The Price of Choosing Her Over Our Baby

Joanna's POV

My husband Ronald's best friend Clyde died three months ago, and with his last breath, he made Ronald promise to take care of his pregnant widow, Jennifer. From that moment, Jennifer invaded our lives, and I was only four months pregnant at the time.

Then Jennifer got caught in a gang shootout. She needed an emergency blood transfusion, and she had this rare blood type—Rhnull. Turns out, I'm Rhnull too.

To save Jennifer and her baby, Ronald forced me to abort mine.

...

Hearing Ronald tell the doctor without hesitation to abort my baby, I couldn't breathe, and I had to grab the wall to stay upright. "What did you just say?"

He turned to face me, and I saw pain in his eyes, but underneath it all was something absolutely immovable. "Clyde was my best friend, Joanna. I promised him I'd protect Jennifer and the baby. I can't let them die."

"But this is YOUR baby!" I grabbed his arm, nails digging through his sleeve. "Ronald, do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get pregnant? Two years of trying! The doctors said it was nearly impossible!"

His jaw clenched and he wouldn't meet my eyes. "We're still young. We can try again after you recover. But Clyde's baby, there's only one chance to save Clyde's baby."

I stared at this man who'd promised to love and protect me, and suddenly I was looking at a complete stranger.

"Mrs. Morganis crashing!" A nurse burst out of the OR, "We need that match NOW or we're going to lose her!"

Before I could even process what was happening, Ronald nodded to the nurses. Hands grabbed me, dragging me toward the prep room. I twisted, struggled, but there were too many.

"No! Wait, please wait!" I was screaming, "Ronald! RONALD! Don't let them do this! I'll never forgive you, do you hear me? NEVER!"

But he'd already turned his back, already walking toward Jennifer's room.

They strapped me down on a gurney and I kept fighting the restraints.

"Please," I begged. "Please, there has to be another way. Can't you find different blood? Can't you—"

"Hold her steady," someone ordered.

More hands pressed down on my shoulders, my legs, pinning me in place.

The first wave of pain came so suddenly and so intensely that I couldn't even scream, it locked in my throat, choking me. Then came the pulling, the scraping, the sensation of something being ripped away from deep inside my body where it was supposed to be safe.

My baby.

"Stop!" The words came out as a sob. "Please stop, God, it hurts so much—"

"We're moving as quickly as we can, Mrs. Russo."

But quick wasn't quick enough, the pain kept coming in waves.

"Please!" I was barely coherent now. "Please don't take my baby, please—"

Nobody answered me.

When the pain peaked, I screamed. Then everything went black.

When I woke up, it was still raining outside.

My abdomen felt hollow, that thrilling sensation of life moving inside me replaced by cold, stabbing pain. I was in a private recovery room with an IV in my hand.

The door opened and Ronald walked in, exhausted, holding white lilies, Jennifer's favorite flowers.

" Joanna. You're awake." His voice was careful, "The doctor said everything went well. Jennifer's stable. She's going to make it."

I stared at the ceiling, my throat too tight to speak.

He set the flowers on the nightstand and reached for my hand, I jerked away. "Don't be like this," he said quietly. "It was an emergency. Jennifer is Clyde's widow, if she'd died, how could I face him? You're a Russo. You understand how family works. How loyalty works."

"Loyalty?" My voice was barely a whisper. "You butchered our baby and you want to talk about loyalty?"

His jaw tightened. "Watch it. There was no other choice. I've already arranged for the best post-op care. Once you're recovered, we'll try again. I owe you one, name it. The villa in Sicily? That yacht you wanted?"

I finally looked at him, and something in my chest felt completely dead. "What's a life worth to you, Ronald? Or are we just things you own? Things you can sacrifice whenever it's convenient?"

"Don't start with the drama." He was getting defensive now, guilty and angry at the same time. "I'm exhausted. Jennifer still needs monitoring. Just rest and stop bringing this up."

He turned to leave.

"Take your flowers," I said, voice like ice. "They smell like death."

He froze, then walked out and slammed the door.

I ripped the IV from my hand, watching blood drip onto white sheets. I couldn't feel it, everything had gone quiet.

I pulled my phone from under the pillow, hands shaking as I dialed a number I'd memorized but never had the guts to call.

"Yeah." His voice was rough velvet.

"You told me once that if I ever changed my mind, your door would be open." My voice came out steadier than I felt.

A pause. Then a low chuckle that sent chills down my spine.

"Well, I have," I continued. "Changed my mind, I mean. I want to marry you, Sinclair. One month."