When the debt collectors attacked, I pushed in front of Clara and took the blows. Three ribs broken, internal injuries that nearly killed me. When the doctor said my fertility might be damaged, she wept, hugged me, and promised to stay.
I refused to give up. Once the company stabilized, I began treatment, steady and relentless. Three years later, the doctor said I’d made progress. Clara and I tried for a child. When she told me she was carrying twins, I stayed awake all night, holding her, tears on my face.
Now, staring at Clara’s determined eyes, my gaze dropped to her belly. The joy I’d felt became a raw ache. My voice broke. “Clara, that’s the child I’ve waited ten years for. How can you end them?”
A flicker of guilt crossed her face. “I’m sorry, Ethan. I’m doing this for Felix. I don’t want him to carry regret.”
“You said my sperm quality is poor,” I said. “You said the baby might be born with defects.”
“Felix is young and healthy,” she said. “If he fathers the child, the child will have a better future—better genes.”
I smiled without humor. “So in your mind I’m broken, and any child of mine would be broken too.”