The Child He Never Wanted From Me

My husband, Maxwell Ford, came home that evening.

The moment he noticed my eyes that were red and swollen from crying, he didn't even stop to change into his slippers.

He strode over, pulled me into his arms, and asked in a voice thick with concern, "What happened? Who made you upset, Val? Tell me, and I'll take care of them for you."

I had just managed to calm down, but his words set me off again. Tears began to stream down my face uncontrollably.

In our social circles, everyone knew that the CEO of Ford Group, Maxwell Ford, was a complete simp for his wife.

Shortly after we married, he replaced his entire staff of secretaries and assistants with men and called me to check in on FaceTime whenever he was out for business dinners.

When an old friend tried to set Maxwell up with other women, he mercilessly cut ties and never talked to him again. That spoke volumes about how much he loved me.

Seeing me cry, he frowned and carefully wiped my tears away. "What's wrong, Val? Could you please tell me? It hurts to see you cry this way."

I saw the concern in his eyes, my accusations hovering on the tip of my tongue. But in the end, all I did was shake my head and slowly say, "It's nothing. I just watched a tragic movie today, and it really got to me."

Maxwell visibly relaxed and adoringly tapped the tip of my tongue. "God, you scared the hell out of me!

"I'm guessing you haven't eaten yet, have you? Shall I cook dinner for you tonight?"

I gently nodded and let him carry me over to the dining table. Then, I watched as he skillfully slipped on an apron, heated the pan, and started cooking.

Still, my mind kept drifting back to what I had witnessed that afternoon.

Maxwell had lifted a young girl into his arms and laughed as he said, "It's your third birthday, sweetheart. For your gift, I'm making you the sole heir to Ford Group. Would you like that?"

Three years old… If I hadn't had that abortion, my child would have been three years old this year, too.

Just as bitterness began to rise in my chest, a phone rang in the kitchen. Maxwell picked it up, and his tone took on a stern edge in a way I had never heard before.

"Didn't I tell you not to call me after work?"

Even through the glass, I could clearly hear a woman's voice on the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry, Maxwell. I know I shouldn't bother you while you're with your wife, but Lena keeps throwing a tantrum for her daddy to blow out the birthday candles with her. She won't stop crying, so I had no choice but to call you.

"I know how important your wife is to you, but you've never spent a single birthday with Lena. Could you just—"

I couldn't hear the rest because Maxwell hung up, turned off the stove, and walked out of the kitchen.

"I'm sorry, Val," he said, looking genuinely apologetic. "Something urgent just came up at the office. I have to head in."

My heart went cold, and my throat felt tight. It took me a long time to finally ask, "Do you really have to go?"

"Yes."

He grabbed his suit jacket and hastily slipped on his shoes. Just before heading out, he didn't forget to remind me.

"Grab a snack for now. I'll be back really soon to finish cooking for you."

As his footsteps faded away, I curled up in the dining chair and held myself tight. My tears couldn't help but spill all over again.