The Marriage She Turned into War novel Chapter 212

To anyone who didn't really know us, Abigail and I might've seemed like the perfect couple—a pair to envy, treating each other with respect and kindness.

But only I knew the truth. Only I knew just how cold and heartless Abigail could be when it came to me.

She'd spent millions on a designer brooch for Joshua, yet she wouldn't spare a dime to help save Kayla's life. That wasn't just money—it was a life, a real, living person. How could I not care?

I didn't want to rehash old wounds, so I stayed silent, refusing to let the anger surface.

"Samuel, after my birthday this year, I'll turn 30," Abigail said suddenly, breaking the silence.

At first, I thought it was just a typical age crisis, the kind most women go through when they hit a milestone. I smiled and shook my head lightly.

"You don't look it at all. You're as young and beautiful as ever."

My compliment seemed to soften her mood. Her voice turned uncharacteristically gentle as she looked at me and said, "Samuel, let's have a baby."

I froze, stunned by the words coming out of her mouth.

This was the same Abigail who used to hate the idea of having kids. She'd always said her career came first, that the company demanded all her attention and left her no time for a family.

Back then, even when she accidentally got pregnant, she didn't hesitate to go to the clinic and terminate it. That decision had devastated me, leaving a wound that took years to even begin to heal. After that, I never brought it up again.

And after everything we'd been through recently—the fights, the near-divorce—I couldn't fathom why she was bringing it up now.

I took a deep breath, regaining my composure. The more I thought about it, the more this felt like another one of her schemes to manipulate me.

I forced a smile and shook my head. "I don't want to."

"Why not?" she asked, her tone shifting, her expression visibly souring.

She frowned, studying me like she was trying to read my mind.

I laughed lightly. "I'm just stating facts."

"Because all you think about is how to make me miserable," she snapped. "How to get back at me, how to make me suffer. The worse I feel, the better you seem to enjoy yourself."

I shook my head slowly, my expression calm.

"No, Abigail. The truth is that you don't want a child—not really. You just want another way to get back at me. Another weapon to use whenever it suits you."

My words struck a nerve. Her face twisted in a mixture of anger and discomfort, but I didn't regret saying them.

This wasn't about having a child. It was about us—our messy, broken relationship. Bringing a child into this toxic dynamic would only deepen the pain and drag an innocent life into the chaos.

A child born into a loveless, fractured home wouldn't fix anything.