My Husband Begged Me to Stay

Sofia froze for a second—eyes wide in disbelief—before she let out a dramatic gasp and stumbled backward, clutching her cheek.

“You slapped me?” she shrieked, then started yanking at her hair like she’d lost all control. “Cameron! Cameron, she hit me!”

I didn’t flinch. Not even when he stormed into the room.

“What the hell is going on?” Cameron snapped, scanning the scene like he already picked a side—and it wasn’t mine.

“She hit me because I used that photo for my art!” Sofia cried. “I didn’t know it meant that much!”

Cameron turned to me. “It was just a photograph, Alicia. Why are you being so dramatic?”

My throat burned. “That was our last photograph… of my parents.”

He rolled his eyes like I’d told him I spilled milk. “So? They’re dead anyway. It doesn’t matter. Now apologize to Sofia.”

“No.”

“What did you say?”

“I said no,” I repeated, my voice steady this time.

Cameron’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not a request, Alicia. I’m ordering you.”

I met his gaze head-on. “And what if I don’t?”

He stepped closer, voice dropping. “Are you seriously defying me now?”

I didn’t answer—not with words. I smirked. Because suddenly, all those years came crashing down in my chest like bricks.

The late nights when I curled up on the bathroom floor crying, and he ignored me. The way he’d bring Sofia home, parading her through our halls while I sat alone at dinner.

The parties I wasn’t allowed to attend. The bruises I covered with long sleeves. The names he called me when no one was around—parasite, debt payment, placeholder.

I remembered once, during winter, I had a fever so high I could barely walk. He left me alone for two days without food or medicine—just because I’d broken a glass by accident.

And I remembered the way he smiled after.

Like he enjoyed watching me suffer.

I snapped out of it, my fingers clenched at my side.

“I want a divorce,” I said.

He laughed.

Actually laughed in my face.

“You? Divorce me?” He took a step forward, amusement turning to something colder. “You don’t get to want anything. You’re mine. You’ll stay mine until I decide I’m done with you.”

Behind him, Sofia let out a sigh and folded her arms. Almost like this was all too exhausting to watch.

Fine. I accepted it.

I wouldn’t fight. Not here. Not now.

Because in exactly seven days, I’d be gone. I just walked away while Sofia smirked as if she had won. It didn’t matter.

I let out a soft breath and pressed a hand to my stomach. My baby. Three months along, and still no bump. I’d been careful. I wore loose clothes. Hid the vitamins. Acted like nothing had changed.

Because I knew if Cameron found out… he’d never let it live.

He’d told me once, back when I’d dared to bring up starting a family: “I don’t want anything that ties me to you. I’d rather die than have a child with you.”

That night, he drank too much. He forgot the condom.

And that’s how this baby happened. I never told him. Because to me, it didn’t matter how it started. All that mattered was this child would be the one pure, good thing that came from everything I’d endured.

So I kept it secret. Until the next morning. I was half-asleep when he threw the covers off and tossed something cold against my chest.

I blinked down. My ultrasound.

I sat up, heart hammering. “Where did you—?”

“Is it true?” Cameron’s voice was sharp, his jaw tight.

I stared at him, shielding my belly without meaning to. “And if it is?”

“You didn’t tell me,” he growled.

“Why would I?” I said, my voice flat. “You don’t care about me. Why would I think you’d care about this baby?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“I don’t.”

Then his eyes darkened. “So we’re going to abort it.”