The cold autumn wind bit at my skin as I walked through the cobblestone streets of Vienna. The crisp air seemed to match the hollow feeling in my chest. The evening had started so promisingly, with Christian at my side. He was my life partner, the person I had built everything with—my business, our shared dreams, and, until tonight, my trust.
But now? Now I stood on the edge of losing it all.
It had happened at the company party, in front of everyone, in front of colleagues I had known for years. Christian, my husband, let himself be held by a younger woman, his assistant. She was beautiful, radiant in a way I had never seen him with me. And the worst part? He didn’t even have the decency to pull away when I entered the room. He didn’t look guilty; instead, he just smiled and leaned into her embrace.
I felt paralyzed, like the world around me had stopped. My heart raced, but my legs wouldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. I stared at the two of them, and the laughter, the clinking glasses, the music all became a blur. I couldn’t hear anything but the sound of my own pulse in my ears.
I couldn’t stay there, couldn’t face them. Without thinking, I turned on my heel and walked out of the venue, stepping into the cold night air. I didn’t know where I was going, only that I had to escape. I felt suffocated by the humiliation.
I wandered through the streets of Vienna until I found myself near the back exit of the building. There, propped against a grimy wall, stood a man. His clothes were tattered, his face bruised and scratched. There was something in his eyes—a deep sadness that mirrored my own. I didn’t know him, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he, too, was lost.
Without thinking, I approached the doorman, telling him the man was an old acquaintance, and asked him to call a taxi. I didn’t care about the lie, and I certainly didn’t care about the judgment. I just needed to do something, anything to get away from the pain. The man, his name was Arthur, didn’t say much on the ride. His eyes were tired, distant, as if the weight of the world was bearing down on him. His apartment was small, almost suffocating. The air smelled of stale coffee and yellowed books.
We didn’t speak much that night. There was no grand conversation, no confessions, no promises. Just two people, both broken, both searching for something. Maybe it was anger, maybe rebellion, maybe the desperate need for human touch after feeling invisible for so long. I stayed.
And the next morning, I left without saying a word. It was as though the night had never happened, as though it was a strange dream that I could shake off. I returned to my life, to the lies, to Christian, to the mask I wore every day. But something had changed. Something deep inside me had shifted.
A few weeks later, the test came back positive.
I stared at the little pink lines on the plastic stick, my heart racing. I had never felt more confused in my life. Who was the father of this child? Was it Christian, still trying to win back my trust with empty promises and apologies? Or was it Arthur, the stranger who had been as lost as I was, whose name I barely knew?
I couldn’t bear the uncertainty. The confusion twisted inside me, threatening to overwhelm me. I had to make a choice, and yet, I didn’t know how. Christian had been begging me to give him another chance. He claimed the embrace at the party was nothing, just a moment of weakness. But I knew better. The betrayal felt too raw, too real. I had caught him, and no amount of excuses would ever take away the humiliation.
So, I made an appointment at the clinic. It was the only option that seemed to make sense at the time. I couldn’t keep this child. I wasn’t ready for it. I couldn’t bring a baby into a life of lies, into a marriage that felt like a shell.
The day of the consultation came, and I stood outside the clinic, holding my medical file in hand. My heart was heavy, my body tense. I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing, but it was the only thing I could do to escape the overwhelming flood of fear and confusion.
As I stood in the white hallway, waiting for my name to be called, something unexpected happened. I wasn’t prepared for it. The door to the consultation room opened, and a young nurse looked at me with kind eyes.
“Are you Mrs. Sullivan?” she asked.
I nodded, my throat dry.
“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake,” she said softly. “You’ve been scheduled for a different procedure. This is a fertility clinic.”
I froze, my blood running cold. Was this some kind of sign? Had I made the wrong decision? I felt a wave of nausea wash over me, but it wasn’t from fear. It was from the realization that, perhaps, I wasn’t ready to let go of this child. Not yet.
The nurse led me to another room, where I was left alone to think, to process. I sat on the sterile white chair, staring at the empty space before me. My mind raced, my emotions tangled in knots. Was I truly ready to erase this part of me, to pretend it never existed?
I thought of Christian’s face, his promises, his lies. I thought of Arthur, the broken man I’d met in the street, and the connection we’d shared, however brief. I thought of the life growing inside me, the potential it held, the future it could offer.
I didn’t know what I was going to do. But in that moment, I realized something I hadn’t known before: I wasn’t alone in this. I had choices. And for the first time, I was going to make one for myself.
As the nurse returned, I stood up. “I’m not sure what I need yet,” I said, my voice shaking but strong. “But I need some time.”
The nurse nodded, understanding. “Take all the time you need.”
As I left the clinic, the weight on my chest seemed a little lighter. The road ahead was unclear, but for the first time, I felt like I was walking it on my own terms.