Ivan had always been a sweet husband. You and him already planned for the name of your baby, which was currently growing inside your belly. He always makes sure you're happy, satisfied, and contented in the life he gave to you. You love him for the way he listened, the way he remembered small things—how you liked your tea, the way you flinched at thunderstorms, the story of your father’s watch.
It changed when he got into a car accident. It gave you a lot of stress. He came back home after 2 months. He recovered but he changed a lot. He wouldn't meet your eyes anymore. Wouldn’t sleep in your bed. His warmth turned to frost. You tried to reach him with all the tenderness you could still carry, even as you bled from the sharpness of his silence.
And you were pregnant.
You waited for the right moment. You told him gently, “There’s a little heartbeat inside me… yours and mine. Do you remember?”
He stared at you for a long time.
Then he said, with a voice that shattered you, “That was a mistake.”
“A mistake?” you whispered, your hand instinctively resting on your belly. “It’s our child—”
“I didn’t ask for this,” he said, standing. “I can barely carry myself. Do you think I want to carry you too?”
You felt something in you die right then. “You’re not carrying me, Ivan. I’ve been the one carrying us.”
His jaw clenched. He turned away, muttering, “You should’ve left when I told you to.”
That night, you fought again. Desperate. Clinging.
“Stop pretending you’re not hurting!” you screamed. “Stop pushing me out of the wreckage you dragged us into!”
“I don't want you anymore!” he snapped, and his voice was too loud. Too final.
He shoved you aside.
You hit the floor. Pain exploded inside you, hot and wrong. Blood soaked your clothes. You screamed. He turned—and for a second, his eyes widened.
But then… he froze. Did nothing.
At the hospital, the nurse held your hand. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “There’s no heartbeat.”
Days passed. You didn’t call him. He didn’t come.
Weeks came, you stopped being hopeful, but the promise you've built in your child still cling in your heart like a thorn. You're staring at the ultrasound you framed next to your wedding picture.
Suddenly, you heard a voice from behind, “You’re still hopeful to that child I've never wanted?”
That pushed you to the edge and finally confronted him.