Bias Pregnancy Short Stories & Novels

My wife, Lily Tanner, is a mortician. She's trying to avoid getting fired during her pregnancy, so she keeps locking herself in the morgue. I may be her husband and colleague, but even I am not allowed inside. I don't want her to work too hard, so in the middle of the night, I sneak into the morgue to do her checks for her. However, she reacts by going berserk and sounding the alarm. Ever since then, I've been very careful around her, fearing that it may affect her pregnancy. Later on, with Lily repeatedly receiving praise from the deceased's family, our department decides to hold a commendation ceremony for her. The whole family seems relieved. However, as soon as Lily receives her award, I ask her for a divorce. The room instantly falls silent. Tearing off the medal on her chest, she complains in a wounded tone, "I'm working myself to the bone even when I'm pregnant, and I'm doing all this to give our child a better life. You're worried that I'll outperform you and overtake you as the top mortician in the industry, aren't you?" I look away from her, a cold smile forming on my lips. "Spend the rest of your life with those bodies, then. I don't want the child anymore, and I'm definitely divorcing you."

On the day the real heiress was welcomed home, my fiancé was already sleeping with her. Staring at the blue pills and torn lingerie scattered on the floor, I told them to get the hell out of my wedding house. But a second later, my father stormed in and slapped me hard across the face. "Who are you to tell her to leave? Bella is our real daughter!" "Elena, you’re just an outsider we took in by mistake. You’re the one who needs to get out." Marco wrapped his arm around Bella, his tone impatient: "Elena, I’m the heir to the Moretti family. I can’t marry a mongrel with impure blood like you. If you don't want to bring shame to the family, be smart and go tell the Don the wedding is off tomorrow." Bella gave a coy smile and tossed a stack of cash at my feet like she was giving alms: "Sister, I know Marco and I hurt you, but we’re true love." "Take this as your severance package. Take the money and get lost." I suppressed my rage and stepped forward to throw these disgusting people out, but Marco shoved me violently. "I told you, I’m not marrying you! Keep pestering us, and don't blame me for getting rough!" My stomach slammed against the table. I laughed out of pure anger. Who said I wanted to marry him? The one I’m going to marry is his father—the Don of the Moretti family, Lorenzo.

It was the national holiday when my husband, Damon Fuchs, married another woman behind my back in Kanna. The woman standing beside him in the video was my best friend, Mila Kirk. The page boy was the boy Mila had claimed was her nephew—the child I had raised for years. Now he was calling her "Mommy" and Damon "Daddy." Behind them, my own parents and mother-in-law sat in the front row, clapping the loudest. It was only then that I understood: the so-called vacation, Mila's supposed nephew—those were all lies. I projected the wedding video onto the living room TV, letting it play on loop for three days until they finally returned. Seeing what was on TV, Mila grabbed Damon's arm and cried, "Please don't get upset, Yvie. We're not getting married—it's a divorce. "Yes, it's true that Jojo is our son, but we lied because we didn't want to worry you." Damon's response was worse. "We just got needy on a business trip a few years ago—we only registered the marriage for fun. It's all over now, so quit being so dramatic." So that's why he proposed, lavished me with a grand wedding ceremony, and even agreed to try for a baby with me. The only thing he refused was to register our marriage, denying me fulfillment from a legal angle as he had bound himself to someone else long ago. Looking at our wedding photo on the wall, I lowered my eyes. "I'm not being dramatic. I'm just done with this life."

My husband, the Don, never acknowledged me as anything more than his political bride. From the day we married, I knew there was someone else in his heart, a woman from the slums named Elena. But for the sake of my family's honor, and for that small, pathetic scrap of love I still held onto, I endured everything in silence. Until two months ago. He came home drunk and reckless and lost all control. He kicked open my bedroom door and took me like a man possessed, and the whole time, the name he breathed into my ear wasn't mine. It was hers. But that night left something behind. I was pregnant. I thought maybe this child could be the thing that finally turned us around. So I walked to his study door, pregnancy report in hand, heart full of something dangerously close to hope. That's when I heard his voice through the door, soft and tender, speaking in a tone I had never once heard him use with me. "Don't worry, Elena. Once you have the baby, I'll bring him into the family personally. He'll be the only heir I recognize. As for Jessica..." His voice turned cold and contemptuous. "She'll never have children. For the past seven years, I've had someone slip the highest dose of birth control into the warm milk she drinks every night before bed. She's nothing but a political arrangement. Why would I let her carry my bloodline?" The door opened. He stepped out and saw me standing there, frozen. He assumed I'd do what I always did, scream and cry and demand answers. He had no idea this time was different. This time, I was really leaving.

At three months pregnant, I was diagnosed with an ectopic pregnancy. My husband, a doctor, was overwhelmed with worry, pulling every string he could to arrange surgery and remove the baby. "As long as you're okay, it doesn’t matter if we don’t have our own child. We can always adopt. I can't lose you, Evelyn!" Heartbroken, I blamed myself for being useless, for failing to carry our child, and for disappointing my husband. But then, I accidentally saw his chat messages with another woman on the phone. "Don’t worry, I already told her she had an ectopic pregnancy." "I’ll have her sign the adoption papers soon, then find a way to bring you into our home." "Asher is my only son. I will make sure he inherits everything I have!" That was when I realized that the husband I loved so deeply had long since built another family behind my back.

My husband said he was going to Montreal to handle a deal at the port. I went to the hospital alone for my eleven-week test results, planning to surprise him when he got home. Four years earlier, I’d taken a knife to the stomach protecting him. After two surgeries to repair the damage, I’d finally gotten pregnant, but I’d waited until the doctors said everything looked good before letting myself celebrate. As I passed the maternity ward, laughter drifted through an open door. “Look at them. The girl’s all Celeste, but that boy is his daddy’s double.” “You stayed with her through labor all night, Dante. Now you’ve got one of each. What more could you want?” “Their mother’s safe. That’s all I need.” My husband’s voice. I stopped outside the room. Dante Vitale sat beside the bed, kissing a woman’s fingertips. Two bassinets stood next to him. His name was on both cards, under Father. He never saw me. Last night, he’d talked me to sleep over the phone, claiming he couldn’t sleep without hearing me breathe beside him. I folded my results and put them away. I knew Dante too well. He could lay the whole world at my feet, and he would do whatever it took to keep me by his side. If I asked for a divorce, he would never let me go. If I wanted to leave him, I would have to find another way. This time, I would make everyone believe I was dead.

Before my shift ended, my last patient was my husband, Edgar Anderson. The pregnancy report he passed me clearly stated that the patient was pregnant for three weeks. He was the father of the child, and the pregnant patient was his lover of five years, Lana John. I calmly slid that report back to Edgar and said softly, “Congratulations, your wish has finally come true.” He was stunned as he frowned. “Why are you just congratulating me? Don’t you have anything else to say?” I stared at that report, showing the child Edgar had with another woman. I thought that I would lose my cool and fight with him like I usually did. However, it seemed like I had lost the courage to fight anymore. “I’m done playing the field after all these years. Once Lana gives birth to our baby, I’ll settle down.” When I heard that, I looked up and stared into his eyes. “Edgar, our contract is up.”

After eight years of marriage, I finally get pregnant with Claude Frey's child. It's my sixth round of IVF, and my last chance. The doctor says I can't put my body through it again. I'm overjoyed, ready to share the good news with him. But a week before our anniversary, I received an anonymous photo in the mail. In it, he was bending down to kiss another woman's pregnant belly. That woman is his childhood sweetheart, the one his family watched grow up. She's gentle and well-mannered, and the kind of daughter-in-law every parent dreams of. The funniest part is that his entire family knows about her pregnancy, except me. I'm just the punchline in their joke. It turns out that the marriage I've been holding together despite all my wounds is nothing but a carefully crafted lie. Fine. I don't want Claude anymore, and I'll never let my child be born into a world built on lies. I book my ticket to leave on our eighth anniversary. It's also the very day he's supposed to take me to see the sea of roses. Before we got married, he promised me a sea of flowers all my own. But instead, I find him in front of the rose garden, kissing his pregnant childhood sweetheart. After I leave, he starts searching for me everywhere. "Don't go, please?" he begs. "I was wrong. Don't leave." He finally remembers the promise he'd made to me and plants the most beautiful roses in the world in that garden. But I don't need it anymore.

The day before my wedding, I secretly go to the hospital to terminate my pregnancy with Richard Johnson's baby. In the hallway, I run into a doctor I know. She looks at me in surprise. "Ms. Xander? Just last week, you were worried that your belly would show through your wedding dress. Why did you suddenly decide not to keep the baby? "Didn't Mr. Johnson come with you?" I lower my head and gently touch my slightly rounded belly, my heart aching with emptiness. "He's very busy. "He's downstairs, accompanying his young stepmother to her prenatal checkup."

I was Damian Valenti’s legal wife. But to the rest of New York, Sofia Bellini was the woman he planned to marry—and I was the pregnant mistress who refused to let him go. Damian said it was only for show. Sofia’s husband had died saving his life, and he had promised to protect her. She needed the wedding and the title of Donna. I already had what mattered: his love, his fortune, and our real marriage. At least, that was what Damian believed. He was so certain I would understand that he spent our seventh anniversary helping Sofia choose her wedding dress. He never noticed that I was in the fitting room beside them, wearing the dress he had once promised to see me in. As Sofia admired herself in the mirror, Damian told her she looked beautiful. I lowered my eyes to the faint curve of my stomach and rested a hand over it. Then I made the one decision he never believed I was capable of making. He could give Sofia my wedding, my home, and my name. But he could no longer keep his wife and his heir.

My boyfriend, Sebastian Morris, and I have been in a long-distance relationship for three years, yet he never lets me visit him. After I get pregnant, I take an eight-hour flight without telling him, hoping to surprise him. While my phone is in airplane mode, Sebastian sends me a message that reveals I've been the other woman all along. As soon as I land and reconnect, I see over a hundred unread messages from him. I tap on our chat with a smile, only to find the truth waiting for me. "I already have a girlfriend. We've been together for seven years. Our families have everything planned out. We're getting engaged soon." Sebastian says that when he first started talking to me, he and his girlfriend, Clarissa Farber, had been in the middle of a fight. Bored and lonely, he wanted someone to kill time with. "I never thought you'd take it seriously." His final message was sent three minutes ago. "If this doesn't bother you, we can keep seeing each other. You just can't let Clarissa find out about you. I don't want her getting hurt. Ultimately, the choice is yours." I rest a hand over my faint baby bump as my heart clenches. What about me? Doesn't he care if I'm the one who gets hurt?

My boyfriend, Gabriel, was a romance junkie. For ten years, we chased the ultimate high, skydiving from thousands of feet, diving into the deepest oceans. We lived fast and hard. Until I got pregnant. Gabriel held me tight, eyes gleaming. "Let’s climb Mount Denali. I’ll propose to you at the top of the continent." I hesitated. The doctor said my chances of conceiving were near zero. This baby couldn't survive that kind of strain. Gabriel didn't argue. He just slipped the ring onto my finger and walked out. Seven days later, I saw his post on Instagram. It was a photo of him at the snowy peak, down on one knee before another woman. My best friend, Tiana, commented underneath, “I survived days in a cramped truck just to make your dream come true.” Gabriel replied, “You’re still the best. If I were with you back then, you would’ve climbed this peak with me, pregnant or not, right?” A tear dropped onto my stomach. I finally got it. He didn't care about me. All he cared about was the thrill. So, anyone could fill the role. Ten years of his wild romance was enough. It’s time for me to choose peace.

I am the wife of Anthony Caster, don of the mafia family in New York. When I was nine months pregnant, he brought a woman named Evelyn Graves into the manor, claiming she’d saved his life. That was the day my nightmare began. She put something in my food. Next thing I knew, I was doubled over in pain. And she had the nerve to blame it on me—said I was being reckless with what I ate. She lost her footing and fell down the stairs, but she told everyone I was the one who shoved her. Every day, she’d cry in front of Anthony about how saving him had left her wounded and unable to bear children, how seeing a pregnant woman broke her heart. But the moment she turned to me, the tears were gone, replaced by a cold smile. “As long as I’m here,” she whispered, “your babies will never be born.” Anthony was convinced I was jealous of her. He locked me away in the abandoned attic of the manor and said, “Reflect on your actions and stop bullying Evelyn.” On the first day they shut me in, the contractions began. I screamed, I begged, I banged on the door. The butler heard me and went to inform Anthony. He said, “Amelia, your due date is three days away. Stop putting on an act. Three days in a snowstorm and you came out fine. This? You can handle this.” On the second day, my water broke. I screamed at the top of my lungs, my fingernails digging into the cracks of the wall, blood spilling all over the floor. The butler went to Anthony again. Evelyn said, “Anthony, she’s making all that noise because she wants you to feel sorry for her and let her out. If you give in now, she’ll only grow more reckless later.” He believed her. On the third day, I stopped screaming. Anthony thought I had finally learned my lesson, unaware that I had already died from the difficult labor. When he finally opened that door, all he would find was my rotting, putrid body.

After I gave birth to Yates Zane's child, Leo Zane, I developed severe postpartum depression. I'd pressed a knife to my own wrist countless times. Every time, Yale fought with everything he had to hold me back when I lost control. "Don't do this. Think about the baby and me. We're here with you..." My sister, Claire Cole, and my best friend, Winnie Blake, even grabbed knives and held the blades to their own wrists. "You want to die? Fine. Then we'll die with you. Is that enough?" After that day, I committed myself to treatment. I couldn't bear to let anyone else get hurt because of me. Yet just when I thought I was finally about to see the light again, my sister took me to a wedding. There, standing on the stage were Yates and Winnie, the bride and groom of the hour. My mind went blank with a deafening buzz. The blood in my veins seemed to freeze. Claire gazed at the couple onstage with envy. "They should've had this wedding five years ago. "Your depression was the only reason the two of them spent all these years trapped by guilt." Then she suddenly turned to me. "Do you get it now? We've all been miserable because of you. "Let him go."

My sister-in-law finally became pregnant at fifty. But the family parrot, Pip, suddenly said, “Abort it. Abort it.” Hearing this, I immediately forced my sister-in-law to go to the hospital to get an abortion. My brother and parents desperately stopped me. They shouted, “Have you gone mad? Do you trust an animal’s words?” I nodded and answered firmly, “Yes. I believe everything Pip says.”

After I landed in the hospital—again—from working myself into the ground, Jacob swore he was done playing house stockbroker. "Starting tomorrow, I'll do anything. Haul bricks, deliver pizza, whatever. I'm not letting you carry this alone." His eyes were glassy as he stormed out of the exam room like he was about to save the day or something. Then the doctor walked in and handed me a report. I was pregnant. Again. Heart racing, I chased after Jacob... and froze. He was standing outside some super VIP room. The same guys who used to bang on our door for money were suddenly all respectful. "Mr. Klein, should we block her door again tomorrow?" Jacob twirled our engagement ring around his finger. "No need. She already lost one baby paying off those debts. The test's over. Time she knew who I really am." Then my best friend—Lillian Morvain—strolled out and wrapped her arms around his waist like she belonged there. "Jacob, don't go soft. Your tests usually last at least five years. What if she's just another gold digger? Plus... I'd miss you." He hesitated. Smirked. "Fine. We'll do it your way. She's not going anywhere anyway." I stood there, clutching my stomach, sliding down the wall like the air had been punched out of me. Later, I pushed open the office door. "Dr. Spencer, I need a termination. Three days from now."

When a wave of labor pain brought me to my knees in the hospital hallway, Orson Caldwell, a brilliant doctor, was just about to wheel me into the delivery room. Just then, his phone rang. When he answered the call, his expression fell. "Seraphina, Cressie's teddy is having trouble giving birth. It's in critical condition, but the vet clinic in her town is closed. I have to perform a C-section on it." I clutched my stomach as blood slowly began to seep between my legs. "I'm fully dilated. If you leave now, what am I supposed to do?" Orson looked annoyed. "We'll get another doctor to do it. You're only giving birth, but Cressie's dog could die. I'll make it up to you and our child someday." With that, he rushed into the elevator without even taking off his white coat. I laughed through my tears, pulled out my phone, and called my father. "Dad, I'll agree to the arranged marriage."

On my mafia husband Ettore Morandi's birthday, I slipped into the hotel where he was staying for a business trip with my pregnancy test results in hand. Five years earlier, when the family business was struggling, Ettore had not even been able to afford a proper wedding. Back then, he had held me in his arms and sworn, "Mirella, as long as I love you, a wedding is just a formality." I had once taken a bullet for him, and that injury had nearly robbed me of my chance to become a mother. But now I was pregnant, and I could not wait to tell him the good news. When I pushed open the doors to the hotel ballroom, however, I found a lavish wedding underway. The bride standing at the end of the aisle was none other than his childhood sweetheart, Viola Bellini, and Ettore was pinning the badge reserved for the Donna of the Morandi family onto her with his own hands. The guests around me murmured among themselves. "Signor Morandi really dotes on his childhood sweetheart. Word is Viola has cancer, and all she wants before the end is a grand wedding." "Ettore dropped almost ten million dollars just to make that wish come true." Five years earlier, he had told me that because he loved me, a wedding was only a formality. Five years later, he had spent nearly ten million dollars giving another woman the wedding I never had. I did not confront him, and I did not tell him I was pregnant. On our wedding anniversary, I staged my own death and let everyone believe that Mirella Santoro and the child she was carrying had perished together at sea.

When my pup's life begins to fade, there's only one thing that can save him—Moondew. But my Alpha husband, Leo Hartwood, takes it to treat his childhood sweetheart's minor fever. I call him 99 times, begging him to bring it back. When he finally answers, his voice is ice-cold. "Stop using our pup to manipulate me. There's no way my heir is in danger." That night, our pup dies. Even then, Leo refuses to believe me. He insists the death certificate is fake and accuses me of staging a funeral just to get his attention. So I file to have our mate bond dissolved and prepare to return home to the Frosthaven Pack. On the day of the funeral, Leo shows up with his childhood sweetheart, Lilian Garner, and stands in front of our pup's grave, calling me cruel and selfish. Then he comes closer. For the first time, he realizes he can no longer sense our pup. All the color drains from his face. "Aurora… Where's our pup?"

Connor Lockwood abandons me at the hospital's entrance even though I'm bleeding in the middle of my pregnancy. He insists on sending his client, a divorcée, home. The blood flows down my legs, but he hurries off without another look back. He should've been at the hospital and by my side, but instead, I see him in his client's social media update. It's captioned, "Thank goodness for my wonderful lawyer. Do you know who gets to have hangover soup when they're drunk? Me!" I spend the rest of the night wide awake. The following morning, I calmly dial a number. "Dad, I've made up my mind. I'll return home in three days to take over the company."