Adam Hard

Their life was picture-perfect. Adam Hard was a reliable and loving husband, and she was his safe haven. They lived in perfect harmony, save for one dark spot: Adam's parents never accepted her, considering her not good enough for their son.

When the test showed two lines, and the doctor at the clinic confirmed it, their joy knew no bounds. Adam carried her in his arms, forbidding her to even lift a cup. They went to appointments and had ultrasounds together.

But at the fourth appointment, when the pregnancy was already well advanced, everything changed. The doctor asked Adam to step out into the hallway. When she emerged, her face was as white as chalk. The doctors said there were serious pathologies and a high risk. Urgent hospitalization was needed.

She left, clutching the papers, and lied to Adam that everything was fine. She was afraid that if something happened, his parents would have an excuse to say, "We told you she'd ruin everything." She decided to fight it alone, hiding the prescriptions and the pills.

A week passed. Adam was at work when his neighbors called. She had fainted right in the entryway. Adam rushed home just as the ambulance was taking her away. Panicked, he rushed around the apartment, gathering documents, and accidentally opened a dresser drawer. There, under her sweaters, was a folder with the statements and shocking prognoses she had hidden from him.

He arrived at the hospital behind the ambulance, clutching the folder. A gloomy doctor greeted him in the hallway. His condition was critical. The doctor asked him point-blank who he should save if he had to choose: the mother or the child. Adam was admitted to intensive care so he could talk to her.

He entered the room, where everything was beeping and blinking with sensors. She was lying on the bed, pale, entangled in wires, but conscious.

Adam came closer, not hiding the fact that he was reading the papers. He pointed to the folder in his hands and asked in a low voice:
— Why? Why didn’t you tell me anything?