He left me sitting on the floor, utterly humiliated.
A long time passed before I finally forced myself to stand up and stagger toward the kitchen.
I didn’t even notice when Henry returned.
Looking at me smugly, he said, “Stephanie, don’t you think you’re pathetic? If you’d just agreed in the first place, none of this would have happened. You always have to make a fuss before you give in.”
I said nothing.
He used to love me so deeply.
He couldn’t bear to see me suffer even the slightest anguish.
I once got into a minor car accident.
The other driver stormed over aggressively.
That day, Henry—usually so gentle and refined—lost his temper for the first time. He even got into a fight with the man on the street.
He told me no matter what happened, he would be my safest protector.
But now, the person who once swore to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most.
His eyes and heart had long since erased me.
By the time I finished cooking, it was already past midnight.
I hadn’t slept all night.
Early in the morning, Henry took the food and left for the hospital.
I watched the clock until nine, then got up to leave.
Today was the appointment for the abortion.
At the hospital, I lay on the hospital bed while waiting for the nurse to wheel me into the operating room.
The doctor performing the procedure asked me with a trace of regret, “Mrs. Palmer, are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?”
“No. Losing it is the best choice,” I replied eerily calmly.
The anesthesia was injected into me.
As I was being pushed toward the operating room, Henry happened to walk by.
Henry saw me lying motionless on the bed. Half of my face was covered by the blanket.
His entire body suddenly trembled, and his legs seemed to go weak.
He quickly grabbed the nurse beside him and asked, “Who is that? What surgery is she having? Why is she going into the operating room?”
