The Price Of Loving Mr Damien

“Mrs. Blackwood, I'm afraid if you take this procedure again you might…” The young Asian doctor hesitated, eyes flicking back to the glowing screen before him.

Arielle’s fingers tightened around the edge of the hospital bed. The sterile scent of disinfectant filled the silence, pressing on her chest.

The doctor exhaled softly and looked up. “You will most definitely die. I strongly advise you not to go through with it.”

For a moment, she couldn’t breathe. The words sank in slowly, painfully.

Not might.

Will.

Arielle swallowed hard, her throat dry. “Are you sure?” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

The doctor nodded solemnly. “Your body has been through too much, Mrs. Blackwood. The complications from the previous procedures have weakened your uterus. Another abortion could cause internal bleeding or cardiac failure.”

His words blurred in her ears. Too much. Too many.

She’d done it for Damien, every time he said they weren’t ready, every time he promised that one day, they would be. She had believed him. Loved him enough to destroy herself a little more each time.

Her trembling hand moved to her stomach. “How far along?”

“Eight weeks,” the doctor replied softly.

Eight weeks. A heartbeat. A life. Hers or the child’s. There would be no both.

“Thank you, doctor,” she said quietly, then stood and walked out of the room.

The hallway felt longer than usual. Each step echoed, the doctor’s words chasing her. You will most definitely die.

She recalled her husband’s words:

“Arielle, we don’t need children to be happy. We have each other.”

She remembered how serious he looked, how sure.

“Kids complicate everything,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “They change people. They take away time, peace, and passion. I just want you. Only you.”

Then came the words that had silenced her completely.

“Besides,” he added softly, “I can’t bring such innocence into this cruel world.”

Arielle ran her fingers through her Jet black hair and sighed deeply.

“What do I do?" she murmured.

*****

Arielle sat in her car, her fingers resting on the steering wheel long after she turned off the engine. The doctor’s words replayed in her head like a curse.

You will most definitely die.

She should tell Damien.

He had a right to know, didn’t he?

But the thought of his reaction made her stomach twist. Lately, he’d been distant. Cold. Always busy. “Work trip,” he’d say, “late meeting,” he’d murmur before disappearing for entire weekends.

And she, the ever-understanding wife, never questioned it.

She pressed a trembling hand to her abdomen. “Maybe he’ll be happy this time,” she whispered. “Maybe… he’ll want this one.”

The words sounded foolish even to her own ears.

Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat, a message from Damien.

Damien: Working late tonight, love. Don’t wait up for me.

Arielle stared at the screen.

It was Saturday. Again.

Her chest ached with something heavier than heartbreak — it was exhaustion

She sighed heavily.

She turned the key, started the engine, and drove off but not home.

Not tonight.

****

The city looked different at night.

Quieter.

Lonelier.

Arielle parked by the curb outside Blythe Café, a small place Damien often mentioned when he said he had “late meetings.” The irony of ending up there tonight wasn’t lost on her.

She just wanted a moment to breathe… to think.

Inside, the café glowed with soft amber lights and laughter. Couples, families, children and scenes of warmth she prays for.

She was about to step out when she froze.

Damien.

He sat by the window, back slightly turned, the glow from the overhead lamp outlining his familiar profile, sharp jaw, calm posture, that effortless elegance she once adored.

But it wasn’t the sight of him that made her heart stop.

It was the woman sitting across from him.

She was effortlessly beautiful . Her hand rested on his, her smile soft, intimate. And beside them sat two children — a boy and a girl — their laughter light and unguarded.

Arielle’s heart stuttered as she watched them through the café window. The way Damien’s eyes softened when the woman laughed… she’d never seen that look directed at her in months. Maybe years.

Her fingers trembled on the steering wheel. She told herself to look away, to give him the privacy she’d always given but she couldn’t. It was like watching a movie she couldn’t pause, one where the villain wore her husband’s face.

The woman leaned closer, brushing a crumb from Damien’s shirt. Such a small, tender gesture, one Arielle had done a thousand times before.

Her throat burned.

The boy tugged on Damien’s sleeve, giggling about something. The little girl leaned on his arm, her curls bouncing as she laughed.

Arielle’s stomach twisted painfully.

That laugh… It was free. Unburdened. The kind of laughter that only came from children who felt safe, who had a father that stayed.

“Daddy, can I have ice cream?”

Arielle’s world tilted.

For a moment, she couldn’t hear anything, just the echo of that one word, sharp and cruel in her ears. Daddy.

Her chest tightened painfully. Her husband had a kid, Two even.

She watched them for a long time

“No, maybe I misheard it. Damien would never…"

Damien and the woman finally stood, she stayed low in her seat, watching through the windshield.

He gently took the woman’s coat and held it out for her. He wrapped his arm around the woman’s shoulders protectively, guiding her and the children out like a perfect family.

The sight was almost beautiful

Almost poetic.

Cruel poetry.

He opened the car door for them.

The children, yes. They giggled as they climbed in. He looked happy. Radiant. A man who had everything.

“Daddy, Ice creammmmm!" The little girl cried.

The word hit harder this time. Daddy.

Her husband… her Damien didn’t just love someone else.

He had a family. A whole life she knew nothing about.

She let out a humorless laugh.

‘Working late’ She murmured. “More like working overtime"

Her vision blurred again as she started the engine then she drove off before they could see her…

She didn’t know what she’d do yet.

But one thing was certain:

If this was the price of loving Mr. Damien Blackwood… She was done paying