Theo or the child

Lydia

The words felt like a blade slicing through me.

"You heard it right, Dia. We cannot keep this child."

I heard the words, but they didn't register at first.

We cannot keep this child.

The phrase echoed, distorted, like a voice calling from underwater.

Then, like a slow poison spreading through my veins, the meaning sank in.

I stared at Theo, my breath catching in my throat.

He stood there, his face unreadable, his voice calm. But calm didn't mean gentle. It was the kind of calm that came when someone had already made up their mind.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

My fingers curled into the sheets, gripping them so tightly my knuckles turned white.

"You… You can't mean that, Theo," I whispered, biting my tears.

His lips pressed together for a moment before he exhaled. "I do."

The certainty in his tone made my chest tighten.

I wanted him to take it back. To say he was just shocked and that he needed time. That he would come around. But instead, he stood firm, watching me with that same steady gaze—the one that made me feel like my opinion didn't matter at this moment.

"You know I could never do this," I choked out, throat burning. "You and Scarlet, out of all people, know everything about my past. Even after that—how could you ask me to commit this heinous crime? No mother with a heart would ever do this…"

I expected him to give me a real reason—to justify why he was so against this baby. But instead, he only sighed, dragging a hand down his face, as if this conversation exhausted him more than it should.

"Exactly because of that, Lydia," he said. "It's because I know about you and your past. That's why I'm saying this."

My stomach twisted, a sick realization creeping over me.

I had always known abandonment.

My real parents had discarded me the moment I was born. The man who picked me up from the orphanage had done so not out of kindness, but because he saw me as an investment—something he could use later.

I had grown up craving love, clinging to the smallest scraps of warmth wherever I found them. But never—had I thought Theo would be the one to betray me like this.

This was our child.

A child that should be loved, not erased.

But Theo… he wanted to erase it.

"Everything was finally starting to fall into place," he continued, his voice measured, too steady. "I was careful. Very careful. I took care of everything so we could have a happy life. So why would I want to ruin it because of an unborn thing."

I shook my head, unable to believe the words coming out of his mouth.

"This child should have never existed in the first place," he said.

I felt my heart shatter.

He regretted this baby.

The same baby that was growing inside me, the one I had already started to love—even if I'd only known about it only now.

"I even gave you the pill," he admitted, his tone dropping lower, almost to himself. "I don't know what I miscalculated, but please… just this once, listen to me. I will never ask you for anything else in my life."

The pill.

A wave of dizziness hit me as I remembered—I did take it. That night, after everything happened, I had swallowed it.

But I had also been hungover.

I had thrown up later, and it must have flushed the pill out of my system.

A cruel twist of fate.

Theo didn't know that, though. And hearing him talk about it now, like I was never supposed to be pregnant, made me feel like I was suffocating.

"This is our child," I whispered, gripping my stomach. "You can't ask me to do this."

"Exactly," he said, voice eerily calm. "Since it's our child, don't you think I feel bad for it too? Besides, we are still young, Lydia. We can always start a family later, a proper one. When the time is right."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"When the time is right?" I repeated, my voice breaking. "And what about this one? This child isn't right enough for you?"

"This was a mistake, Dia. And mistakes… should be erased before they cost too much."

My stomach twisted.

He wasn't pleading or panicking.

He was just removing the problem. Like it was a minor inconvenience.

Like our child was just another bad business decision.

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

"You've already made up your mind," I said hollowly. "Haven't you?"

Theo took a deep breath, then exhaled. "I'll schedule an appointment. Once you get better, we'll proceed with it."

My entire body went numb.

He turned around and left the room.

And with him, something inside me broke.

....

The following says went in a blue.

Theo didn't mention the baby again.

Instead, he acted like nothing had happened.

Every morning, he came in with homemade food, setting it down like everything was normal.

"Lydia, eat before it gets cold," he would say.

He would adjust my pillows, make sure I took my medicine.

And then he would talk. About the company. About pack matters. About anything except the child growing inside me.

I watched him, unable to comprehend how he could sit beside me, eat his meals, and discuss business like nothing had changed.

But every time I tried to bring up the baby, his expression would shift. At first he tries to grab my attention with something else, but when I get back to the point, he wouldn't speak further and then he would leave the room.

It continued like this till the day I dreaded most finally came.

Theo wasn't there when I woke up.

Instead, he sent Evan.

I let out a dry, humorless laugh as I sat in the waiting room, staring at the medical form in front of me.

"Even for something like this, he sends his substitute."

Evan shifted uncomfortably. "You know he wanted to come."

I scoffed.

"Oh, right. He must be so busy today. Tell me, Evan," I said, my voice laced with sarcasm. "Does he not want a part in this murder?"

Evan stiffened. "Lydia—"

"No, really. He's always so meticulous. So careful. Shouldn't he be here to make sure this 'mistake' is erased properly?"

"He didn't send me because he didn't care," Evan muttered. "He had to go—"

"The Alpha called him," I finished mockingly. "How convenient. Since you are diligent enough to play his role today, why don't you reveal the truth." I implored, knowing he must know why Theo is acting so cruel unlike his usual self.

Evan said nothing, instead handed down the paper.

I stared at the paper in front of me. 

A signature. A procedure. A solution. 

Just ink on paper, yet it felt like a death sentence. 

For days, I had been trapped in a downward spiral—grasping for reasons, questioning my own morals, trying to understand why the man who loves me to the moon and back wanted our child gone. 

But no matter how much I tried, it didn't make sense. 

I picked up the pen. My fingers trembled as I hovered over the signature line. 

Theo's voice echoed again: 

"It shouldn't be hard to get rid of it. There's no attachment yet." 

My grip tightened. 

No attachment? 

Then why did it feel like something inside me was already breaking? 

I pressed the pen down. 

Lydia Ashford. 

It was done. 

And they took me to the procedure room, laying me down on the bed.

The walls were too white. 

Too clean. 

The scent of antiseptic clung to my nose, suffocating me. 

"Let's do a scan before proceeding," the nurse said gently. 

I nodded, barely aware of my own movements. 

She pressed the cold gel to my stomach, guiding the probe over my skin. 

The screen flickered. 

For a moment, there was nothing but blurry shadows. 

Then, the nurse pointed at a tiny spot. 

A speck. 

"So small," I murmured. 

"Yes," she smiled. "At this stage, it's just a sprout." 

Her fingers adjusted the machine. 

A soft sound filled the air. 

Thump-thump. Thump-thump. 

I froze. 

I knew what it was before she even said it. 

"The heartbeat," the nurse confirmed. 

A breath hitched in my throat. 

It was faint. So fragile. 

And yet… 

So alive. 

A lump formed in my throat. 

I had spent days trying to justify this. Trying to rationalize why Theo was right. 

But this sound? 

This tiny, rhythmic proof of life shattered every excuse I had built. 

The nurse's voice softened. 

"We can proceed when you're ready." 

I turned my head away. 

I couldn't look. 

I couldn't do this. 

"I can't," I whispered. 

The nurse hesitated. 

"I can't do this," I repeated, louder this time. 

I sat up. The gel smeared across my skin, but I didn't care. 

The paper they had given me crumpled in my hands. 

And then… I walked out. 

I ordered Evan to drop me where Theo is.

I expected him to be in his office. 

Or maybe his room. 

Instead, I found him in the greenhouse. 

The place we had built together. 

Rows of plants—lavender, roses, tiny sprouting herbs—stretched toward the moonlight filtering through the glass ceiling. 

We had planted them side by side. 

Watered them. 

Nurtured them. 

And yet, the same man who cherished every leaf, who trimmed each stem with such patience and care, was now the same man who wanted to erase our child. 

It made no sense. 

I stepped forward. 

"You didn't go to work today ," I said. 

Theo turned, setting the watering can aside. 

His expression was unreadable. 

"I had things to do," he replied. 

"Like watering plants?" 

His jaw tightened. 

I laughed, but there was no warmth in it. 

"You know, Theo," I whispered, "I sat in that room today, listening to the heartbeat of the child you called a mistake." 

His body went rigid. 

"It was tiny," I continued, voice trembling. "Smaller than a seed. But it was beating." 

I clenched my fists. 

"I will never forget that sound." 

Theo exhaled sharply, a bit of hesitation as he looked at me. 

"Lydia—" 

"Why, Theo?" 

My voice cracked. 

"You take care of these plants because we planted them together," I gestured around, "but not our own child? The one we created?" 

His lips parted, but no words came out. 

"You told me once," I whispered, "that nothing in this greenhouse was planted without purpose. That every seed, every leaf, had a reason to exist." 

I took a step closer. 

"Then tell me, Theo—why does our child not deserve the same? Give me one reason why I should go for this abortion." 

Silence. 

A long, heavy silence. 

Then, finally, his voice came—low, careful. 

"You didn't go through with it." 

It wasn't a question. 

I shook my head. 

His gaze darkened. 

He let out a slow breath, then took a step closer.

His jaw tightened, his hands clenching at his sides. For a moment, he didn't speak. The words sat on his tongue, unspoken, like he was wrestling with them—like part of him didn't want to say them.

But then, with a sharp breath, he forced them out.

"You can only have one, Lydia," he said quietly. "Me or the child."

I froze.

For a moment, my ears rang.

His words weren't impulsive. They weren't a slip of the tongue.

He had thought about this. Weighed it. And in the end, I wasn't even given a choice—because in his mind, it was already made for me.

I thought about the boy who had once told me he would love me forever. The boy who had made me believe I would never be alone again.

And now, that same boy was forcing me to choose.

"Me or the child. Choose."

And then, he turned and walked away—believing, so cruelly, that I would choose him.

But he had already lost me the moment I heard our child's heartbeat.