I Aborted Our Baby The Day He Celebrated His Mistress Birthday Chapter 10

I Aborted Our Baby The Day He Celebrated His Mistress Birthday Chapter 10

Julian disappeared for a few days after that. Alone in some hospital in a city where he knew no one – I doubted it was pleasant.

Part of me hoped that would be enough to scare him off.

But it wasn’t long before he was back – outside my office, on the street, and eventually, standing at my front door. He showed up with a bag of groceries, said he wanted to cook for me.

I’d just come from a work dinner, still light–headed from the wine. My guard was down, and he slipped through the door before I could stop him. My head was spinning. I didn’t have the energy to fight.

So I put him to work.

“Make me some coffee. Black. And take off my heels and rub my feet – my feet are killing me.”

Julian didn’t hesitate. He knelt down and carefully massaged my arches like it was a privilege.

The thing was, Julian knew how to take care of a person. In the beginning, when we first got married, dinner was always ready when I walked through the door. When I was exhausted, he’d press a warm towel to my neck and massage my temples.

He just stopped doing it for me.

If – and I mean if – Julian hadn’t drifted away, I could’ve spent my whole life with him. We did love each

other once. Desperately, even. Purely.

“I’ll get the soup started,” he said.

I crashed on the couch. When I woke up, Julian was still in the kitchen, bloodshot eyes fixed on the pot like

he was afraid the soup would disappear if he looked away.

I dragged myself to the table, still half–asleep. Julian moved around me the way he used to bowl, spoon,

soup ladled carefully. He gathered my hair back, tucking the loose strands behind my ear.

“Okay. You can leave now,” I said.

Hurt flickered across Julian’s face.

“Just a little longer… please?” “Let me stay until you finish the soup. I’ll go after that, I promise…”

I didn’t have the patience for this. I rubbed my temples. “Get out.”

Julian didn’t move.

I grabbed the bowl and hurled it at him.

It was scalding – straight from the pot. Broth and vegetables soaked into his ruined shirt, still steaming.

Julian’s whole body seized. He flinched – one involuntary step back – but he didn’t dodge. Didn’t make a

sound.

He stood there with his eyes down, letting the heat sink into him. Shoulders locked. Fingers curling at his

sides.

The pot was still bubbling on the stove behind him.

The kitchen that had smelled like homemade soup a minute ago now just smelled like something ruined.

“I said, I want you to leave.”

Julian waited until the worst of the burn passed. Then he reached for my hand, turned it over, checked my

palm. “You didn’t burn yourself, did you?”

He looked like a kid who knew he’d broken something and couldn’t fix it. Eyes red, jaw trembling – shame,

hurt, and something too heavy to name all tangled up in his face.

“Eleanor…” His voice cracked. “There’s still soup in the pot… just have a little, okay? I spent hours on it.”

After everything – the soup dripping off his chest, the burns already blistering – and his first thought was

still whether I’d eaten. I almost laughed.

“Julian, do you honestly think if you just show up and grovel long enough, I’ll cave? That I’ll come running

back?”

“You think I’m still the woman who couldn’t stand to see you hurt? Who couldn’t bring herself to say one

harsh word to you?”

His jaw clenched. The skin on his neck was already turning raw and red. He shook his head, barely.

“I’m not trying to make you come back.” “I just want to take care of you. Even if you won’t let me. Even if you

hate me for it.”

I scoffed. “You want to know what I actually want?”

Julian’s eyes lit up – only for a second. Then I watched the light drain out of them.

“What I want, Julian, is to never see your face again. I hate you.”