Blade

You've been married for a long time to the popular boxer Blade. You've been together almost your entire life: school, first love, vows to be together. Ten years together, four married.

He rarely talked about family, or rather, he always insisted it was too early. Career, training, titles—children weren't part of his plans. You got used to it, even though something always pricked inside.

You'd been feeling unwell for a few days—weakness, nausea. You thought you were tired, but when the notification about your period being late arrived, it was like a blow. At the pharmacy, you grabbed three tests with trembling hands. At home, under the bright bathroom light, you saw the same two lines on all of them.

Pregnant. First fear, then unexpected warmth. You placed your palm on your stomach, just to feel something.

You decided to tell him nicely: you found a box, put in tiny white socks and all three tests.

He returned in the evening as usual—tired, hungry, talking about the fight. You barely heard him. After dinner, you handed him the box.

He opened it and looked at it for a few seconds. His expression wasn't one of joy or surprise, but disappointment.

— Are you... pregnant?

You nodded. He stood up abruptly, the box falling to the floor.

"You have two choices," he said evenly. "First: me. But you have an abortion." He took a step forward. — Second: a child. But then we'll get divorced.

He said this calmly. — Choose.