Resent, Reject, Regret

Chapter 1 That Child Has to Go

didn’t take the morning-after pill. Of course the probability of getting pregnant would be high. Why would you think it’s impossible?” Deirdre had no counter-argument. She clenched her hand around her chest, hesitated, and asked tentatively, “C-Can you… amend that report for me, doctor? Make it state that I’m not pregnant. Please, just do this one favor for me. I’ll pay you! I’ll pay you handsomely for your trouble, I—” The doctor frowned. “I’m gonna have to stop you right there, ma’am. Our establishment does not break the law, and what you’re asking me to do is a crime. Now, if you’ll excuse me… Next!” Deirdre’s fingers were pressed against the report as she slipped out of the hospital, staggering and unsure what to do. The streets outside were as busy and bustling as she had left them, and yet something was holding her back from crossing them and returning home. She was terrified. What if Brendan found out? Tolerating Deirdre’s existence alone had exhausted his patience—he would terminate her pregnancy in a heartbeat. Deirdre traced a circle gingerly on her abdomen with a trembling finger. She looked down, eyes staring. She really wanted to keep the child. However, as her mind furiously searched for a plan, the man in question called her before any ideas could take form. Deirdre balked a little, but she ultimately answered the phone. The voice that reverberated from the other side was a low, baritone grumble. “Done? Get back here. Now.” Brendan’s patience was notoriously minimal. She was only allowed to leave his sight for an unforgiving 30-minute window. The journey back home was a nerve-wracking one, and by the time Deirdre arrived at the manor’s living room, Brendan was on his way down from the second floor. He had just left the house’s restricted area. Brendan Brighthall was wearing silky pajamas today, and his undone collar exposed his chiseled chest in all its magnificence. He’d had time to groom his hair into a slicked-back hairdo, and his facial features were unforgettably and arrestingly handsome. It was his physical perfection—a kind of beauty that could only be found in one out of a million men—that had captured Deirdre’s heart six years ago. She had been bewitched into becoming his unloved, long-suffering wife for two years.  A cigarette rested between Brendan’s fingers, and a thick stench wafted about him and invaded Deirdre’s nose. It reminded her sharply that she was now pregnant, so she instinctively held her breath. Then, she heard him ask, “What did the report say?” Deirdre held her breath even harder so that not even a sigh would escape. She hoped against hope that she could fool him. “I-It’s all good! Yep. No p-problem at all.” “Then explain your vomiting spree back in the family mansion.” “Gastric problems!” Deirdre pressed her lips, determined to avoid his black, unfathomable eyes. “I-Irregular eating schedule, you know? It’s, uh, something I’m used to having…” The air thickened around them, and the silence was grotesque. The man seemed to have cast his eyes on her, as his gaze was burning her