The Price Of Loving Mr Damien

“Mrs. Blackwood, I'm afraid if you take this procedure again you might…” The young Asian doctor hesitated, eyes flicking back to the glowing screen before him.

Arielle’s fingers tightened around the edge of the hospital bed. The sterile scent of disinfectant filled the silence, pressing on her chest.

The doctor exhaled softly and looked up. “You will most definitely die. I strongly advise you not to go through with it.”

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The words sank in slowly, painfully.

Not might.

Will.

Arielle swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Are you sure?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor nodded solemnly. “Your body has been through too much, Mrs. Blackwood. The complications from the previous procedures have weakened your uterus. Another abortion could cause internal bleeding or cardiac failure.”

His words blurred in her ears. Too much. Too many.

She’d done it for Damien, every time he said they weren’t ready, every time he promised that one day, they would be. She had believed him. Loved him enough to destroy herself a little more each time.

Her trembling hand moved to her stomach. “How far along?”

“Eight weeks,” the doctor replied softly.

Eight weeks. A heartbeat. A life. Hers or the child’s. There would be no both.

“Thank you, doctor,” she said quietly, then stood and walked out of the room.

The hallway felt longer than usual. Each step echoed, the doctor’s words chasing her. You will most definitely die.

She recalled her husband’s words:

“Arielle, we don’t need children to be happy. We have each other.”

She remembered how serious he looked, how sure.

“Kids complicate everything,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “They change people. They take away time, peace, and passion. I just want you. Only you.”

Then came the words that had silenced her completely.

“Besides,” he added softly, “I can’t bring such innocence into this cruel world.”

Arielle ran her fingers through her Jet black hair and sighed deeply.

“What do I do?" she murmured.

*****

Arielle sat in her car, her fingers resting on the steering wheel long after she turned off the engine. The doctor’s words replayed in her head like a curse.

You will most definitely die.

She should tell Damien.

He had a right to know, didn’t he?

But the thought of his reaction made her stomach twist. Lately, he’d been distant. Cold. Always busy. “Work trip,” he’d say, “late meeting,” he’d murmur before disappearing for entire weekends.

And she, the ever-understanding wife, never questioned it.

She pressed a trembling hand to her abdomen. “Maybe he’ll be happy this time,” she whispered. “Maybe… he’ll want this one.”

The words sounded foolish even to her own ears.

Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat, a message from Damien.

Damien: Working late tonight, love. Don’t wait up for me.

Arielle stared at the screen.

It was Saturday. Again.

Her chest ached with something heavier than heartbreak — it was exhaustion

She sighed heavily.

She turned the