My husband cheated on me in front of everyone. I «got revenge»! I spent the night with a homeless guy… And got pregnant… But when I went for the abortion, I froze at what I saw….

Counted the days, reread articles online about conception. Searched for any proof I was right. If John stops his affairs, if we really become a family, maybe everything will work out? Maybe I can forget that night and live as if it never happened? But John didn’t stop.

He got more careful, but not honest. Stayed late at work, answered calls in another room, put his phone screen down when we ate dinner. I saw these little signs and understood nothing had changed.

He just learned to hide better. And the nausea got worse. In the mornings, I barely made it to the bathroom.

And John asked if I’d caught a cold. I nodded and ran to vomit, thinking how absurd it all was. On Wednesday evening, I couldn’t take it anymore. John was watching football, and I sat next to him with my laptop, pretending to work on salon reports.

Actually, I was reading pregnancy forums, trying to figure out when to do a DNA test. John’s phone was on the couch between us. It had been buzzing with messages for half an hour, but he wasn’t paying attention.

Too into the game. Notifications popped up on the screen, and I couldn’t help seeing the first lines. «Johnny, I miss you.

When will we meet? Can’t take it anymore. You promised you’d talk to your wife?» «Talk to your wife.» So, he’s not just fooling around…

He’s planning to leave, planning to dump me for a twenty-year-old girl who works at our own salon. I got up and went to the bedroom. My hands shook as I opened the dresser drawer where my documents were.

I needed to find the number for the gynecological clinic, schedule an abortion. Immediately. If John’s leaving, I can’t handle it alone.

Not with a child whose paternity is in question. Not at twenty-eight, when I’d have to start life over. I dialed the clinic with trembling fingers.

«New York City Women’s Clinic,» answered an indifferent female voice. «I need to schedule.» I paused.

Couldn’t say the word. «An abortion,» the woman clarified. «What’s the term?» «About six weeks.»

«We can offer tomorrow at nine AM or the day after at eleven.» «Tomorrow,» I said quickly, before I changed my mind. «At nine.»

When I returned to the living room, John was still watching TV. His phone was in the same spot, still buzzing. «Emily,» he said, not looking away from the screen.

«Tomorrow I’ll be late. Max and I have a meeting with cosmetics suppliers.» Max is our director, an honest and straightforward guy.

If there really was a meeting, he’d have told me. «Okay,» I answered. That lie was the last straw. In the morning, while John was showering, I got dressed and left the house.

In my bag was the ticket with number 37. The clinic greeted me with the smell of bleach and silence. I sat in the waiting area among other women.

Young and not so young, some with companions. No one talked, everyone stared at phones or the floor. Number 37 was called at half past nine.

I stood on wobbly legs and followed the nurse down the hall. She opened the office door and said. «Go in to Dr. Sanders.»..