Six Ultrasounds Alone

An hour before my prenatal appointment, my husband texted me to say he couldn’t make it. "Chloe is having another episode. She can't be left alone." Chloe again. One of his patients. I was five months pregnant. I had been to six checkups. Every single time, it was because of her. He said she had no family to look after her. He said she was emotionally unstable. He said it was his responsibility as her doctor… I stared at the screen, suddenly feeling so deeply exhausted. I typed a quick reply: "Okay. I'll go by myself." His text popped up almost instantly: "You're the best, babe. So understanding. I'll buy you a gift as soon as I'm done." I opened the clinic’s patient portal and canceled my ultrasound appointment. Then I scrolled down and booked an abortion for that very afternoon. The screen glare made my eyes sting, but I didn't lock my phone right away. I opened our chat history and mindlessly scrolled up. All the way back to last October. That was the first time the name Chloe ever appeared. "A patient named Chloe came through the ER today. She's in rough shape. I need to stay and monitor her. I'll be home late." Back then, I didn't think much of it. He was a doctor. His patients needed him. That was just part of the job. Then texts like that became a daily routine. "Chloe had another breakdown today. I need to go check on her." "Chloe doesn't have any family here. The hospital asked me to keep an extra eye on her." "Chloe's condition took a turn. I might not make it home tonight. Go ahead and eat dinner without me." The first time I felt hurt was during my second checkup. He had promised to be there with me. He left the house at six in the morning, promising he’d come straight over as soon as he finished morning rounds. I waited by the clinic entrance until ten o'clock, only to receive a text: "Chloe is having an episode. She can't be left alone." I went in for the scan all by myself. I took a short video of the ultrasound and sent it to him. He didn’t reply until late that night: "Just saw it. So cute. You worked hard today, babe." At my third checkup, he said Chloe was suicidal and he had to keep watch. At my fourth checkup, he said Chloe had just stabilized and he couldn't leave her side. The fifth time. The sixth time. Every single time, it was Chloe. I began scrolling through our arguments. The first fight happened earlier this year. I told him, "Can you please stop mentioning Chloe every single second?" He fired back, "Do you have any idea what she’s going through? She's all alone in this city. No family, no friends, suffering from severe clinical depression.” “She's tried to end her life multiple times. I'm her attending physician. I can't just abandon her." I asked, "Then what about me?" He said, "You're my wife. You're supposed to understand." After that, I stopped arguing. Because arguing was useless. Scrolling further down, his messages grew shorter and shorter. "Chloe had a bad day. Late tonight." "Chloe's not good today." "Chloe needs me." Last month, he sent one that read: "Chloe called me by my first name today. It was the first time she initiated a conversation. I'm so happy." He even added a string of exclamation marks. The night before that message, I threw up four times until I was retching pure bile. I called him, but he never picked up. All of his patience, tenderness, and care were being poured into another woman. She wasn't a lover. She wasn't an affair partner. She was just his patient. Yet it felt a thousand times worse than being cheated on. Because I had no moral ground to hate a sick patient. I didn't even have the right to be angry. The moment I showed frustration, I became petty, selfish, and heartless. I put my phone face down and rested my palm against my lower belly. Five months. I could already feel faint, delicate flutters inside me. I never told Logan about them. He always came home so late. Sometimes he didn't come home at all. Even when he did return, he was so drained he would collapse onto the bed and fall asleep immediately. I had wanted him to feel our baby kick, to listen to the heartbeat. But he always said, "Next time. Definitely next time." There wouldn't be a next time. I stared at the ceiling, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes and trickling into my ears, cold and itchy. It broke my heart. It truly broke my heart. This baby had lived inside me for over a hundred and fifty days. I went to every ultrasound alone. I had my blood drawn alone. I had even bought a tiny baby onesie—powder blue, with a little embroidered elephant on the chest. I kept it tucked away in the drawer, waiting for a day when Logan had time so we could look at it together. But he never had time. He never would.I couldn't bring this baby into the world. I couldn't let my child grow up in a home where their father was perpetually absent. I couldn't bear the thought of my child growing up hearing me make excuses over and over again: "Daddy is busy. Daddy has to take care of someone else. Daddy doesn't have time for you." That wouldn't be fair to the baby. I wiped my tears and sat up. A few new texts popped up on my screen from Logan. "Evie, I'm so sorry. I promise I'll be there next time." "What kind of gift do you want? A purse? A necklace? That designer dress you liked last week? I'll buy it for you." "I'll call you as soon as I'm done." I didn't reply. At two-thirty in the afternoon, I stood outside the clinic. The summer sun was brutal, baking the pavement bone-white. Wearing a loose linen dress and flat shoes, I walked inside alone. Check-in, waiting room, consultation. The doctor was a woman in her forties with wire-rimmed glasses. She looked at my chart, then up at my face. "The fetus is developing perfectly. Have you completely thought this through?" I nodded. "Does your husband agree to this?" "Yes." I lied. The doctor gave me a long look, but didn't pry further. She went over the surgical procedure, explained the risks and postoperative care, and handed me the consent forms. Holding the pen, my fingers trembled. Right at that moment, the baby fluttered inside my womb. Biting my lower lip until it nearly bled, I signed my name. When I lay down on the operating table, I stared at the surgical lamp overhead. It was blindingly, piercingly bright. The anesthesiologist said softly, "Just relax. Take a nice, deep sleep." My mind suddenly drifted back to the first time Logan took my hand. It was in the stairwell of our college library. Rain was pouring outside. He looked at me nervously and said, "Evelyn, I really like you. Would you give me a chance?" I said yes. He was as ecstatic as a little boy. He sprinted out into the rain like a maniac, completely drenched when he came back, yet he held the only umbrella we had squarely over my head. Back then, I thought he was the one I would spend my entire life with. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier. I closed my eyes. When I woke up, I was in a recovery room. My lower belly felt hollowed out, as if a part of my soul had been scooped away with it. A nurse came by to check my vitals and asked if someone was picking me up. I told her no. She looked at my chart, opening her mouth as if to say something, but stopped herself. "Get plenty of rest when you get home. No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity, and take your antibiotics on schedule." I nodded. "Are you sure you can manage on your own?" "I'm sure." By the time I walked out of the clinic, dusk had settled over the city. In the warm summer twilight, the sidewalks were bustling with commuters heading home. People carrying groceries, parents holding their toddlers' hands, couples walking arm-in-arm. I stood on the curb, completely lost, not knowing where I should go. In the end, I went back to our apartment. Our college graduation photo was still hanging on the living room wall. He was wearing his black cap and gown, and I was in a simple white dress, smiling so brightly my eyes crinkled. On the living room sofa lay the ergonomic pregnancy pillow he had bought for me. He had said it was great for lower back support, so I could sleep comfortably on my side. I sat on the couch, staring blankly into space for hours. Then, the front door lock clicked. Logan's voice drifted in: "Careful now. Watch your step." I looked up. Logan walked in first. Trailing right behind him was a woman.She was painfully thin, her complexion pale and ghostly. Her eyes were large but devoid of life. She wore an oversized hospital gown underneath Logan’s personal jacket. It was Chloe. Logan bent down, retrieved a pair of soft house slippers from the entryway cabinet, and placed them gently by her feet. "Wear these. They're soft on your feet." Chloe kept her head down and slipped her shoes off, her movements sluggish. Logan stood patiently waiting beside her. Once she was settled, he straightened up and offered me a soft smile. "Evie, I'm home." I just stared at him. He walked over to where I was sitting, lowering his voice: "Chloe is a bit more stable today, but she still can't be left alone. I wasn't comfortable leaving you by yourself at home, so I brought her with me. Just for tonight. I'll arrange another placement for her tomorrow." I said nothing. He continued, "I know this isn't ideal, but please be understanding, okay? Don't be mad. She honestly has nowhere else to go. She's so helpless. Once our baby arrives, you'll understand that showing compassion to others is like building good karma for our little one." He kept rambling on. "Oh, by the way, how did the ultrasound go today? What did the doctor say? Is the baby doing well?" As he spoke, he naturally reached out, resting his palm against my lower belly. Then, his hand froze. His expression instantly drained of color. He pressed again, as if refusing to believe his own sense of touch. Slowly, he lowered his head, staring at my stomach. Beneath the loose linen dress, the gentle swelling was completely gone. His hand began to shake violently. Logan snapped his head up to look at me. His eyes instantly welled with red veins. "Evelyn," his voice cracked and trembled. "What happened today? Where is the baby? What happened to our baby?" I remained silent. His hand lingered on my stomach, desperately rubbing in circles, as if he could magically bring the child back through his touch. "Was there an accident?" His voice tightened with rising panic. "Did you take a fall? Or was something wrong with the baby's development? Speak to me, Evelyn! Say something!" I looked at him calmly. His eyes were bloodshot, dark stubble covered his jaw, and his white doctor's coat was wrinkled and disheveled. There was even a faint brownish stain on his cuff—I couldn't tell if it was dried blood or something else. He looked utterly exhausted. Yet my heart no longer ached for him in the slightest. "Say something!" He grabbed my shoulders. "What the hell happened to our baby?!" "Gone." Just one word. Spoken quietly. His grip went limp. He stumbled back a step, staring at me as if looking at a total stranger. "What do you mean, gone?" His voice went hoarse. "Was it a miscarriage? Or was the baby not viable from the start?" I shook my head. "The baby was developing perfectly." He froze. "Then why?" He glared at me, his gaze drilling into mine. "Why is the baby gone?! What happened to you?! Why didn't you call me?! Did you go to the hospital all by yourself?! Evelyn, what on earth happened to you?!" He rushed forward again, pulling me tightly into his arms. "It's okay. It's okay," he mumbled, stroking my hair frantically. "As long as you're safe. We can always have another baby later. You're still young. Once your body heals, we'll try again. It's going to be okay, Evie. Everything's going to be okay." His clothes reeked of hospital disinfectant, mixed with a faint, unfamiliar scent of perfume. It wasn't mine. I shoved him away with all my strength. He stumbled back, his eyes flooded with utter confusion. "Evelyn?" "I had an abortion."His entire face petrified. "What did you just say?" "I scheduled the procedure myself. It was done this afternoon." Logan stood frozen like a statue. A long, suffocating silence passed before he spoke, his voice dangerously low: "Why?" I didn't answer. "Why?!" He asked again, his volume rising sharply. "The baby was healthy! Why would you abort our child?! Evelyn, have you completely lost your mind?!" "I'm completely sane." "Then tell me why!" he roared. A faint shuffle came from the entryway. Chloe peeked nervously toward the living room before hastily looking back down at the floor. Logan drew in a sharp breath, forcing his voice down: "What happened? Why didn't you talk to me? Is there anything you couldn't have told me?" I looked directly into his eyes. "Talk to you?" "What was I supposed to say? Tell you that you bailed on my checkup again to stay with Chloe? Tell you that your patient is forever more important than your wife? Tell you that after going through six ultrasounds completely alone, I refuse to raise a child by myself?" His expression shifted into disbelief. "Over this?" He stared at me as if I were insane. "Just because I couldn't make it to your appointment today?!" "It's not about today." "Then what is it about?!" "It's about the fact that you were never there." He went dead silent. "My first appointment, you were with Chloe. My second, you were with Chloe. The third, fourth, fifth, and sixth." "Every single time, it was Chloe. I carried this baby for five months, Logan. Did you accompany me even once? Do you even know how our baby was growing?" He couldn't find words. "You don't know. You don't know a single damn thing. All you cared about was whether Chloe was in a good mood, whether Chloe took her meds on time, whether Chloe could fall asleep." "Evelyn, she is a critically ill patient!" "I know she's a patient!" My voice cracked, shattering into a shout. "But I am your wife! The child in my belly was your baby! What gave you the right to make me wait over and over, stand me up over and over, and force me to walk into that clinic alone every single time?!" He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. "You told me to be sensible. You told me to be understanding. You told me not to get angry. I did all of that! I was sensible! I was understanding! I swallowed my anger! And what did I get in return?" "Nothing changed. You didn't come today, you wouldn't have come tomorrow, and the day after that you'd still tell me Chloe needed you." Hot tears finally broke free, streaming down my cheeks. "I waited for you for five months. I kept telling myself you're a doctor, you have duties, you can't just abandon her. But who was supposed to look after me?!" "I wanted someone to hold my hand at the hospital and tell me everything would be fine! I wanted someone to bring me a glass of water and rub my back when I was throwing up my own stomach acid!" I wiped my wet cheeks violently. "But you were never there. Not once." Logan stood rooted to the spot, unmoving. "That's why I couldn't keep this child." "I refuse to let my baby grow up in a home without a father. I refuse to let my child suffer the way I did."