My Five Times Abortion for My Husband Mistress’s Speciment

He once told me that he would always be my shelter, my protector against the storms of life. That he would guard me for the rest of my days. I believed him. I gave him my body, my heart, my soul. When he asked for a hidden marriage, I agreed without hesitation. He feared that marrying a woman from a humble background would affect the stock price of the Raymond Group.

Every time I found out I was pregnant, Gerrald would light up like a child, shouting with excitement that he was going to be a father. He would hold me in his arms, his joy infectious. Afraid that I would suffer, he personally instructed his private doctor to use general anesthesia, ensuring I wouldn’t feel any pain. And every time, he stayed by my side, watching over me as if I were his most precious treasure.

I thought he cared about me. I thought he cared about our baby. But in reality, he was merely making it easier for himself to strangle our child with his own hands—to provide a specimen for his beloved. And I, foolishly, blamed myself. I thought my body was too weak, too incapable of carrying a child to term. I grieved over every stillborn, burdened with guilt, apologizing to him for my failures. Looking back now, I was nothing but a joke.

***

That night, after returning home, I waited for Gerrald to step into the shower. I booked an appointment for an abortion. And I purchased a plane ticket. Three days from now, I would be gone. When he emerged from the bathroom, his hair still damp, he spoke casually, as if it were of little importance.

"Honey, I'm going on a business trip abroad in three days. I'll be busy for over a month."

A month—just enough time for his wedding. And his honeymoon. I looked up at him and asked softly, "Gerrald, I haven’t been feeling well lately. Can you stay? I’d like you to spend more time with me."

His brows furrowed instantly, his voice turning cold. "Honey, we’ve been together for years. You know how I am. I don’t like women interfering with my work. Be good and wait for me at home. I’ll bring you back a gift when I return."

My last shred of hope crumbled. I lowered my gaze, swallowing my disappointment. "You're right. I was being selfish. Go ahead."

Satisfied, Gerrald’s expression softened. He pushed me down onto the bed, his breath laced with the scent of alcohol as he murmured into my ear.

"Honey, the nutritionist says your body has recovered well. Why don’t we have a baby tonight? I really want to watch our child grow up with you."

A wave of bitter irony washed over me. I gently pushed him away. "Not tonight. You’ve been drinking. It could harm the baby’s health."

Knowing how much I cared about this, Gerrald didn't suspect a thing. He kissed my forehead before drifting off to sleep. As his breathing steadied, I quietly reached for his jacket. That was when I discovered it. A second phone. One I had never seen before.

My heart pounded as I pressed the power button. The lock screen wallpaper made my stomach churn. A picture of Gerrald and Lydia. Kissing. I tried a password. Lydia’s birthday. The screen unlocked. I tapped on their chat history. The first thing I saw sent my blood running cold. A photo of one of my stillborn children.

Gerrald’s message read:

[Lydia, I got the specimen for you. It’ll be shipped over by helicopter this afternoon. Fresh. It won’t affect your research data.]

Another message:

[You ran out of the last specimen? Don’t worry. Jenny is pregnant again. I’ll find a way to induce premature labor. You’ll have a new one soon. My girl is such a diligent and hardworking. She’s going to be a great doctor one day.]

And another:

[Lydia, when will you return to Brooklyn? I’ve been saving my wife’s place for you. Jenny is just a tool for me to relieve stress.]

My hands trembled as I touched my stomach, tears spilling down my cheeks. This child… should never have come into this world.

I continued scrolling.

Photo albums filled with pictures of them—together from childhood to adulthood. Tens of thousands of photos, each one captioned with a different love note. Seven years of my hidden marriage and he had spent most of it on ‘business trips’—all of them just excuses to be with her.

My breath hitched when I checked his saved messages. More than a hundred versions of wedding plans. Every detail, big and small, meticulously arranged. All personally planned by Gerrald. For her.