After being married to Clayton Wheeler for seven years, he forced me to terminate five pregnancies.

He said, "Because of you, Talia can't be a mother; she can't have kids anymore. When she's okay with you having a child, then you can have one for me."

Recently, I discovered I was pregnant again, and he transferred a million dollars to me.

Then he said, "Take care of it; Talia still doesn't want you to have the baby."

This time, I finally became disillusioned.

I went through the procedure and then left to become a foreign correspondent, covering conflicts around the globe.

I doubt I'll ever return.

---

As the million dollars came through, Clayton stood by, saying, "Talia can't have children now because of you. When she's ready, then you can have a baby."

His eyes were devoid of compassion as he spoke.

Seven years of marriage, and this was the sixth time he forced me to terminate a pregnancy.

"Come on, don't be upset," he said. "I'll be more careful next time."

Clayton always dismissed it like that.

Over the years, my heart sank lower until it finally shattered at this moment.

Each time, he'd repeat the same lines, yet he'd stealthily abandon precautions halfway through.

He used to insist, "It feels better this way, more natural."

"It's okay. If you get pregnant, just keep it."

But whenever I found myself expecting, his response was, "Talia doesn't agree."

As long as Talia disapproved, I couldn't have a child.

Throughout these years, I've endured five terminations, leaving my body battered and scarred.

The doctor told me this pregnancy was a miracle, and another procedure could mean I'd never conceive again.

"Okay," I replied softly, not even bothering to argue.

Once, I naively hoped to change his mind and keep the child.

But now, I've grown numb.

Clayton seemed surprised by my lack of resistance.

"Why aren't you arguing with me this time?"

Inside, I laughed coldly. Did arguing ever work?

Over the years, I've told him countless times that I wasn't the reason Talia lost her ability to have children.

Yet he never believed me and would harshly retort, "Can you stop lying? You're just disgusting."

So now, I don't bother explaining anymore.

Seeing my silence, Clayton didn’t press further. He went into the kitchen and emptied the stew from the pot. It was a stew I had gotten up at five in the morning to prepare for him, and he hadn't touched a single spoonful.

"I need the pot for some pulled pork I'm making for Talia. Your stew is in the way," he said, his tone cold.

It was clear that this was his way of expressing his dissatisfaction with me, but I had no clue what I had done to upset him. If I used to argue back, he’d accuse me of being defiant. Now that I don't argue, he still gets angry. It’s both laughable and draining.

Without another word, I made my way to the master bedroom. I picked up my phone and reached out to Ryatt Lawrence, my editor at the newspaper. I applied for an assignment to do fieldwork in a conflict zone. Although I had always worked domestically, my dream was to report from countries experiencing turmoil.

Previously, I stayed because of Clayton, but now I've completely let go of him. After seven years together, Talia was always between us, keeping us apart. Now, I've decided to move on.

After Clayton left, his assistant, Azariah Montgomery, came into my room. She looked at me with a knowing expression and handed me a form for a scheduled procedure.

“I’ve already scheduled the appointment; it’s in two hours,” she said, with a touch of sadness in her eyes.

Every time Clayton asked me to terminate the pregnancy, it was Azariah who organized the appointments and accompanied me to the hospital. She knew better than anyone what I had been through.

“Okay,” I replied as I stood up.

But Azariah didn’t move. I was about to ask her why when I suddenly saw Clayton carrying Talia in his arms, quickly making his way out the door. They were chatting and laughing: “Talia, today I’m taking you to the amusement park.”

“Haven’t you always wanted to go?” he asked.

Talia was an adopted daughter of the Wheeler family and had grown up with Clayton. Their bond was strong, something I couldn’t rival even after seven years.

“Clay, can we get some cotton candy too?” Talia pleaded, and Clayton’s eyes were focused solely on her.

I suddenly remembered one of my birthdays when I had also wanted to go to the amusement park. But Clayton wouldn’t take me. He said, “That's for kids. Aren’t you too old for such things?”

Snapping back to reality, Clayton and Talia were already gone. Azariah and I headed to the hospital. The place was all too familiar, as was the operating table.

Dr. Eliseo Moore asked for my confirmation one more time: “Adriana, are you sure you want to go through with this procedure? Your uterine wall is very thin; it might be difficult for you to conceive in the future.”

“It’s fine,” I responded. After all, I didn’t see children in my future. Clayton had already broken my heart.

Before entering the operating room, I came across a post Talia put up on Instagram. The caption read, “I think happiness is having your loved one by your side.”

In the video, she and Clayton were beside a small campfire. They were roasting coffee, oranges, and pastries, playing cards together.

Clayton looked at her tenderly: “You’re amazing, Talia, you always have better cards than I do.”

“Well, of course, I’m the queen of cards!” Talia teased with a playful pout.

I clearly saw the light in Clayton’s eyes, a look of genuine relaxation. Once, I went fishing with him and grilled burgers by the lake. But he seemed distracted and told me, “Fishing is dull, and grilled food isn’t that special.”

It seemed he was only truly content when he was with Talia.

I turned off my phone and entered the operating room.