After Forcing My Abortion

After three years of marriage, I finally got pregnant. I called him immediately. "Ethan, can you come home early tonight? I have some amazing news." There was a second of silence on the other end. "Not tonight. Nicole is craving that mango crepe cake. I promised I'd wait in line with her, and we're hiking up to catch the sunrise later." "Whenever I asked you to watch the sunrise, you said it was a total waste of time." "Why do you always have to ruin the mood? She’s all alone in this city. I can’t just ignore her." Right after he hung up, a text from his childhood best friend, Nicole, popped up on my phone. He’s mine tonight. And I’ll enjoy the sunrise in your place. I looked down at the pregnancy test in my hand with its two bright pink lines, and laughed bitterly. Then I texted her back: He's all yours from now on. After sending that message, I opened my medical app and booked an abortion procedure for the following morning. I didn't sleep all night. I sat alone on the living room couch, watching the sky shift from pitch black to pale gray, and finally into morning light. Not a single text appeared on my phone. Ethan was probably too busy—busy watching the sunrise with Nicole. At eight sharp the next morning, I arrived at the clinic. I checked in, waited in line, and signed the consent forms. The nurse reviewed my chart and asked, "Is your family member here with you?" "He's busy." She didn't press further and simply handed me a cup of warm water. The surgical lights were blindingly bright. The anesthesiologist told me to count backward. I barely made it to seven before darkness swallowed me. When I woke up, I was in the recovery room. I lay there for two hours. Nobody called to ask where I was. I slowly sat up, put on my coat, and called an Uber home. It was already two in the afternoon when I walked in. As soon as I pushed the door open, laughter echoed from the living room. Ethan and Nicole were curled up on the couch, surrounded by snacks and drinks. They were huddled over a phone, laughing uncontrollably at their photos. "Look at this angle! The sunlight hitting the clouds was perfection," Nicole chirped, her voice dripping with sickly sweetness. Ethan turned his head to look at her, wearing a soft, tender smile I hadn't seen in years. A smile that used to belong solely to me. I stood by the entryway taking off my shoes, and neither of them even noticed. It wasn’t until I walked past them to pour a glass of water that Nicole finally looked up. Her gaze swept over me and lingered for a second on my face. Then she beamed. "Chloe, you're back! Where did you go today? Why do you look so pale?" Only then did Ethan turn to glance at me, his brows instantly knitting into a frown. "Where the hell have you been? Couldn't even bother to leave a note or text?" I didn't answer. I just held my glass and sat down at the dining table. Nicole piped up again, "Chloe, are you upset with us because we went to watch the sunrise last night?" My hand froze on the glass. Ethan's face darkened, and he glared at me. "Chloe, are you serious right now? It was just a sunrise! Who are you rolling your eyes at?" I looked up at him. In his eyes, there was no concern, no guilt—only sheer impatience. "I didn't roll my eyes." "Then what’s with the miserable attitude?" "Nicole rarely has a chance to enjoy herself. Do you really have to be such a buzzkill?" Nicole gently tugged on Ethan's sleeve. "Ethan, stop. Chloe’s probably just exhausted today." At her soft touch, Ethan’s tone immediately softened. "You're always so considerate." He stood up and walked to the kitchen, pulling out a takeout box from the fridge. "By the way, there's one slice of that mango crepe cake left from last night. I saved it for you." He shoved the box across the table toward me, as if handing down charity. "Eat up. We waited in line forever for this." I stared at the slice of cake, the bright yellow mango chunks peeking through the cream. "I don't want it." "Why not? I thought you loved sweets." "I'm severely allergic to mangoes." The air went still for two seconds. Ethan froze briefly, but his face quickly hardened again. Nicole tilted her head, batting her lashes. "Chloe, actually, a lot of people with fruit allergies only react when the juice touches their skin." "Ingesting it usually doesn't do anything." "One of my friends is like that. She gets a rash if she touches it, but she eats it with zero issues." Hearing that, Ethan instantly nodded. "See? Nicole knows what she's talking about. You're just being dramatic and using allergies as an excuse." "It's just a slice of cake. What could possibly happen?"I looked at Nicole. She flashed me a quick, smug smile—a blatant taunt disguised as innocence. I set my glass down, my voice deadpan. "I said, I'm not eating it." Nicole's smile instantly vanished. She hung her head, whispering softly, "Chloe, are you mad at me?" "Is it because I went with him? Is that why you're unhappy?" "It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked him to come." As she spoke, tears welled up in her eyes. Ethan lost his temper instantly. "Look at yourself! Nicole was just being nice and explaining it to you. Why do you have to act like such a jerk?" He shoved the cake closer to my face. "Eat it." I didn't move. "Chloe, I told you to eat it. Are you deaf?" I stayed still. Ethan completely snapped. He grabbed a fork, scooped up a massive piece of the cake, and shoved it right against my mouth. "Open up." I jerked my head away, but the cream and mango smeared across my lips and cheek. The moment the juice touched my skin, an intense, fiery itch flared up. Nicole gasped beside him. "Ethan, forget it. If Chloe doesn't want it, don't force her." "No! She's eating it today." "She pulls this crap every single time—throwing a tantrum over every little thing. I've spoiled her for too long." He scooped up another bite, clamped my jaw with one hand, and forced it straight into my mouth. The cloying sweetness of mango burst on my tongue, and my stomach violently heaved. I doubled over, coughing and gagging frantically, tears streaming down my face. Nicole stood up, wearing a deeply hurt expression. "Ethan, if Chloe hated me, she could have just said so. Did she really have to humiliate me like this?" "I saved that cake with good intentions. Why treat it like garbage?" Ethan's face turned even uglier. Looking at me dry-heaving, he didn't feel an ounce of sympathy. He genuinely thought I was putting on a show. "Chloe, you're finishing this entire box today." Bracing myself against the table, I wiped the cream from my mouth, my voice shaking. "Ethan, you know I'm allergic." "Nicole literally just told you eating it is fine! You're just being a drama queen!" "Swallow it. Now!" He forcefully fed me bite after bite. I fought back with everything I had, but he pinned me down, forcing every single chunk of mango crepe cake down my throat. Once the container was empty, Ethan slammed the plastic box onto the table. "There. Done." "See? You're perfectly fine. What were you whining about?" He turned to Nicole, his voice dropping into gentle concern. "You didn't get enough sleep last night. Go rest in the guest room." Nicole nodded meekly and followed him toward the hallway. I sat slumped at the dining table, staring at the empty container. Hives were already breaking out on my hands. My neck started burning with an unbearable itch. I glanced down at my phone. It was 2:45 PM. Slowly, I pushed myself up, grabbed my purse, and walked out the front door. The moment I stepped outside the building, I dialed 911. "I need an ambulance. Severe mango allergy. Anaphylaxis." "Ma'am, can you still breathe?" "Barely." "Stay calm, ma'am. Paramedics are on their way."By the time the ambulance arrived, I could no longer form full sentences. My throat was closing up fast, my breathing turning into shallow, agonizing wheezes. Hives spread aggressively from my arms to my neck and face, burning like thousands of fire ants crawling beneath my skin. As the paramedics lifted my stretcher, I heard the dispatch radio. "Female, twenty-six, acute allergic reaction, widespread urticaria, suspected laryngeal edema. ETA ten minutes." I closed my eyes on the gurney, thinking: At least I'm still conscious. At least I'm still alive. At the ER, the medical staff immediately slapped an oxygen mask over my face and started an IV drip with epinephrine and steroids. Lying on the gurney in the resuscitation bay, I stared up at the blinding white lights. They were just as harsh and sterile as the ones in the operating room that morning. In a single day, I had ended up on a hospital bed twice. Once, to let go of my unborn child. The second time, nearly losing my own life. Once the allergic reaction was finally brought under control, the attending physician came over for rounds. He flipped through my chart, his expression grim. "Your allergy is extremely severe. If you had arrived thirty minutes later, your airway would have closed entirely. You were on the verge of anaphylactic shock and suffocation." I gave a faint nod, too weak to speak. The doctor added, "Where is your family? Why are you completely on your own?" "He's busy." The exact same words I had told the nurse that morning. The doctor glanced at me with quiet pity, didn't pry any further, and scribbled "Admit for 6 hours observation" on my chart. The ward was dead quiet, save for the rhythmic snoring of an elderly woman in the next bed. I watched the IV fluid drip down drop by drop. Suddenly, my phone vibrated. It was Ethan. I swiped to answer. "Chloe, where the hell are you? Why haven't you made dinner?" There wasn't a trace of worry in his voice—only arrogant entitlement. "I'm at the hospital." "Hospital? What drama are you pulling now?" "Severe mango allergy." Silence hung on the line for two seconds. Then Nicole's voice drifted through the speaker, carefully calculated to sound just close enough to be heard. "Ethan, could Chloe be blaming that cake? But honestly, ingesting it really shouldn't cause a reaction..." Her tone was thick with wounded innocence, painting herself as the true victim. Ethan's voice instantly turned cold and hostile. "Chloe, did you do this on purpose?" "What?" "Nicole told you it wouldn't happen, and suddenly you're conveniently allergic?" "Are you staging this pathetic stunt just to force an apology out of me?" My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned stark white. "Ethan, the ER doctor said if I had arrived thirty minutes later, I would have gone into shock and died." "Oh, cut the crap! It’s not that serious. Stop trying to manipulate me!" Nicole's voice floated over again. "Ethan, don't be too hard on Chloe. Maybe she's just fragile." "I get it, though. She spends so much time home alone. Now that you're finally back, she just wants your attention." Fragile. Attention-seeking. Playing the victim. Every word stabbed like a poisoned needle, but I didn't even have the energy to hurt anymore. Ethan sighed deeply, heavy with disgust. "Chloe, that's enough." "If you gave yourself an allergy, get it treated and drag yourself back home." "Stop lying in a hospital bed playing the martyr. There's a mountain of chores waiting at home." "I'm hanging up." The line went dead. I set the phone down by my pillow and stared blankly at the ceiling. The elderly woman in the bed next to mine shifted, muttering under her breath, "Sweetheart... that man is no good for you." The corner of my mouth twitched into a hollow smile. I said nothing. By the time my six hours of observation were up, it was already 1:00 AM. The doctor repeatedly warned me to rest, stay far away from allergens, and come back for a follow-up in a week. I signed the discharge papers and called an Uber home alone. When I reached the front door, I pressed the doorbell. It took forever for the door to unlock. Ethan stood there in his pajamas, hair messy, squinting with half-open eyes. He shot me an annoyed glare and turned back inside. "You're back? Done throwing your fit?" I stood frozen in the entryway. The guest room door was firmly shut. Nicole was clearly fast asleep inside. Ethan walked over to the living room couch, flopped down, and checked his watch. "It's past one in the morning. What more do you want from me?" I walked over and stopped on the other side of the coffee table. "Ethan, let's get a divorce."