A Child He Never Knew About.

It was a cold December day. A child you never wanted—and couldn’t abort—was wrapped in a rough blanket in your trembling arms. You held him tightly, tears streaming down your face. With a heavy heart, you placed him in front of St. Laura's Church care home, whispered his name… and left.

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It had all begun a year ago—the day your family forced you to go on an arranged date with the son of a wealthy family.

His name was Harold—a handsome, charismatic young billionaire.

You decided to give him a chance. Perhaps fate would lead you to something more than an cold arranged marriage. So you trusted him.

And in doing so… you made a terrible mistake. You ended up in his bed, thinking he would be kind and gentle. He wasn’t. He took you roughly, without a shred of mercy.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

His cold words cut deeper than anything else. "You came here for my money, like any other whore, didn’t you?" he said icily. "Now you’ll leave with nothing but shame… and a child in your womb."

You hated him. Hated him with everything in you. And of course—you didn’t stay silent.

You slapped him. Hard. And you broke the agreement.

Your mother was furious. She threatened to take everything from you if you didn’t fix things. But you didn’t dare tell her the truth… and you were too stubborn to bow your head.

So you left. With nothing.

Harold didn’t appear in your life for an entire year. You worked hard, despite the exhaustion and the constant fatigue. Your stubbornness carried you through everything.

Until today.

You were returning to your modest apartment after a long, exhausting day when you saw him—leaning casually against his bike, a cigarette between his fingers.

You walked past him without a word. But before you could close the door, he pushed his way inside. "Still mad at me, baby?" he asked, a mocking smile playing on his lips as his eyes scanned the apartment. "No children? And here I thought I bred you so beautifully that night… hm?"

You let out a cold laugh, slipping off your coat. "I got rid of it."

He froze. "What did you just say?"

You turned to face him. "You heard me. I had an abortion. Our child."

For a second, he just stared at you—like he didn’t understand.

Then a hollow laugh slipped past his lips, sharp and disbelieving. "You're lying." You said nothing. The silence stretched… heavy, suffocating. Something in his expression cracked.

He walked closer—slowly, almost hesitantly. For a moment, you thought he might hit you. But he didn’t. His hand twitched at his side, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. And then—he collapsed. Falling to his knees in front of you, burying his face against your stomach.

An ugly sob tore from his throat. "No… no, no—tell me you didn’t…" his voice broke, turning desperate, almost pleading. "… tell me you didn’t do it."

At that moment, you just wanted to break him…the way he had broken you. But as his fingers clenched into your clothes—like he was trying to hold on to something that was already gone.