During my early pregnancy, Julian requested that I provide blood for his longtime friend. I declined due to my anemia, but his companions accused me of being inconsiderate.
"Anne's on the operating table and you're the only compatible donor. Why not give a bit of blood?" With that, several of them forcibly brought me inside.
Julian's eyes briefly showed concern, but he quickly composed himself. "It's only a blood donation. Our baby will be fine." I ceased resisting, a solitary tear rolling down my face.
Post-transfusion, I stumbled to the obstetrics ward, my body weakened, to terminate the pregnancy.

My Husband Forced Me To Donate Blood, So I Had An Abortion

During my hospital stay, Julian was conspicuously absent.


I suspected he might have forgotten about my pregnancy. This didn't shock me; it was typical of him. I'd often made excuses for his behavior before, but those days were over.


After a week of recuperation, I was well enough to leave. Throughout my stay, I found myself browsing Anne's online profiles. Every post revolved around Julian.


The images portrayed Anne as a cherished princess, constantly surrounded by admirers. She was always the focal point, her table laden with healthy foods and countless presents. In contrast, I lay alone in the hospital, bereft of company or gifts.


Ironically, the pearl necklace Julian had promised me now adorned Anne's neck.


Strangely, seeing these things no longer stirred any emotions in me.


Upon returning home, everything was unchanged. Julian had been at the hospital with Anne. He hadn't come back and was likely unaware of my hospitalization.


I swiftly gathered my belongings, discarding the bedside photo and incinerating his love letters. I removed my wedding band and placed it on the coffee table.


Once finished, I surveyed the barren house. It reminded me of when we first moved in—stark and uninviting.


I glanced at the divorce papers, picked up a pen, and signed my name. Julian arrived unexpectedly before I could summon him to sign. As he entered, I was discussing work with a colleague.


My coworker inquired about my flight, to which I replied, "It's tomorrow afternoon."


I ended the call upon seeing Julian enter.


He looked puzzled. "What's happening tomorrow afternoon? A pregnancy check-up?"


I stowed my phone and responded blandly, "Just work-related. Not a check-up."


Only then did I notice the container he was holding. He met my eyes and offered it to me.


"I apologize, Scarlett. Anne's been hospitalized recently, and I couldn't leave her. I brought you some fish soup to aid your recovery."


I declined, as the faint fish aroma made me queasy. Despite years of marriage, he still didn't know about my aversion to fish. It was ironic, but I lacked the energy to argue.


"Oh, and this is Anne's silk dress. It can't be machine washed. Could you hand wash it tonight?"


As I heard these words and looked at him, I wondered if he had changed or if I had always been married to someone like this.


I said through clenched teeth, "Just leave it there."


"I need to grab some clothes. Then I'll head back," he said, hurrying to the bedroom to pack.


I seized the moment to approach him with the divorce papers. "Julian, our mortgage is settled. Just sign here."


He signed without suspicion. I watched him leave with his clothes. Then, I booked a flight for two hours later.


I removed my wedding ring and left the divorce papers and abortion document on the coffee table. These were the last things I wanted Julian to see. Our relationship was over.


04