Page 142 of This Woman Forever

Will be discussed at the scan.

Termination last resort.

Consider adoption.

My stomach drops like a fucking rock as I turn the letter over and read the leaflets.

All on abortion.

“Eat your breakfast,” Ava says, sliding my plate closer to me. I look at her, everything inside becoming heavy. Everything hurting. She searches my face, her chewing slowing. I can see her mouth moving. Can’t hear a fucking word she’s saying. She was going to let me believe she was never pregnant? Have an abortion and not tell me?

“What is that?” Ava asks, leaning in to see the envelope.

“Go upstairs.” They’re the only words I can find.

She withdraws. “Why?”

“Don’t make me ask you again, Ava.” I feel like a tightly coiled spring, an inferno burning me from the inside out. What the fuck is this crazy?

Not arguing, she slips down from the stool, looking tense and uncertain, and I don’t have it in me to fix that. Cathy looks between us as Ava leaves, no questions asked. I have to take a moment to breathe some measured breaths. Options. To be rid of my baby. Our baby. She doesn’t want this baby.

I could sit here for a year and find no control.

I get up and follow Ava upstairs, entering the bedroom. “What the fuck is this?” I ask, waving the letter and leaflets in her face, noting how she takes a step back, a step away from me. It’s a good indication that I’m looking extremely volatile. I’m definitely feeling it.

“What is it?” she asks, her voice quiet.

I have to drop the letter, the damn thing burning my skin. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe the letter was sent to Ava by mistake. “You were going to kill our baby?”

The instant fall of her face tells me my maybes were wasted hope. Her eyes drop to her feet. Hiding. My God, she was going to end this pregnancy? She was intending on killing our baby and letting me believe she was never pregnant?

My hands. I can’t focus on them, they’re shaking so much. “Answer me,” I bellow. She flinches, letting out a small, suppressed whimper. “Ava, for fuck’s sake.” I hold the tops of her arms, dipping, getting my face level with hers. She turns her head away. “Damn it, look at me.”

God help me, she continues to hide, silent, her body shaking along with her head. Shame’s engulfing her. Disbelief’s engulfing me. I take her face and turn it toward me, scanning every inch of it, wondering how the hell she could do this. My perfect wife. The woman who has literally given me life was going to take a part of it away from me.

Her eyes are full of tears, and they’re quickly rolling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, sniffing.

She’s sorry?

She’s... sorry?

My eyes dart across her blotchy face, my mind willing me to wake up from this nightmare. “You’ve broken my fucking heart, Ava,” I croak, releasing her and backing up. I can’t look at her. Can’t be near her.

I go to the dressing room, randomly grab some clothes, and walk out. And I walk fast, terrified I’ll change my mind and go back to shake her. I don’t use the elevator, needing to burn off the anger, so I take the stairs. My hands are trembling so much, it takes four attempts to enter the code correctly, and when I get to the bottom, I look at my hands. “Fuck.” I throw my clothes in a pile on the floor and strip out of my running shorts, pulling on my jeans, a T-shirt, and stuffing my feet into some boots. I leave the stairwell, ignoring Casey as I pass, and break out of Lusso, going to my car, calling John on my way. “I need you to collect Ava and take her to work, no questions asked.” I hang up before he can ask. Not that I think he would.

I get in my Aston, slam it into drive, and screech out of the car park. I narrowly miss the gates that are still opening as I exit, checking my watch. I hope for his sake he’s not left for work yet because I absolutely will go to his office to release this unbridled rage.

I don’t bother finding a parking space. I double park directly outside his flat and leap up the steps, hammering on the door repeatedly until some poor, elderly lady in a dressing gown answers. I pass her, leaping up more stairs to his flat and proceeding to smash my fist into that door too. The second I hear the latch release, I push my way in and grab the first thing within reach.

Matt’s throat.

I slam him into the wall, my snarling face up in his sleepy one, and before he can even murmur a plea, my knee has come up and slammed into his stomach, waking him up. I don’t ease up my hold so he can double over, keeping him pinned against the wall.

“You fucking psycho,” he chokes, grappling with my hold of his throat.

Psycho? He’s seen nothing. “You thought that was smart, did you?” I snarl through my words. “You thought you’d slither in and try to cause upset?” I draw my fist back and sink it into his face, making his head ricochet off the wall.

He barks his shock and pain, gasping. “Are you sure it’s even yours?” he hisses, the sick fucker.

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