After My Husband Made Me Kneel to His Girl, I Aborted

At six months pregnant, Thomas Montgomery had his friends over for some gaming. I prepared a meal and served it to them, only for Blaire Clark to burst into tears, accusing me of trying to upset her. All because I had mistakenly added some parsley she despised to the dish.

Thomas and his friends demanded I apologize. "She's just sensitive; try to accommodate her," Thomas said coldly. I refused, and he pushed me down to my knees in front of Blaire. "Apologize to her, you're out of line!"

Humiliated, I quietly scheduled the soonest possible appointment for an abortion that day. But when I truly decided to leave, Thomas went into a rage.

I leaned against the cold wall as I made my way out of the hospital. The sky had turned dark, and snow was falling heavily. The biting cold and the sharp pain in my abdomen were unbearable. I checked my phone and saw a message from Thomas.

[It's freezing out there. Don't be angry, just come back.]

[By the way, remember to pick up some sanitary pads from the store on your way back.]

I was bleeding, the crimson evidence of my decision. How did Thomas know I’d had the procedure? I called him. The laughter on his end quickly faded.

Usually, by this time, his friends had already left. "Have you realized your mistake now?" Thomas's indifferent tone cut through. "Are we out of lemons at home? Make sure to get a few from the market on your way."

The child was gone.

I was about to speak, but Thomas continued, "That girl was so upset that she got her period early and is in a lot of pain."

"I want to make her some lemon ginger tea. Don’t make a fuss, just get it done."

I hung up, clutching my dizzy head. It was the first time I’d ever heard of someone being "angered into menstruating." For a moment, I thought he was concerned about my health. How naïve of me.

It's laughable now. In the six years of marriage to Thomas, his concern for my well-being was a rarity. He never even bothered to make lemon ginger tea for me during my own time of the month. Yet, simple acts of care were limitless for Blaire.

I was too weak to argue now. To avoid a confrontation, I brought the items back. But I hadn't expected the bed I had slept in for six years to now be occupied by Blaire.

There, in our home, it was just Thomas and Blaire. Thomas grabbed the bag from my hands. "You should find somewhere else to stay tonight. Everything happening with Blaire is your fault," he said. "You need to face the consequences for your actions."

The door slammed shut. I was left utterly alone. My husband of six years had thrown me out into the cold winter night because of his childhood friend. Clenching my fists, I realized I no longer wanted this sham of