My Wife's Nine Abortions

It was the fifth year of my marriage to Claire Stafford, and the spring breeze still carried a sharp chill. That day, I left work early, wanting to buy the strawberry cake she had been craving for days. As I turned the key in the lock, I heard a muffled cough coming from inside the house. I pushed the door open, and on the shoe cabinet in the entryway sat a pair of men's leather shoes that weren't mine. They belonged to Reed Johnson. Claire Stafford's male best friend—and also her direct boss. My fingers tightened slightly around the Cake Box as I stepped inside quietly. On the living room sofa, Claire was half-lying down, and Reed sat beside her, reaching out to brush the stray hair from her forehead. "Are you still feeling unwell?" Reed's voice was gentle. Claire nodded, leaning closer to him. "A little dizzy—maybe the anesthetic hasn't fully worn off yet." Anesthetic. The word pierced my chest like an ice pick, catching me completely off guard. I stood frozen, my throat tight, every breath labored. They finally noticed me. Claire Stafford's face drained of color instantly. She snapped upright from the couch and instinctively shifted away, creating distance between herself and Reed Johnson. Reed Johnson stayed calm, withdrawing his hand and standing to nod at me: "You're back." I ignored him, staring intently at Claire: "Where did you go?" Claire's eyes flickered, avoiding my gaze. "I... I didn't do anything. I just wasn't feeling well. Reed brought me back." "You need anesthetic just because you're unwell?" I took two steps forward, the cake box crushed in my fist. "Claire, look at me." Her lips trembled, and her eyes slowly turned red. "Frank, I'm sorry..." "Sorry for what?" My voice was trembling. "Did you terminate our baby again?" Claire shuddered all over, tears streaming down. "I didn't do it on purpose. This time... it was an accident." An accident. This was already the ninth time. The ninth time, she used all sorts of reasons to secretly terminate our pregnancy. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to stifle the anger and despair rising in my chest. Five years of marriage, and I'd been a fool—believing her excuses again and again, forgiving her "accidents" time after time.