“Don’t make me,” I can’t hold back my sobs anymore, but my husband only frowns and drowns the engine.
“We’ve already discussed this,” there’s determination in his voice and not a trace of pity—not for me, and not for the child, who is in no way to blame.
“Maxim, please…” I let out a pleading whimper, and push forward with the main argument: “I’m sure it’s your child.”
“If I doubted that, you’d… right now—” he doesn’t finish. He clenches his teeth, and with a rough exhale orders dryly: “Get out. They’re already waiting.”
To save my husband from a big trouble, I sacrificed myself—my body, my principles. But the agreement between us turned into a nightmare. I have to give up my small dream to keep a marriage that I no longer see any point in.