“If it were only about having a child, we could have used a surrogate,” I said. “Why abort ours? Or are you deliberately making me a cuckold?”
Her face flushed. “ Ethan, how can you say that? Felix’s child deserves a chance.” She added, strained, “We did it for the child. I was thinking of you then.”
Relatives and friends shifted uneasily. One person rose, murmured condolences, and left; others followed.
“ Ethan,” someone said, “I know you’re hurting. But this is for the future. Only the best heir can secure the Lynn Group. Think about it.”
They closed the door. I sank onto the sofa, the shock washing over me.
A friend texted: Clara had been admitted. Felix stayed by her side during the procedure and fed her soup afterward. In the photo, she leaned into him, pale but comforted. The abortion consent form in the message hit me like cold metal.
I had endured beatings and rumors, yet I could not protect the life we had waited a decade for. Defeated, I made a call. “Mr. James, I’ll take your offer to develop your overseas market. I won’t return.”