Six Months Pregnant, My Husband Chose His Secretary Over Me

At six months pregnant, a sharp pain surged through my stomach during the New Year’s Eve dinner.

I clutched my belly and begged Trent Curran to take me to the hospital. His face darkened, and he snapped coldly, "It’s a big holiday, and you’re causing a scene again?"

"Why didn’t it hurt earlier or later? Why now, right when I’m drinking for Lizzie?"

Lizzie Dawson, his secretary, spoke up in a soft, guilt-ridden tone, "Mr. Curran, don’t be mad. Sister Heather cares so much about you that she can’t stand me."

"It’s my fault for not being more considerate. You all enjoy the meal; I’ll leave first."

Before she could leave, Trent’s friends hurriedly stopped her. Their eyes burned with blame as they turned to me, their silent condemnation suffocating.

Dripping with sweat and clutching my stomach in agony, I looked at Trent through tear-filled eyes and pleaded, “Do you even care about me and the baby?”

Before Trent could respond, Lizzie burst into tears, her voice trembling as she cried, “Mr. Curran, just go along with Sister Heather. She wouldn’t be thinking about aborting the baby, would she?”

Without a flicker of concern for me, Trent gently wiped her tears, his tone soothing as he reassured her, “Heather went through over a dozen failed IVF attempts to conceive. There’s no way she’d abort the baby.”

“She’s just trying to scare you. You’re such a sweet and innocent girl. Don’t cry.”

He pushed me out of the private room as if I were nothing more than an inconvenience and apologized to her.

With tears streaming down my face, I walked out of the restaurant, hailing a cab to the hospital to schedule an abortion.

——

When I told the doctor my decision, her expression froze in shock.

She glanced at my medical records and found the relentless struggle I had endured, multiple failed IVF attempts to conceive this baby.

Given the poor quality of the embryo, I had spent months on strict bed rest, enduring over a thousand heparin injections to sustain the pregnancy.

“Are you certain about this?” she asked, her tone filled with disbelief. “If you terminate now, everything you’ve suffered will have been for nothing.”

I met her gaze and replied calmly, my voice steady despite the turmoil within. “Survival of the fittest. I’m done forcing what isn’t meant to be.”

The doctor nodded, her expression calm as she entered the details into her computer.

“Your condition isn’t ideal. Since you’ve made up your mind, don’t delay. Go home, pack your things, and check into the hospital early tomorrow to complete the paperwork.”

On the way home in the cab, my phone buzzed with a call from Trent. For a fleeting moment, I thought he might finally be showing some concern.

Instead, his voice crackled with irritation, sharp enough to cut through the silence.

“Where the hell are you? Did you fall into a river or get hit by a car?!”

The cab driver cast a quick glance my way, his eyebrows raising in disbelief, clearly stunned by the venom in Trent’s tone toward someone so visibly pregnant.

I forced myself to answer, my voice low and steady. “I just came from the hospital…”

“Alright, drop the drama,” Trent interrupted, his impatience palpable.

“Buy the gift later. Lizzie left her hat at the restaurant. Go fetch it and bring it to us at the Everspring.”

“Hurry up! Lizzie’s ears are sensitive to the cold; she used to get frostbite!”

A bitter laugh escaped me, unbidden and hollow.

He cared only about Lizzie’s forgotten hat, oblivious to the fact that when he had kicked me out of the private room, I’d left my coat and scarf behind.

He remembered Lizzie’s ears couldn’t be exposed to the cold, but he forgot that my hands were numb with frostbite.

And all of that, every bit of it, was thanks to him and Lizzie.

Not long ago, Lizzie’s underwear had been stained with blood, and she had asked me to wash it for her. She insisted that hot water wouldn’t do the job right and demanded I use cold water instead.

When I asked why she couldn’t do it herself, Trent overheard and erupted in fury.

“Lizzie is still on her period, and you expect her to handle cold water?”

“She’s my subordinate, not an ex-girlfriend. Why are you being so cruel to her?”

He punished me by forcing me to hand-wash all of Lizzie’s dirty clothes, leaving my hands frozen, swollen, and frostbitten from the cold.

I had foolishly thought he might feel a twinge of guilt. Instead, he snapped a photo of my swollen hands and sent it to his private group chat with his close friends.

[What’s the point of being pretty before pregnancy? Now, she’s as sloppy as a pig. Even her hands look like pig’s trotters.]

Meanwhile, Trent continued to pressure me over the phone, demanding to know when I would arrive.