He Signed My Abortion Paper

I ran into Denis at the clinic during my prenatal checkup.

That morning, he had slipped out of the house early, claiming a sudden crisis at the office. Yet here he was, hovering over his foster sister, Susie, guiding her with a protective tenderness that made my chest tighten. He was completely devoted to her early pregnancy, while Ifive months pregnant with his childstood there entirely alone.

I walked up to him and handed him a slip of paper.

"Since you're here, sign this."

Guilt flickered across his face. He quickly signed the paper without even looking at the content, eager to explain himself.

"Susie's husband is out of town on business, and she couldn't handle the checkup alone. I only lied about work because I didn't want you throwing another tantrum like last time."

He was terrified of Susie being inconvenienced for a single morning, but perfectly fine leaving his five-month-pregnant wife to navigate a crowded hospital alone. It was laughable. But instead of screaming or crying like I used to, I simply took the paper back, turned, and walked away.

Startled by my quietness, Denis called out after me. "Wait, Nicole. What did I just sign?"

I paused, a bitter smile touching my lips. "An abortion consent form."

Denis froze, but before he could process my words, Susie's hand slid around his arm. She looked at me, her eyes wide with carefully manufactured disapproval.

"Nicole, I know you're upset that Denis is here with me, but you shouldn't make sick jokes like that!"

As always, one word from Susie was all it took to dismantle Denis's doubts. His furrowed brow smoothed out, and he gave me a weary, patronizing sigh.

"Honey, stop playing games. Let me finish helping Susie, and I promise I'll come straight home to be with you."

Five years. One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days. I had heard variations of that promise thousands of times.

On our first anniversary, he said, Once I get back from taking Susie on her birthday trip, Ill take you to see the sunrise in Maine.

On my first birthday after we married, he said, Let me finish helping Susie move, and Ill be home to blow out your candles.

The night I was t-boned by a truck and rushed to the ER in an ambulance, he said, Once Susie's fever breaks, Ill drive over.

The truth was, those promises never came to fruition. Susie always had a new crisis, a new demand. And in Deniss life, I was always a secondary thought, forever relegated to the back of the line.

I clutched the signed form, spun on my heel, and walked back toward the OB-GYN ward. Waiting for my name to be called, I rested my palm on my belly.

One last time, I whispered to myself. I will give him one last chance.

If he came looking for me before they called my name, I would walk away and keep the baby.

Minutes bled into an hour. Finally, the PA system crackled to life.

"Number thirty-two. Nicole Kelly."

The page repeated three times. The hallway remained empty.

I laughed quietly at my own foolish hope. Standing up, I slipped my wedding ring off my finger and tossed it into the trash can. Then, I pulled out my phone and sent a pre-scheduled email to HR:

I am officially applying for the relocation to our London branch.

...

By nightfall, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Denis:

It's late. Why aren't you home yet?

Clutching my empty, aching stomach, my face pale, I got into a cab and typed back:

On my way.

The driver, a warm-hearted older man, noticed my shivering. "Rough night, miss? You look like you've seen a ghost. Why didn't your husband pick you up?"

"He's busy," I replied quietly.

When Susie called, he always had time. But when I called him terrified because a stranger was tailing me down a dark street on my way home from work, he told me to call an Uber. There are streetlights everywhere, Nicole. Stop being paranoid.

I never asked him for a ride again.

The driver shook his head in disapproval. "No man should be too busy to pick up his sick wife."

I stared out the window. It began to rain, blurring the city lights. As we neared my building, I sent Denis one last text:

[It's pouring and I don't have an umbrella. Can you meet me at the gate with one?]

His reply was instant:

[On my way down.]

The cab pulled up. I asked the driver to wait a minute. But one minute became ten. Ten became thirty. Denis never showed.

I dialed his number. Seven times it went straight to voicemail. On the eighth, he finally picked up.

"Where are you?" I asked.

"The thunder scared Susie," he said, his voice entirely casual. "I had to drive over to keep her company."

"Then how am I supposed to get inside?"

A sudden, dramatic gasp echoed from his end of the line, pulling his attention away. "I have to go," he said hurriedly. "You're always healthy, Nicole. A little rain won't hurt you. I'll make you some warm ginger tea when I get back"

The call went dead before he even finished the sentence.

The driver gave me a look of pure pity. He handed me a spare umbrella. "Take it, kid. Go get some rest."

I held my phone tight, a dull, heavy ache settling in my chest. I transferred an extra hundred dollars to the driver, took the umbrella, and stepped out into the cold rain.

I stepped into the dark apartment and flicked on the light. Sitting on the entryway console was a luxury maternity lumbar massager.

I recognized the brand immediately. I had looked at it dozens of times during my first trimester but couldn't bring myself to spend the eight hundred dollars. Back when my back was aching constantly, I had complained to Denis. He had merely kissed my forehead and said, "Hang in there, sweetie. It'll pass."

And now, here it was. But I didn't need it anymore.

I picked up the box and slid it into the bottom of the closet. I didn't leave the hallway light on for him like I usually did. I just went straight to bed.

Sometime in the middle of the night, someone shook my shoulder roughly.

"Nicole! Where is the package I left in the entryway? Did you take it?"

My head throbbed. I blinked through the darkness, disoriented. "What?"

Deniss voice flared with irritation. "The maternity massager. Did you hide the massager I bought for Susie? She's in her first trimester and her back is killing her. Why do you always have to take things meant for her?"

My mind cleared instantly. Of course. It wasn't for me.

I got out of bed, ignored his glaring eyes, walked over to the closet, and handed him the box. "Don't worry. I didn't touch it."

I remembered our third anniversary. He had come home with a delicate silver heart pendant. Assuming it was for me, I had eagerly tried it on and turned to show him.

His face had stripped of all warmth. "Take it off. Its not yours."

I froze, hurt paralyzing me. He didn't wait. He reached out and snatched it from my neck, leaving a red scratch across my collarbone.

Later, while applying ointment to the scratch with guilt-ridden hands, I asked him quietly, "Who was it for?"

The tenderness immediately returned to his eyes. "Susie. She's been wanting it for months. It cost me half my monthly bonus."

I waited for him to mention my gift. When he didn't, I asked, "And what did you get me for our anniversary?"

He blinked, then casually pulled a cheap pink claw clip from his briefcase. "Here. This is for you."

I found out later that the clip was a free gift-with-purchase. Susie didn't want it, so it became mine.

The signs of his indifference had always been there. I had just chosen to ignore them.

Suddenly, a paper bag was shoved into my hands.

Having put away the massager, Denis guided me toward the sofa. "I brought you some warm ginger tea. You got wet in the rain. Drink it so you don't catch a cold."

I set the bag on the coffee table. "I'm not hungry."

He opened the container anyway, frowning. "You're eating for two, Nicole. Don't be childish. Do it for the baby."

A bitter smile touched my lips. My stomach was already flatter, but he hadn't even looked closely enough to notice.

When we first got married, if I so much as nicked my finger slicing an apple, he would panic, rushing to find antiseptic and band-aids. By the time he was done fussing, the scratch would already be healed. I used to laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck, telling him he was overreacting.

"I can never overreact when it comes to you," hed whisper, holding me tight. "You're my whole world."

But promises are cheap.

He had a foster sisterhis secret first love. They had dated in secret for eight years before his parents found out and forced them apart. To him, I was merely the safe, acceptable compromise.

"Drink it while it's hot," he urged, pressing the thermos into my hands.

To avoid an argument, I took a few sips. But within minutes, my chest tightened. My airway began to close, and hives erupted across my arms. I grabbed his wrist. "What... what did you put in this?"

His eyes widened in panic. "Just brown sugar and ginger... and a little peanut powder for flavor. Nicole, what's happening?"

"I'm calling 911! Stay with me, Nicole, please..."

His hands shook violently as he held me. In my fading consciousness, I realized it had been years since I had seen him this terrified for me.

The ambulance arrived, and they loaded me onto a gurney. But just as Denis was about to climb in after me, his phone rang. It was the custom ringtone he had set only for Susie.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering.

Susie's sobbing voice filled the air. "Denis, I cut my wrist on a glass bottle! There's so much blood... please help me..."

Without a second thought, he stepped back from the ambulance. "I'm coming, Susie. Don't panic. Apply pressure to the wound..."

The paramedics yelled at him, but he was already running toward his car. My gasping, suffocating state wasn't enough to make him stay.

I spent the night in the ICU under an oxygen tent, battling severe anaphylactic shock.

The next morning, I opened my eyes to see my mother sitting by my bedside, her eyes red from crying.

"When the hospital called, I thought my heart was going to stop," she whispered, stroking my forehead. "Everyone knows you have a lethal peanut allergy, Nicole. How could you have ingested it?"

Before I could answer, the door swung open. Denis walked in, ushering a tearful Susie inside.

I looked at Denis. "Did you know there was peanut powder in that tea?"

Susie stepped forward, sobbing. "I'm so sorry, Nicole! Please don't blame Denis. It's my fault!"

"I read an article saying peanuts are great for prenatal development, so I suggested he grind some into the tea. I didn't mean to..."

I closed my eyes, forcing down the rage. "You knew I was severely allergic. You put it in there anyway. Are you trying to kill me?"

Before Susie could even whimper, Denis shielded her behind his back. "Nicole, that's enough. Susie is gentle and kind. She was only trying to help."

My mother, unable to contain her fury, stood up and slapped Denis hard across the face.

"How dare you?" she spat, her voice trembling. "Nicole is your wife! She was carrying your child, and you're defending this girl over her?"

Denis touched his reddened cheek, his first instinct to defend her: "Mom, Susie isn't an outsider. She's my... she's my sister."

Susie rushed to touch his face, glaring at my mother. "How could you hit him? We're just trying to help!"

My mother's anger boiled over. "Save the fragile little victim act, you manipulative snake"

But in the next second, Denis shoved my mother away to protect Susie. My mother lost her footing, her head striking the sharp metal corner of the bedside table. Blood began to seep onto her hair.

Denis stood over us, his eyes cold as he kept Susie behind him. "Mom, you can hit me, and I'll take it. But Susie is pregnant. No matter what, you do not put your hands on her."

"You protect your own, and I protect mine. You care about Nicole; I care about Susie."

He cast a freezing look at me. "I'll come back when you've calmed down."

With that, he guided Susie out of the room.

I scrambled out of bed, weeping as I called for a nurse. As my mother's head was being bandaged, my chest ached with a physical, suffocating regret.

I regretted every single second of the five years I had wasted on him.

My mother tried to comfort me. "I'm fine, sweetie. Don't cry. It's bad for the baby."

I wiped my tears. "There is no baby, Mom."

She froze. "What?"

"I had an abortion three days ago. And I'm divorcing him."

After a long silence, my mother pulled me into her arms, gently patting my back. "Whatever you decide, I'm with you. You have me, Nicole. Always."

I buried my face in her shoulder and finally wept for the marriage that had died long before the child did.

Three days later, my relocation request was approved. I booked a one-way ticket to London for that very night.

I went back to the apartment to pack my things. To my surprise, Denis was actually home.

He was in the kitchen, wearing an apron, simmering a pot of soup.

In the living room, Susie was lounging on my custom-ordered sofa, wearing my favorite silk robe, eating chips while watching a reality show.

When she saw me, she didn't bother to sit up. "Oh, hey, Nicole. I'd get up, but my doctor said I need bed rest. Help yourself to whatever's in the fridge."

She acted more like the mistress of the house than I ever had.

Denis emerged from the kitchen, acting as if nothing had happened. "You're discharged? Why didn't you call me? I would have picked you up."

"I made some nourishing soup for Susie. There'll be leftovers if you want some."

I ignored him and went upstairs to pack.

Behind me, I heard Susie's whiny pout. "Denis, is Nicole mad at me?"

"Don't worry about it," he replied easily. "She's just throwing a tantrum. She'll get over it in a few days."

That was his signature move: the cold shoulder, waiting for me to exhaust my own anger so he could pretend nothing had happened.

But today, the cycle ended.

When I rolled my suitcases downstairs, Denis was blow-cooling a spoonful of soup for Susie. He froze when he saw the luggage.

"Why are you packing? Where are you going?"

"A business trip," I said flatly.

He frowned. "You're five months pregnant. Why is your company making you travel?"

Then, his eyes drifted down to my midsection. He stiffened. "Your stomach... it's..."

Before he could finish, a sharp crash shattered the silence. Susie had knocked her bowl off the side table. Hot soup and grease splattered across the handmade rug I had spent weeks picking out.

Susie wailed in pain. Denis immediately scooped her up, his face pale with worry.

As he rushed past me, he threw a command over his shoulder: "Don't leave yet. Wait for me to get back. My firm has a partnership with your agencyI'll make them cancel your trip."

I didn't answer. He didn't care. He ran out the door with her in his arms.

I took one last look at the place we had shared for three years.

On the mantel sat a framed photo of Denis and Susie. In the display cabinet were matching mugs they had painted together. The gallery wall was filled with photos of their trips.

My entire existence in this apartment fit into two small suitcases.

I closed the door, walked out, and hailed a cab to the airport.

When my flight landed in London, I turned on my phone. It exploded with hundreds of missed calls and texts from Denis.