"I don't need it, and I'm not going back to teaching. I'm staying at the factory. The director actually values my work and gave me the chance to make more by switching to night shifts."

Weston yanked the phone out of my hand and flopped down onto the couch like he was ready to dig his heels in and dare me to challenge him.

My eyes stung immediately. I leaned back against the wall, one hand supporting my lower back, the other resting on my belly. I was exhausted, and my body felt like it was carrying more than just this child—it felt like it was bearing the weight of everything.

The tears I'd been trying to hold back quietly slid down my cheeks, soaking into the fabric of my dress, one after another, steady and unrelenting.

"Weston," I whispered, voice cracking, "do it for the fifteen years we've been together. For the baby I'm carrying. Please don't take the night shift. I'm begging you."

But all I got back was silence.

And so, I took a shaky breath, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and forced a bitter smile.

"Alright. I get it now. Just… don't come crying when you regret it."

Time passed slowly, each minute heavier than the last. His parents and all the relatives were still trying to talk sense into him, urging him to give up the night shift and stick with day hours.

Meanwhile, I had already packed my suitcase.

When I wheeled it out of the bedroom into the hallway, that's when Weston finally broke.

His eyes were red and raw, and he rushed toward me in a panic.

"Rachel, my low sperm quality has caused you to endure numerous IVF cycles over the last seven years. You've been through hell. We both know how hard it was to have this baby. And now, at 35, your pregnancy's already considered high-risk. If you abort our baby, it's going to do real damage to your body. Can you stop being so impulsive?"

I met his gaze and held it.

"Then promise me. Don't take the night shift!" I stared at him stubbornly, making one final plea. "As long as you don't work nights, I'll agree to anything. The betrothal gift, I'll return it. The house, the car… hell, even if you cheat on me someday, I won't take a single thing. I'll walk away with nothing. Weston, you've always listened to me. Just this once, can you please listen to me again?"

But his face hardened. His warmth vanished.

Without saying a word, he peeled my fingers off his hand one by one and snapped back, sharp and cold.

"I'm working nights so I can earn more. Why are you stopping me? What the hell is so wrong with the night shift?"

His voice rose, anger creeping in. "I just want to make some money for you and the baby. Is that such a crime? I'm trying to give you a better life so you don't have to work yourself to death. I'm doing this for us. Why can't you try to understand that?"

Then he threw his hands up in frustration. "You've always had my back. Why are you pushing me like this now?"

Yes, we had been together for fifteen years. And even when that student falsely accused him of assault and he ended up in jail, I didn't leave.

I found a lawyer. I dug up the truth. I stood by his side when everyone else turned their backs.

When we found out he had oligospermia and our chances of conceiving naturally were almost nonexistent, I didn't complain and immediately signed up for IVF.

Seven years of heartbreak and injections and hospital visits, and finally, this little life came to us.

I had dreamed of our future—me, him, and our baby.

But now, he was still choosing the same road he had gone down in our past life.

I wiped my face again, pressing my nails into the soft skin of my palm, needing the sharp pain to bring me back to focus.

And when the tears ran dry, what remained inside me was pure ice.

"Fine," I said coolly. "I won't stop you. If you're so set on working nights, then do it. But don't expect me or the baby to stick around."

I shoved past him and placed my hand gently on my belly.

My voice came out calm as I announced, "I'm getting the abortion tomorrow."

Karen's face went pale, her voice trembling as she grabbed my arm and pulled me aside.

"No, you can't. We won't allow it!"

"Rachel," Karen added, "ever since you became part of our family, haven't I always treated you nicely? The child belongs to you and Weston. Can't you step back and consider everything we've been through? Weston is working the night shift for the family and trying to earn more for you."

"For me? For the family? To earn a little more?" I repeated, letting out a quiet laugh that didn't quite sound like one. "Mom, he's not doing this for me. He's already fallen for someone else's promises about getting rich."

She blinked, confused, not understanding what I meant.

But there were things I couldn't tell yet. I didn't want to create unnecessary danger.

Then, she gently touched my arm, her voice soft and almost maternal.

"Silly girl. Of course, he's doing this for you. Weston doesn't even spend money on himself. Doesn't he deposit every paycheck straight into your account?"

I didn't answer. There was no point.

She wasn't wrong. But she wasn't right either.

There were things at play she couldn't even begin to imagine. And right now, I have to carry that truth on my own.

Weston looked at me, squinting as if he were trying to read my mind.

"Rach… did you find something out?"

I gave him a dry, bitter smile. "What could I possibly know, huh? Just that you're suddenly not coming home at night anymore. That you're dead set on leaving me and this baby behind."

That stopped him. For a moment, he looked caught off guard. Then he laughed, shaking his head as if everything finally clicked.

"Wait, seriously? You think I'm taking the night shift so I can sneak around with another woman? That I'm spending my nights wrapped up with someone else while you're at home stressing over it?"

He reached out and tapped the tip of my nose like we were still some cutesy couple in love.

"Babe, you're the only woman I've ever wanted," Weston said affectionately. "I don't even look at anyone else, I swear. You don't need to worry. I'm just doing this to bring in some real money. Big money."

Big money?

The words ran straight down my spine like a cold draft.

It was true. There wasn't another woman.

But what he was doing was so much worse than cheating.

I had already lived through the aftermath once, and I'd be damned if I let history repeat itself.

If Weston was really determined to walk that same road again, I wasn't about to bring this child into the world to go through the fallout.

"Goodbye."

Just two syllables. No drama. No scene.

I stood up straight, turned around, and walked toward the front door.

The moment they realized I was serious, the relatives nearby hurried to change what they were saying.

"Rachel is really being unreasonable," one of them muttered. "So what if he's working nights? She's six months along, storming out like this? Weston's trying to build a better future!"

"Exactly. It's not like Weston is leaving her completely. He's still around during the day. As his wife, she should be more understanding. She's being way too dramatic."

"I mean, seriously, she left like it was life or death! Threatening to abort the baby over a shift change? Honestly, maybe she's the one with someone on the side!"

My in-laws then decided to intervene, their voices sharp and cold.

Karen's tone cut clean across the room. "Rachel, if you walk out that door, don't expect to come back. You're not welcome here anymore."

Gilbert didn't miss a beat, nodding as he chimed in. "That's right. And don't think this is your choice. We're throwing you out. You think anyone else would want a used-up woman like you? Weston, on the other hand, can remarry whenever he wants."

I let out a small, wry smile and answered, "Oh? Then let me congratulate you in advance."

I stepped out of the house I had lived in for the past ten years and headed for the elevator. The doors opened, and just as I was about to get in, Weston ran after me.

For a split second, my heart paused.

I thought maybe he'd changed his mind, but all he said was that he'd drive me to my parents' house.

The entire ride was dead quiet.

Neither of us spoke a word.

I looked out the window, watching the blur of streetlights and signs pass by, and let the tears fall silently. They soaked into my shirt one after another, with no sound and no fuss.

Fifteen years of love…

And it still wasn't enough to make him choose me over a night shift.

What a joke. What a failure I must have been.

...

Almost an hour later, we pulled into my parents' driveway.

I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, mentally. I didn't say a word, just grabbed my suitcase and went straight to my room.

Weston, somehow unfazed, remained in the living room and talked with my parents as if nothing had occurred.

When I woke up the next morning, sunlight was already creeping in through the blinds.

The first thing I did was pick up my phone and call the clinic.

I booked the abortion for 4 p.m.

At breakfast, my parents were quiet. For a long time, they just sat there, watching me, reading me.

Finally, my dad cleared his throat.

"Sweetheart, you're not the kind of person who makes rash decisions. You wouldn't just decide to end a pregnancy because Weston's working nights. So tell us the truth, has he started a second family or something? Is this 'night shift' just a cover?"

My mom reached across the table and softly took my hand, her eyes already welling with tears.

"She's right. You're our only child. Back when Weston was still teaching, we thought he was a good man. But then that student accused him of misconduct, and he lost everything—his job, his name. Even after he was cleared, now he's just a line worker. Nothing special. If he's betrayed you, your dad and I have savings. We can take care of you and our grandchild, no matter what."

I shook my head slowly.

"No, Mom. Weston's been good to me. There's no other woman. I don't want him working night shifts."

My mom then looked at me like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Then you're being immature, Rachel. It's normal for a man to be away sometimes. That doesn't mean you throw your whole life away. Just stay here for now. Your dad and I will take care of you."

I didn't have the appetite for anything.

"It's not about whether he's home or not. As long as Weston keeps working night shifts, I can't keep this baby."

My dad's face flushed, his voice rising with frustration.

"That's ridiculous! Whether Weston works nights or not, that's his decision. But punishing yourself and the baby? That's reckless, Rachel. Totally irresponsible. What's really going on here?"

"That's right, sweetheart," my mom added gently, trying to smooth the tension. "You're thirty-five now. You're considered a high-risk pregnancy. If you go through with an abortion at this stage, there's a real chance you may never get pregnant again. I watched you go through every round of IVF. It was hard to even look at you sometimes—how pale you got, how much pain you were in. And now, after all that, you want to throw this away? Giving up this baby would be like stabbing your father and me in the heart."

She reached for my hand, her voice trembling. "Please, just think this through. Keep the baby. Your father and I will help you raise it. We'll make it work, whatever it takes."

They were both staring at me, eyes full of fear and worry, silently begging for answers I wasn't ready to give. I opened my mouth to say anything, but no words came out.

I just looked away and mumbled, "I'm going for a walk. You two go ahead and eat."

I grabbed my ID and went outside without really thinking, just moving. My feet carried me aimlessly, and before I knew it, I was back at the university where Weston and I first met.

The campus looked different now. It was sleeker and more modern. Everything had been renovated, but the memories remained just as vivid.

I could still picture him standing in front of the First Teaching Building, fresh out of his certification exams, his whole future ahead of him, so full of drive.

"I want to be the best chemistry teacher," he'd told me, eyes bright. "I want my students to fall in love with science, maybe even help inspire a genius in math or chemistry someday."

After graduation, Weston got a job at the top high school in town. I was hired as an editor. Life was simple but good. After work, we would walk home hand in hand, talking about our day and planning for the future. He once said his biggest dream was to build a quiet life with me and eventually have a kid.

That dream is what kept me going for so long. I thought that maybe if we had a child, it'd change everything, help him grow up, and help us grow closer.

But now, I could feel him turning into someone I didn't recognize. Someone I was scared of.

The memories from my previous life flooded back. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I stood in the middle of campus.

I had to stop this. If I didn't act now, the three of us would get pulled into something we'd never recover from.

I looked down at my six-month belly and whispered, "I'm so sorry, baby. Mommy's going to have to use you for something really important. If anything happens to you, please don't hate me."

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay grounded. Then I pulled out my phone, no hesitation in my fingers, and dialed a number I already knew by heart.

"Do you have time? I've made up my mind about what you said. Let's work together."

We talked for two hours.

After we parted ways, I grabbed a cab and went back home.

To align with the plan we had agreed on, I rescheduled my abortion appointment. It was initially scheduled for that afternoon, but I moved it to the day after tomorrow.

Over those next two days, Weston started showing up more. He took time off work and stayed by my side. Sometimes we didn't even talk, but he was there. Quiet, present.

His resolve to keep working night shifts started to weaken. But every time he was about to give in, the factory would call again and pull him back.

Then the day finally came.

I went to the hospital alone.

Sitting on that cold waiting bench, my hands folded in my lap, I just stared straight ahead, completely still.

My name was called.

I stood up without flinching and walked toward the procedure room.

But just as I reached the door, someone grabbed my hand.

I turned around, startled.

It was Weston. He was soaked in sweat, like he'd run the entire distance. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tight, his breath heavy.

"I don't agree, Rachel," he gasped out. "I don't want you to do this. This baby is mine too. Please don't go through with it."

"If you promise not to work the night shift," I said, my voice calm and clear, "then I'll—"

"Hell no. Why should my brother have to promise you anything?"

The voice came out of nowhere.

My sister-in-law, Daisy, shoved me back, stepping between us.

Pointing at me, I yelled furiously, "You think I don't see what you're doing? Just because Weston's working nights, you're gonna abort the baby? What's next—he sends money to Mom and Dad, and you'll flush the next one too?"

Daisy didn't stop as she continued to harass me.

"You think just because you're pregnant, you get to control everyone? Like you're some kind of queen? Get over yourself. You're not made of gold. You're just trying to run this whole damn family. Keep dreaming!"

Her voice echoed through the hallway, attracting glances from all around. Heads turned as everyone watched the scene unfold.

And just like that, the whole thing turned into a spectacle.

Once the crowd realized what was happening, the judgment rolled in fast.

"Young lady, don't be so hotheaded. What's wrong with your husband working nights? He's doing it for you and the baby, isn't he?"

"Exactly. A wife should know her place. Don't go throwing tantrums just because you're spoiled. If you really go through with an abortion over something like this, you're turning your back on his whole family. You'll never know peace in that house again."

I ignored them. All the stares and voices faded into the background noise.

My eyes stayed locked on Weston.

"What do you really want?" I asked him quietly.

He clung to my hand tighter, his jaw set with stubborn resolve. "I'm taking the night shift. And we're keeping the baby. Rachel, this isn't just your decision to make."

"Is that so?" I gave him a cold smile.

Then, without warning, I sank my teeth into his arm.

"What the hell, Rachel!" Weston shouted and instinctively let go. Just then, I reached into my pocket, retrieved a pair of scissors, and pointed them toward my stomach.

"If you force me into this, I'll do it myself. I'll die with the baby. We'll go together."

I meant every word. To make them believe me, I didn't hesitate.

I pressed the blade into my skin. A thin, sharp sting shot through my abdomen as blood seeped into the white fabric of my dress, leaving a red blossom in its place.

Still, I didn't stop. The scissors hovered, trembling, just inches from going deeper.

Weston went sheet-white.

Everyone stood frozen in shock.

"Rachel! What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled, panic climbing in his voice. "Why won't you just let me work nights?!"

Just then, a calm, measured voice cut through the chaos.

"Everyone, stop pressuring her. I know why she doesn't want him taking night shifts. I know exactly why she's willing to risk an abortion."