Unexpecting
You're thirty eight. You've been married for ten years now. It's not perfect, but you're happy. At least you think so. People sometimes wonder why your husband stays with you, though, because you're unable to conceive. Infertile. It's been that way you're whole life. You say it hurts you, but, secretly you're lying. You're perfectly happy with not having kids, never even considered adopting any.
Your husband isn't so happy with this situation, though. He wants kids, wants to pass down his genes. His legacy. You think it's silly, but it doesn't matter since you can't conceive. There's no need to argue about it. He thinks you want kids, anyway, so all is peaceful. You two don't even bother using birth control. What would be the point? He hates condoms and so do you.
It doesn't bother you that you haven't had your period in three months. After all, you've always been irregular, and you're close enough to menopause. You think nothing of the weight gain, either. It's not pleasant, but that's just what getting older does to you. Nothing seems out of the ordinary until you're in a car accident.
The accident and injuries are fairly minor, but, because you're a woman, the emergency room wants to do a pregnancy test. They do it for everyone who has even the slightest chance of being pregnant, though you tell them it's not necessary. There is simply no way you could be pregnant. Grumbling, you finally agree to the useless test, thinking nothing will come of it.
Something does.
The test comes back positive. You tell the nurse there must have been a mistake. You can't be pregnant, not when you were diagnosed infertile. Because the result is so wrong, you insist on another test. They agree; it also comes back positive. There's no denying the little blue line. Your stomach sinks. Your husband will almost certainly be overjoyed when he finds out. That's what you're afraid of happening.
He'll want you to keep this pregnancy. You won't have any reason to say no, except you don't want it. That won't be good enough. Stomach twisting in knots, you wonder how to tell your husband about this, how to tell him you're both pregnant and want an abortion. How can you tell your husband you don't actually want kids? You know he'll say this is a miracle. He'll want this pregnancy even more than a normal, planned one. The moment anyone else finds out about it, they'll also tell you to keep it. People will say it's fate, and you can't fight fate, can you?
That's when you make a decision. There's no need for your husband to know about this. It's your medical insurance, after all. You pay for everything. What your husband doesn't know can't hurt him, right? Nobody has to know. Not your friends, not your parents, not your husband. You're aware lying is wrong, but you know you won't be able to stick to your decision if your husband finds out about this. If he learns you're pregnant, he'll guilt you into keeping it. You can't let that happen. You won't let that happen, as you have no intention of ruining your life and the life of an innocent child.
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written for the hc_bingo prompt "Unexpected Pregnancy"
Your husband isn't so happy with this situation, though. He wants kids, wants to pass down his genes. His legacy. You think it's silly, but it doesn't matter since you can't conceive. There's no need to argue about it. He thinks you want kids, anyway, so all is peaceful. You two don't even bother using birth control. What would be the point? He hates condoms and so do you.
It doesn't bother you that you haven't had your period in three months. After all, you've always been irregular, and you're close enough to menopause. You think nothing of the weight gain, either. It's not pleasant, but that's just what getting older does to you. Nothing seems out of the ordinary until you're in a car accident.
The accident and injuries are fairly minor, but, because you're a woman, the emergency room wants to do a pregnancy test. They do it for everyone who has even the slightest chance of being pregnant, though you tell them it's not necessary. There is simply no way you could be pregnant. Grumbling, you finally agree to the useless test, thinking nothing will come of it.
Something does.
The test comes back positive. You tell the nurse there must have been a mistake. You can't be pregnant, not when you were diagnosed infertile. Because the result is so wrong, you insist on another test. They agree; it also comes back positive. There's no denying the little blue line. Your stomach sinks. Your husband will almost certainly be overjoyed when he finds out. That's what you're afraid of happening.
He'll want you to keep this pregnancy. You won't have any reason to say no, except you don't want it. That won't be good enough. Stomach twisting in knots, you wonder how to tell your husband about this, how to tell him you're both pregnant and want an abortion. How can you tell your husband you don't actually want kids? You know he'll say this is a miracle. He'll want this pregnancy even more than a normal, planned one. The moment anyone else finds out about it, they'll also tell you to keep it. People will say it's fate, and you can't fight fate, can you?
That's when you make a decision. There's no need for your husband to know about this. It's your medical insurance, after all. You pay for everything. What your husband doesn't know can't hurt him, right? Nobody has to know. Not your friends, not your parents, not your husband. You're aware lying is wrong, but you know you won't be able to stick to your decision if your husband finds out about this. If he learns you're pregnant, he'll guilt you into keeping it. You can't let that happen. You won't let that happen, as you have no intention of ruining your life and the life of an innocent child.
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written for the hc_bingo prompt "Unexpected Pregnancy"