My Perfect Marriage Was His Perfect Crime novel Chapter 18

My husband has a low sperm count, and after trying IVF over a dozen times, I finally got pregnant.

While I was curled up beside the toilet, feeling sick from morning sickness, he was busy celebrating their three-year work anniversary with his female secretary.

She posted a picture on social media of him intently cutting her steak.

"My boss is so sweet. I wish to be with him forever!"

I rolled my eyes, holding back nausea as I liked the post. Soon enough, his call came through.

"What now? All you can do is vomit! Bonnie takes care of everything for me, and you should be thankful she's here to help."

I scoffed, "Oh sure, I'll express my 'profound gratitude' to her entire family. I'll thank her for sleeping with you."

"You weren't like this before. You get pregnant and lose your sense of propriety?"

He railed at me, and in a huff, he hung up.

I sighed, realizing I had been away from home so long that I'd almost forgotten who I was.

I picked up my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in ages.

"Chris, book me a flight for tomorrow morning. I'm going back to Sealand."

On the other end, Chris was over the moon.

"Ms. Swan, I can't believe it! You've been gone for six years, and you're really coming back? You're not messing with me, are you?" he asked.

I gently placed my hand on my slightly rounded belly and forced a smile. "I'm not joking. I really am coming back."

After hanging up, I scheduled an appointment with the top obstetrician at Caplanding and managed to get in for the last abortion surgery of the day.

The attending doctor was Dr. Cook, the same one who helped with my IVF. When I told him I wanted to terminate the pregnancy, his face went pale with shock.

"But this child... It took so long to conceive. Are you really going to abort?"

As soon as he finished speaking, the nurses turned to look at me, wide-eyed.

I nodded, my face pale. "Yes, I'm sure."

My husband, Andrew Jefferson, had a low sperm count. We've been married for six years, desperately wanting a child of our own.

We went through countless rounds of IVF, and even the doctors and nurses here knew me by now. They witnessed how much I wanted this baby.

Once, when I was anemic, the doctors advised me to rest and reschedule the IVF, but I insisted on going through with it.

When I found out I was pregnant, the doctors and nurses celebrated with me, saying it was my sincere longing that moved heaven.

Now, it all felt like a cruel joke.

"You're doing great. You've taken your work into bed!" I continued, "We should definitely get you an 'Employee of the Year' certificate at the end of the year."

Not feeling the need to entertain her faux innocence, I hung up and blocked her phone number.

Before leaving the hospital, I asked the doctor for the tiny embryo.

It wasn't fully formed, but it vaguely resembled a small baby.

I held the glass vial close to my chest, unable to hold back tears.

"I'm sorry, baby. I never expected that we would have no chance to be together." I whispered.

Taking a deep breath, I knew that I had to move on, and I didn't want to carry this pain alone.

Before I left, I had one last gift for Andrew.

When I returned to the empty house where I'd lived for six years, it was as cold as it had been before.

If nothing had changed, Andrew was probably out having a cozy night with his attentive secretary.

I had no appetite for dinner, and as I walked through the house, a dull ache gripped my abdomen. I lay down beside the bed.

I must have drifted off into a fitful slumber, completely unaware of when exactly I succumbed to sleep.