I Aborted Our Baby The Day He Celebrated His Mistress Birthday Chapter 01

I Aborted Our Baby The Day He Celebrated His Mistress Birthday Chapter 01

I walked out of the clinic and texted my husband, Julian Hayes, before I’d even made it to the car. [I had the abortion.]

His reply came instantly. [K]. I stared at it, and a bitter laugh caught in my throat.

Years of this. Every time I messaged him before a high-risk operation — [K]. Every time I told him that if I went dark for a full day, he needed to come find me — [K].

A cave-in buried me alive once. Three days with no signal, no rescue, no way out. I sent Julian over three hundred messages, every last one begging him to find me.

Over three hundred messages. And just as many [K]s back. That was when it hit me — every single reply had been automated. Julian hadn’t read a word.

So he had no idea that two weeks ago, buried somewhere in that wall of unread texts, I’d told him I was taking the out-of-state transfer. Or that I’d be ending the pregnancy today.

All of Julian’s attention belonged to someone else, and that someone wasn’t me. His latest post said enough. [A 1000-day Snapstreak, and Harper’s birthday.]

The attached photo was a screenshot of their chat — thousands of messages, stacked one after another, with the little flame icon right at the top. A thousand days straight.

I liked the post. Left a comment. [It’s a good day.]

That was the date I survived the cave-in. And now, it was the day I decided to leave Julian for good.

***

I dragged myself home and collapsed into bed. By the time I woke up, the cramping had faded into something almost bearable.

Everything felt wrong. Hollow. My body. This dark, empty house. Both completely hollowed out.

Out of habit, my thumb hovered over Julian’s name. It was past three in the morning, and he still wasn’t home.

Then the screen lit up — that wall of [K]s — and reality snapped back into place. Almost two years of auto-replies, and I was still reaching for him like he might actually answer. A bitter smirk escaped me.

The front door clicked open. I stepped into the hallway and found Julian already pulling off his shirt.

He tossed the wet shirt aside. “Harper was craving my pot roast, so I brought her some. Got caught in the rain on the way back.” He glanced at me. “Still awake?”

“Yeah,” I said. My voice was flat. Barely a word.

He drifted into the bathroom, throwing the question back over his shoulder. “What were you at the clinic for?”

The hair dryer roared to life before I could answer. “An abortion,” I said, but the noise swallowed my words.

He never waited for my answers. Didn’t even realize he never waited. My eyes dropped to the cheap leather cord around his neck.

It showed through every white shirt he owned, a dark line he refused to hide. He’d put on a blazer in the dead of summer before he’d take it off — and the thing was just a cheap freebie from some shop Harper Simmons had dragged him into.

I leaned against the doorframe. “Julian. Where’s your wedding ring?”

He killed the dryer and pushed his hair back. “Took it off.”

“I don’t like feeling tied down.”

“Then why do you wear that necklace?” I already knew. I wanted to hear him say it.

“It’s different,” he said. “This feels comfortable. A ring digs into your skin and gets in the way. You’re the only one who cares about that kind of stuff.”

I looked down at my hand.

A wedding ring. I’d ditched the real one ages ago. This one came from a mall kiosk — ten bucks, with cubic zirconia so bad it was almost funny.

Julian never noticed. But then, he hadn’t really looked at me in years. Hadn’t held my hand in even longer.

“Get some rest.” Julian patted my shoulder and headed for the guest room.

We hadn’t shared a bed since I got pregnant. His excuse was that he stayed up too late and didn’t want to wake me.

The real reason was Harper. Every night he picked her up after her shift, took her to grab a bite, and drove her home. He never got back before the early hours of the morning.

And even after all that, they’d keep texting once he was home.

I woke up just before dawn one morning to use the bathroom. Light still leaked from under the guest room door. I could hear the rapid tapping of his screen, and every few seconds, a quiet laugh.

The old me would’ve walked in and asked what was so funny.

What could two people possibly have to say to each other until the sun came up? And if there was that much to talk about — why did Julian never have a single word for me?

But none of that mattered now. My phone screen glowed with the transfer agreement.

I hit confirm and went back to bed.