I Chose Abortion After My Husband Took the Night Shift

I didn't have the appetite for anything.

"It's not about whether he's home or not. As long as Weston keeps working night shifts, I can't keep this baby."

My dad's face flushed, his voice rising with frustration.

"That's ridiculous! Whether Weston works nights or not, that's his decision. But punishing yourself and the baby? That's reckless, Rachel. Totally irresponsible. What's really going on here?"

"That's right, sweetheart," my mom added gently, trying to smooth the tension. "You're thirty-five now. You're considered a high-risk pregnancy. If you go through with an abortion at this stage, there's a real chance you may never get pregnant again. I watched you go through every round of IVF. It was hard to even look at you sometimes—how pale you got, how much pain you were in. And now, after all that, you want to throw this away? Giving up this baby would be like stabbing your father and me in the heart."

She reached for my hand, her voice trembling. "Please, just think this through. Keep the baby. Your father and I will help you raise it. We'll make it work, whatever it takes."

They were both staring at me, eyes full of fear and worry, silently begging for answers I wasn't ready to give. I opened my mouth to say anything, but no words came out.

I just looked away and mumbled, "I'm going for a walk. You two go ahead and eat."

I grabbed my ID and went outside without really thinking, just moving. My feet carried me aimlessly, and before I knew it, I was back at the university where Weston and I first met.

The campus looked different now. It was sleeker and more modern. Everything had been renovated, but the memories remained just as vivid.

I could still picture him standing in front of the First Teaching Building, fresh out of his certification exams, his whole future ahead of him, so full of drive.

"I want to be the best chemistry teacher," he'd told me, eyes bright. "I want my students to fall in love with science, maybe even help inspire a genius in math or chemistry someday."

After graduation, Weston got a job at the top high school in town. I was hired as an editor. Life was simple but good. After work, we would walk home hand in hand, talking about our day and planning for the future. He once said his biggest dream was to build a quiet life with me and eventually have a kid.

That dream is what kept me going for so long. I thought that maybe if we had a child, it'd change everything, help him grow up, and help us grow closer.

But now, I could feel him turning into someone I didn't recognize. Someone I was scared of.

The memories from my previous life flooded back. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as I stood in the middle of campus.

I had to stop this. If I didn't act now, the three of us would get pulled into something we'd never recover from.

I looked down at my six-month belly and whispered, "I'm so sorry, baby. Mommy's going to have to use you for something really important. If anything happens to you, please don't hate me."

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to stay grounded. Then I pulled out my phone, no hesitation in my fingers, and dialed a number I already knew by heart.

"Do you have time? I've made up my mind about what you said. Let's work together."

We talked for two hours.

After we parted ways, I grabbed a cab and went back home.

To align with the plan we had agreed on, I rescheduled my abortion appointment. It was initially scheduled for that afternoon, but I moved it to the day after tomorrow.

Over those next two days, Weston started showing up more. He took time off work and stayed by my side. Sometimes we didn't even talk, but he was there. Quiet, present.

His resolve to keep working night shifts started to weaken. But every time he was about to give in, the factory would call again and pull him back.

Then the day finally came.

I went to the hospital alone.

Sitting on that cold waiting bench, my hands folded in my lap, I just stared straight ahead, completely still.

My name was called.

I stood up without flinching and walked toward the procedure room.

But just as I reached the door, someone grabbed my hand.

I turned around, startled.

It was Weston. He was soaked in sweat, like he'd run the entire distance. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tight, his breath heavy.

"I don't agree, Rachel," he gasped out. "I don't want you to do this. This baby is mine too. Please don't go through with it."

"If you promise not to work the night shift," I said, my voice calm and clear, "then I'll—"

"Hell no. Why should my brother have to promise you anything?"

The voice came out of nowhere.

My sister-in-law, Daisy, shoved me back, stepping between us.

Pointing at me, I yelled furiously, "You think I don't see what you're doing? Just because Weston's working nights, you're gonna abort the baby? What's next—he sends money to Mom and Dad, and you'll flush the next one too?"

Daisy didn't stop as she continued to harass me.

"You think just because you're pregnant, you get to control everyone? Like you're some kind of queen? Get over yourself. You're not made of gold. You're just trying to run this whole damn family. Keep dreaming!"

Her voice echoed through the hallway, attracting glances from all around. Heads turned as everyone watched the scene unfold.

And just like that, the whole thing turned into a spectacle.

Once the crowd realized what was happening, the judgment rolled in fast.

"Young lady, don't be so hotheaded. What's wrong with your husband working nights? He's doing it for you and the baby, isn't he?"

"Exactly. A wife should know her place. Don't go throwing tantrums just because you're spoiled. If you really go through with an abortion over something like this, you're turning your back on his whole family. You'll never know peace in that house again."

I ignored them. All the stares and voices faded into the background noise.

My eyes stayed locked on Weston.

"What do you really want?" I asked him quietly.

He clung to my hand tighter, his jaw set with stubborn resolve. "I'm taking the night shift. And we're keeping the baby. Rachel, this isn't just your decision to make."

"Is that so?" I gave him a cold smile.

Then, without warning, I sank my teeth into his arm.

"What the hell, Rachel!" Weston shouted and instinctively let go. Just then, I reached into my pocket, retrieved a pair of scissors, and pointed them toward my stomach.

"If you force me into this, I'll do it myself. I'll die with the baby. We'll go together."

I meant every word. To make them believe me, I didn't hesitate.

I pressed the blade into my skin. A thin, sharp sting shot through my abdomen as blood seeped into the white fabric of my dress, leaving a red blossom in its place.

Still, I didn't stop. The scissors hovered, trembling, just inches from going deeper.

Weston went sheet-white.

Everyone stood frozen in shock.

"Rachel! What the hell is wrong with you?" he yelled, panic climbing in his voice. "Why won't you just let me work nights?!"

Just then, a calm, measured voice cut through the chaos.

"Everyone, stop pressuring her. I know why she doesn't want him taking night shifts. I know exactly why she's willing to risk an abortion."