My husband Force Me Seven Times Abortions for My Sister-in-Law

If it hadn't been for the excessive bleeding this time, the pain would have been unbearable and I wouldn’t have been rushed to the hospital. Otherwise, how much longer would I have remained in the dark?

Hearing the sound of chairs scraping against the floor in the doctor’s office, I turned and fled back to my hospital room, my heart pounding. I caught my reflection in the glass as I passed. My face was ghostly pale, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on my forehead. The sight of myself like this hurt more than the physical pain.

Trembling, I crawled into bed, but the tears would not stop. When I heard the door open and John’s footsteps approaching, I hastily wiped them away, forcing myself to suppress the agony clawing at my chest.

“Rachel, what’s wrong? You look even paler.”

His voice was filled with concern as he stepped closer, holding a thermos bucket in his hands. He opened it and poured out steaming osmanthus congee—my supposed favorite.

“Maybe I caught a chill from the window,” I murmured.

He immediately got up, closed the window and then carefully wiped a spoon before scooping some porridge and blowing on it gently.

“Rachel, you’ve been so weak lately. I bought this just for you. Once you’re better, I’ll take you out for a proper meal, alright?”

His voice was as gentle as ever, as if he hadn’t just been in the doctor’s office, speaking those cruel words.

The spoon touched my lips, but my stomach churned with nausea. Seeing me hesitate, he didn’t push, only smiled patiently.

“Rachel, be good. You haven’t eaten all day.”

“If you keep this up, I’ll be heartbroken.”

His brows furrowed as if he truly felt distressed for me, but his eyes held something else—something unreadable.

Once, I would have been touched by his kindness. He had always been so attentive, so meticulous in his care. I had foolishly thought it was love. But now, I knew better. It was all just a means to keep me under his control.

“John, I don’t want to eat.”

I lifted my gaze, meeting his eyes directly. For a brief moment, a flicker of something crossed his expression. He quietly set the spoon down, stirring the porridge as if deep in thought. Then, as swiftly as it had come, the hesitation vanished, replaced by his usual gentle smile.

“Rachel, I know you don’t like taking medicine, but how else will you recover?”

His voice was soothing, coaxing.

“I already mixed the painkillers into the porridge. Just eat a little, alright? You’ll feel better soon.”

His tone was patient, but the spoon pressed against my lips more insistently. His eyes darkened with quiet resolve—I knew he wouldn’t let me refuse.

Tears welled up again, slipping silently down my cheeks. With no other choice, I parted my lips, allowing the porridge—along with my own tears—to slide down my throat.

The baby was already gone. Without the medicine, I might continue to bleed. I couldn’t afford to die. John, do you have even a shred of real love for me? If not, then why won’t you just let me go?

Once he was satisfied, he wiped away my tears with gentle fingers. “Rachel is very brave. After taking the medicine, you’ll be fine. Don’t be afraid.”

I laughed bitterly in my heart. The side effects of the hemostatic medicine were severe—he knew this better than anyone. Hanging onto life while enduring excruciating pain.

Soon, my limbs grew cold, sweat dripping down my skin in waves. A sharp, unbearable ache settled at the small of my back, as if invisible hands were clenching and releasing me in torment.

The pain persisted, creeping into my bones. A new fear took root inside me—what if I didn’t make it this time?

Curling up under the blanket, I tried to find warmth, but my body wouldn’t stop trembling. In my dazed state, my hand accidentally knocked out the IV needle, the sharp sting barely registering in my mind. I had felt pain like this before.

I wanted to cry out, to scream, but I was too weak. Just as I was slipping further into the abyss, the covers were suddenly lifted and I realized—the sheets beneath me were drenched.

A nurse’s frantic voice rang out, slicing through my haze.

“The patient’s condition is unstable! Dr. Lane, hurry!”

As the world blurred around me, I felt myself slipping into darkness, clinging onto a fragile thread of consciousness.