Regret? Never

"Sweetie, are you coming? I'll wait for you at our usual spot."

Henry Lane is about to go to bed when he receives a voice message. It's spoken in Rushky. He turns his back to me as his face lights up in joy. Then, he answers in Rushky, "Of course. I love you."

I'm about to fall asleep, but I jolt when I hear that.

The sweet voice on the other end of the line rings out again. "Your wife won't find out about this, will she?"

"I'm talking to you to her face now." Henry snorts. "We're speaking in Rushky; she can't understand us."

My heart twists painfully. It turns out he's never loved or truly understood me. He thinks I'm just a housewife whose world revolves around him; he has no idea I once studied in Rushnia for two years as an exchange student.

I suppress my sorrow and heartbreak as I caress my belly. Then, I make an appointment with a local hospital for an abortion.

"Yelena, something came up at work. I need to go take a look," Henry Lane said as he got out of bed.

He placed a kiss on my forehead, his eyes filled with deep affection.

If not for those words, I would have believed that the man who loved me so dearly could never betray me.

Tears welled up as I stared at his chiseled face.

Henry took no notice of my emotions. He hurriedly got dressed and left in a rush.

I walked to the window and watched as his car drove off—in the opposite direction of his company.

That liar!

Tears spilled down my cheeks, my chest tightening with unbearable pain. It took me a long time before I could even breathe properly again.

That night, Henry returned, reeking of perfume. It was unmistakably a woman's fragrance.

I frowned in disgust and subtly moved away when he tried to wrap his arm around my waist.

Henry stiffened up and tentatively asked, "Yelena, what's wrong? Are you feeling unwell?"

Curling up in the corner, I responded halfheartedly.

Henry panicked and sat up at once, wanting to take me to the hospital.

I pulled the blanket tightly around me.

"No need. It's just a minor cold. It's not worth going to the hospital," I said hoarsely.

"Does your throat hurt? Do you feel weak?" he asked.

Henry kept rambling on, still looking as concerned as before.

But the scent on him made my skin crawl. I could no longer bury myself in his arms, asking for kisses and hugs. Even if I wanted to try to pretend, I couldn't.

When he tried to lift the blanket, insisting on taking me to the hospital, anger surged through me.

"I'm not going!" I snapped.

Henry froze. "Did I do something wrong? Just tell me, and I'll change."

I had never spoken to him so harshly before, so understandably, Henry was startled. He looked at me with a hint of grievance.

The more I