murmured, picking his phone back up and returning his attention to the screen. I looked at him, the man I had loved for years, the man I had chosen to build a life with, and felt a block of ice settle over my heart. He was just solving a problem. He was treating me like a client seeking professional consultation, rather than his wife. When we first started dating, I had found his hyper-rationality almost charming, mistaking it for intellect and honesty. Now, I realized that even after marriage and pregnancy, I was still a stranger to him. I dragged my exhausted body into the bedroom and shut the door. Pulling out my phone, I dialed my OB-GYN. "Dr. Barrett, I'd like to schedule a termination." "Are you out of your mind?" Dr. Barrett's voice rose in disbelief. "Your scan from this morning showed a perfectly healthy fetus. Aside from the physical toll this will take on you, what about your husband?" "The termination was my husband's idea," I said quietly. The line went silent. After a long pause, Dr. Barrett spoke in a softer tone. "Did you two have a fight? Is there someone else?" "No. Nothing like that." "Then why..." "Dr. Barrett, this is a personal matter, and I'd prefer not to discuss it," I interrupted, my voice flat. "I am only calling to schedule the procedure. If you have ethical reservations, I can find another clinic." The doctor let out a long, heavy sigh. "Fine. Monday morning. Come in early." Today was Saturday. Monday was only two days away. "Thank you," I said, and hung up. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the blank wall. When we first met, Bennett had argued over every minor disagreement, parsing my words until I conceded. I had excused it back then, thinking he was simply passionate. On our first anniversary, I spent half my monthly salary to buy him a beautiful watch. I had imagined his face lighting up with joy. Instead, he inspected the piece, researched its market value, debated its daily utility, and ultimately concluded that I had overpaid by nearly double. My smile had died on my face, leaving a cold lump in my throat. Shortly before our wedding, my supervisor had unfairly blamed me for a team failure. I came home in tears, looking for comfort, only for Bennett to tell me, "It's because you didn't manage up properly. You should work on your communication skills instead of whining to me." I had stayed awake all night, staring at the ceiling, wondering why I was in this relationship. Once, I asked him directly if he loved me. "Yes," he had answered. A single, flat word. No hug, no kiss, no warmth. He was simply answering a query. The bedroom door clicked open. Bennett stood in the threshold, his face devoid of emotion. "It's time to make dinner." I clenched my fists, the numbness finally giving way to a slow, burning anger. "If I told you I wanted a divorce, what would you say?" He paused, considering the question with academic focus. "We would need a certified attorney to draft a clear division of assets, preventing any messy legal disputes down the line." I felt the last thread of warmth in my chest snap. "Yes. We would certainly need a lawyer." I forced myself to look at him without crying. "We aren't cooking tonight. Let's go out. To that bistro downtown." I wanted to use this final evening to say a quiet, private goodbye to the ghost of our marriage. Bennett frowned. "It is not Valentine's Day, nor is it either of our birthdays. Why go to an expensive restaurant? If you do not want to cook, I can order takeout." A tear slipped down my cheek, hot and fast. His frown deepened. "I only said we shouldn't go out, and now you are crying? Fine, fine. We will go to the bistro." He turned and walked down the hallway. I sat on the bed, staring at my slightly rounded stomach, and used both hands to slowly push myself up. Bennett stood by the front door, watching my struggle without taking a single step to help me. During the drive, and then the walk from the parking lot, he kept a brisk pace, leaving me to jog slightly to keep up. At the restaurant, the waitress noticed my condition and carefully guided me to the table, shielding me from a passing busboy. Bennett, however, had already seated himself and was scanning the menu. "Do you have any dietary restrictions?" the waitress asked, pen poised over her pad. Before I could open my mouth, Bennett answered, "None." The waitress frowned, looking between us. "Sir, you aren't the pregnant one. How would you know?" "Because she is my wife," Bennett explained, his voice perfectly reasonable. "I know her habits. From the day we met, she has never had any dietary restrictions. She eats spicy food, sour food, raw food, everything." The waitress's expression hardened. "That was before. She is carrying a child now." "I am aware," Bennett replied, his tone polite but dismissive. "But gestation does not alter her baseline biological makeup. She is still the same person." I saw the waitress's knuckles turn white. I quickly spoke up to defuse the tension. "Just something simple and mild, please." She nodded, shooting a glare at Bennett, and purposely stepped on his leather shoe as she turned to leave. "Excuse me," she said flatly, before walking away. Bennett looked down at his shoe. "Her service is incredibly unprofessional. She will likely be terminated by the end of the quarter." I stared at him. "Did it ever occur to you that she was standing up for me? I am pregnant, Bennett. I actually do need extra care." He shook his head. "That is an emotional justification, not a logical one. A professional should never let personal bias affect their work." I stopped talking. I barely touched my food while he ate with efficient, quiet hunger. On Monday morning, Bennett surprised me by standing at the door with his car keys. "I am coming with you to the clinic." I hesitated. "There's no need. I've handled the previous appointments myself." "I am your husband," he argued, his logical faculties fully engaged. "I was unavailable for the prior visits due to scheduling conflicts. Today, I have an open calendar. Therefore, it is my duty to accompany you." I didn't argue. At the hospital, he walked five paces ahead of me through the sterile corridors, never looking back. In the waiting room, other husbands sat close to their wives, whispering soft words of encouragement. Bennett sat two seats away from me, his head bowed over his phone. When my name was called, he followed me into the room. Dr. Barrett looked at him, then turned to me, her voice heavy with reluctance. "Cathy, I need you to tell me you've thought this through." Bennett spoke up. "What is there to think about? It is a standard procedure. We are ready." Dr. Barrett's eyes flared with anger. "Sir, your wife is about to undergo a significant procedure. I suggest you both consider the weight of this decision. You have responsibilities as parents." Bennett frowned. "I am fulfilling my responsibility. I am present, and I am supporting her choice to resolve her physical distress. What more do you expect?" I closed my eyes. "Dr. Barrett, please. Let's just begin." I lay on the cold operating table, tears leaking silently into my hair. My sweet baby, it is not that I do not want you. I just cannot let you grow up in a home without love. When the procedure was over, I was wheeled into the recovery room. My face was entirely white, my lips dry and cracked. Bennett rushed to my side, a rare look of confusion crossing his face. "Why are you so pale? What kind of checkup was this? Where is the baby?" It was the very first time he had asked about our child. I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper. "The baby is gone. I had the abortion." "What?" Bennett gasped, his face draining of color. "You, you terminated the pregnancy? Why?" "I did exactly what you suggested," I said, my voice empty of all emotion. "I resolved the issue at its root. Now, I won't suffer, and I won't whine to you ever again." Bennett's hands began to shake.
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "519864", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel