Once my parents arrived, the police couldn't stay with me around the clock. The female officer left with the medical report.

My mom gripped my hand, her eyes red with fury as she cursed my husband, Steve.

"After all your struggles, he still raised his hand to you? Before, they had the excuse of no grandkids, but now what?"

Memories of his fury and his steadfast belief I cheated flashed through my mind. Why did he have that thought?

Then I thought of my mother-in-law's smug certainty. There was definitely something off.

I balled my fists. I wasn't about to let this slide. He would pay for this assault.

"Mom, we need to file for divorce. Let's distance ourselves from that jerk first, then sort out the details."

"No, how can you just divorce like that?"

Her response shocked me, and she quickly tried to recover.

"I mean, maybe there's a misunderstanding, and have you thought about life after divorce?"

Life after divorce? I'm capable, employed, and independent. Nothing could be worse than staying tied to an abuser.

I looked at her sadly. You're my mom. Why does appearance matter more than your daughter's life?

Maybe she's just stuck in her ways, struggling to adapt.

With my mobility impaired, where could I hide if he became enraged over the divorce?

I had thought having a happy family and loving parents was enough, despite not having children according to plan.

Now, it's clear I've been on my own the whole time.

I sighed, resigned yet determined, for my sake and for the child I might yet have to forsake.

"Fine, no divorce for now. But I've reported him. If he doesn't suffer any consequences, he'll think he can hit me whenever he wants. You go to the station, and give your statements. We'll handle the rest after I recover."

"I knew you'd have a plan. Don't worry, sweetie. We won't let them get away with this. Your dad and I will demand an explanation from his mother, ensure they don't dare mistreat you again."

Mom offered to stick around and take care of me, which really moved me. I sent her some money for meals—she's doing so much already, she deserves to treat herself.

But barely half a day later, her overprotectiveness was getting to me. She hovered over the doctors during their rounds, bombarding them with questions and insisting they guarantee the assault hadn't harmed the baby.

The doctor's patience wore thin, and he laid it out straight.

"Are you actually her mother? Normally, someone with fractures and potential brain injuries needs rest. Pregnancy itself drains a lot of energy, let alone coupled with injuries. Are you overestimating what her body can handle?"

"There's no rule that says a woman who's had trouble conceiving can't get pregnant again. Why the rush to have kids when she's so young? Maybe life's been too smooth and she's looking for a challenge?"

Mom finally let the doctor go after a bit of grumbling.

I sighed. Mom's life has been pretty cushioned. Married straight out of college, with housekeepers and nannies doing all the heavy lifting. Having me was her major life event.

Her tactless nature isn't new—usually, I'm the one cleaning up her messes. But this time, I just didn't have the energy.

I planned to just suck it up and suggested that I handle talking to the doctor, but she kept accidentally hurting my broken leg.

I didn't blame her because she'd never done such things during these decades.

Enough was enough. I used the excuse of needing her to back me up at my in-laws' to send her away and hired a professional caregiver.

With Mom's brand of caregiving, I was risking an upgrade on my medical report.

Getting her out of the way was also part of a plan she'd never agree to.

No sooner had Mom left than I asked the doctor about terminating the pregnancy.

It wasn't easy conceiving this baby, but I knew I couldn't keep it.

A child should be a bond between loving parents, not just a tether to a troubled marriage.

Steve clearly isn't husband material, and I've lost all desire to continue this facade with him.

It's better to end things now, before any deeper attachments form, than to regret bringing a child into this mess.

Moreover, I can't guarantee I won't resent the child after it's born. If I'm not ready to love unconditionally from the start, it's better not to bring a child into the world.

That's fairer to both of us.

"Mrs. Dickens, are you sure about the abortion? Given you and your husband's fertility issues, this might be your only chance at a child."

"I ended up in this hospital because of that man. You think I want to carry his child after all he's done?"

The doctor tried to persuade me again, but I was having none of it. Impatiently, I went to register with another doctor.

I forgot to tell the nurse not to book a specialist—I'd seen every OB-GYN specialist here while trying to conceive.

The general practitioner I ended up with didn't pry about my decision to have an abortion, just offered some advice.

"Given your condition, maybe we should schedule the procedure for just before your discharge. That way, you can head straight home afterward."

I nodded, accepting the suggestion.

My condition wasn't ideal for an abortion right now, and since early-term abortions are less risky, waiting a bit seemed wise.