Chapter 3—I Want an Abortion

MONIQUE

“Abortion? Y-You’re pregnant?”

Chelsea dropped everything and rushed over, kneeling in front of me. Her hands—steady and cool from years as an OB-GYN—gently cupped my face. 

“Breathe, Mon. Look at me.” Her voice was calm but urgent. “Tell me what happened. Slowly.”

Between gasping sobs, the entire nightmare spilled out.

Chelsea pulled me into her arms, holding me tight while ugly sobs wracked my body. She stroked my hair the way she used to when we were broke college roommates sharing one tiny apartment.

“Shh… I’ve got you.”

She rocked me gently until the worst of the crying eased into shaky breaths. Then she pulled back, her gaze soft but firm.

“Monique, you are heartbroken and you are not thinking clearly right now. That baby is innocent in all of this. You’ve wanted a family your whole life. Don’t make a permanent decision while the wound is still this fresh and bleeding.”

“But I can’t raise it alone knowing he never wanted me,” I cried. “I was never enough for him. Never enough for any of them.”

“You don’t have to decide anything today,” she said gently, wiping my tears with her thumbs. “Not today. You’re staying with me tonight. We’ll eat ice cream, you’ll cry until you can’t cry anymore, and until you’re calm… we’ll talk about what you actually want. Not what the pain is screaming at you to do.”

I clung to her like she was the only solid thing left in my crumbling world.

That night, curled up on Chelsea’s couch with a pint of rocky road slowly melting between us, I stared at the ultrasound photo until the tiny bean-shaped shadow blurred through my tears.

—

A week later, something inside me had hardened into quiet steel.

I couldn’t hide at Chelsea’s forever. I needed to pack my things, sign the divorce papers, and walk away with whatever dignity I still had left.

Chelsea was right, I just needed that enough time to decide for myself.

I would keep my baby. They didn’t deserve to know about it. They had already taken everything else.

I won't let them destroy the only precious thing I have left.

“Ross,” I said quietly when I called the driver. “Take me to the mansion. I won’t be long.”

Ross is originally Maxwell's driver and we had gotten close over the years. His voice was heavy with worry the entire drive, but I stayed silent, staring out the window. This would be the last time he drove me anywhere.

The gates to my once-home opened for the final time.

I moved through the house like a ghost, yanking open drawers and closets in the master bedroom. Maxwell’s cologne still clung to the sheets. Our old college photos, our wedding pictures, every smiling lie stared back at me from the nightstand. Each one cut, but I refused to bleed here.

Only when I stepped into the living room did I realize I wasn’t alone.

Laurel sat on the cream sofa, cradling a delicate teacup with perfect poise. Elise stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, arms loosely crossed, a faint, satisfied smile playing on her lips.

“Well,” Laurel said, her voice smooth as silk but edged with ice, “look who finally decided to show up.”

She set her teacup down with a soft clink. “We were beginning to think you’d slink away like the temporary fixture you always were.”

Elise stepped forward, holding out a thick stack of divorce papers with a sleek black pen already clipped to the top.

“Here. Maxwell isn’t around. He’s spending the day with Ambrose. Quality father-son time, you understand.”

I took the papers without a word and walked to the coffee table. My hands remained steady as I flipped to the signature page.

Laurel continued, her tone almost conversational, though her eyes were sharp. “You know, we never truly approved of this marriage. You were always so… eager. Clinging to my son like he was your only chance at belonging somewhere. Elise, on the other hand—” she glanced at her ideal daughter-in-law she raised with open warmth “—has always been part of this family. When we learned about Ambrose… it simply felt right. Natural.”

Elise leaned in closer, voice dripping venom. “Five years of marriage and you couldn’t give him a child. I did it in one night. Drunk or not, I gave him a son. An heir. You were just… convenient. A placeholder until the real thing came along.”

The words stung like acid, but I kept my face blank.

“You’re right,” I said quietly, my voice clear and steel-edged. “I was temporary. But at least I was never the kind of woman who would sleep with her sister-in-law’s husband… not to mention.. the man you grew up with is close enough to be your real brother.”

Elise’s smirk faltered. Laurel recovered first, tone sharpening.

“Watch your mouth. Elise is family but not by blood. She has been the right woman for my son. When we found out about Ambrose, it simply felt… right. Natural. The boy deserves his father.”

“Natural?” I let out a bitter laugh. “You threw her a baby shower. You doted on that child like he was the second coming while you looked me in the eye every Sunday dinner and smiled. You knew. You both knew. And you chose to keep me in the dark for years.”

Elise stepped closer, cheeks flushing. “Oh, please. Spare us the victim act. You were never one of us. You were the charity case Maxwell married out of pity. I gave him what you never could.”

I picked up the pen and signed my name with deliberate, steady strokes.

Monique Lohr.

The ink dried far too quickly. It felt too final.

I set the pen down and looked up, meeting Elise's eyes. “And I never had to trap him with a secret love child. Tell me, Elise. Does it keep you up at night knowing the only reason you’re standing here right now is because you got pregnant from a mistake?”

Laurel slammed her teacup down so hard the saucer cracked. “That is enough! You ungrateful little—”

“Ungrateful?” I cut her off, voice rising for the first time. “I changed my entire name for this family. I loved your son with everything I had while you were busy rewriting history to make your precious Elise fit. You replaced me the second you could. Congratulations, Laurel. You finally got the daughter-in-law you always wanted.”

Elise’s eyes narrowed. “You still have to change your name back, you know. Go back to whatever pathetic little maiden name you crawled out of.”

“I know,” I said coldly, signing the final page. “It’s not that hard. Unlike you, I’m not shameless enough to keep wearing a name I never earned.”

I set the pen down with a soft click that felt louder than it should have.

Laurel stood up, cheeks blotchy with rage. “You think you can just walk out of here and—”

“I hope the happiness you built on lies tastes like ashes,” I said, cutting her off again. My voice was quiet now, but every word was steel. “And when karma comes—and it always does—I hope it burns everything you’ve stolen straight to the ground.”

Elise’s smirk had completely vanished. Laurel’s lips pressed into a thin, furious line, her hands shaking.

I picked up my small suitcase, nothing but the few things that were truly mine, and straightened my shoulders.

I turned on my heel and walked out of the mansion for the last time, head high, heart still bleeding but no longer silent.