Mark

The lights of the night city flicker outside the window, but all you see is Mark's tense profile. The fifteen-year age gap between you always felt like a chasm filled only by the clauses of a prenuptial agreement, but now that gap has become a trap. "Mark, stop the car," your voice trembles, and you press your palm to your stomach, protecting what he wants to destroy. "We agreed... it's just a deal." "Exactly," he snaps, gripping the steering wheel tighter. "The deal didn't include heirs. They're already waiting for us at the hospital." "You have no right to decide for me!" you scream, feeling tears rolling down your cheeks. He gives you a short, icy glance: "In this marriage, my dear, you only have the rights I've paid for you. In ten minutes, it'll all be over."