HIDING SOMETHING

After that “one year” of newlywed bliss, I stopped taking the pills and started preparing for conception.

So I brought it up one evening after dinner, thinking he’d be thrilled—happy to finally become a father.

But instead, he looked more annoyed than excited.

“I’m not ready yet. Let’s give it a little more time,” he told me.

Another year passed. Then another.

Until our fourth wedding anniversary.

I stood infront of the mirror, holding a pregnancy test with trembling hands.

You see, during year one—whenever I got pregnant (which, sadly, happened often)—Charles always demanded I flush it out.

I cried for days for the first time. Weeks the second.

By the third, I stopped crying.

It became routine.

God forgive me, I let it become routine.

Because I loved him. I didn’t want to be the stubborn, disobedient wife.

I thought it would end soon.

But it didn’t.

So, I decided that I have to put an end of it.

I took a deep breath, said a short prayer, then walked toward the bathroom.

“Honey?” I called, hiding the pregnancy test behind me.

The shower shut off.

“Yeah, babe?” Charles answered, then slowly pushed the door open.

He was dripping wet, a towel slung low on his waist, looking at me with those warm brown eyes.

Except… as soon as he saw my face, the warmth disappeared.

He knew I was hiding something.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping out and drying his arms. “What are you holding?”

I tried to smile.

I wanted the moment to be sweet.

Hopefully….

"I'm pregnant,honey…can we keep the baby this time.. please" I said with a broad smile showing off the pregnancy test.

He didn’t move nor speak.

He just stared at me like I was a complete stranger.

That wasn’t a good sign.

"Honey?" I called, my voice cracking as I held the pregnancy test tightly in my hand.

The silence between us was suffocating.

"Honey, I’m talking to you," I said again, my voice trembling. “I said I’m pregnant.”

“When did this happen?” he finally spoke with a frown.

I had hoped, just maybe, this time would be different. It’s been four years, for crying out loud. We’re not getting any younger.

“What do you mean, when did it happen? We’re married, Charles. Am I supposed to take birth control forever just because you’re not ready?”

“You planned this? You knew I wasn’t ready, Eleanor. How could you let this happen?”

He snapped.

Anger boiled in my chest.

“How could I let this happen? Is that even a question—we’re husband and wife, not two people casually dating!”

“Then you decided to go through with this without even asking me? Is that what this is? You’re happy now, aren’t you?”

he barked.

“Happy?”

I scoffed, bitterly.

“How could I be happy when the man I married is more concerned about his own comfort than the life growing inside me?

Who asks their wife to terminate pregnancies just because they’re not ready?” What’s wrong with you, Charles?

Is there something you’re not telling me?”