He Thought I Cheated, Beat Me Until I Lost Our Baby, Then Learned It Was His

The moment I told my husband I was pregnant, he accused me of cheating. "Whose baby is this?" he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. I begged him to believe me, but his foot ruthlessly slammed into my stomach, and the room spun as he roared, "You cheating Liar!"

Tears burned my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "Fine. If you don't believe me, let's do a paternity test."

Connor didn't even hesitate.

That was when I knew, he didn't trust me. Not even a little.

I packed a bag and left for my parents' house that night, unwilling to spend another second under the same roof as a man who thought so little of me.

The results would be ready in three days. We agreed to meet at the hospital to get them together. If the baby was his, he'd kneel and apologize. If not, I'd sign the divorce papers and walk away with nothing.

For the next three days, Connor didn't call. Didn't text.

Nothing.

I told my mom I was done. Once the results came in, I was aborting the baby and getting out of his life for good.

"Emma, give him a chance," she pleaded. "Connor loves you. You've been trying for so long, and he never blamed you for it. This probably just… caught him off guard."

I hesitated. Maybe she had a point. Connor had always wanted a child. Maybe this was just his way of coping with the shock.

Maybe once he saw the results, he'd regret everything.

So, I decided, I'd hear him out.

The morning of the results, I overslept.

Just as I was about to leave for the hospital, the doorbell rang.

I rushed to open it, expecting to see Connor with an apology on his lips.

Instead, his palm cracked across my face.

Hard.

I tasted blood. My ears rang. My vision blurred.

I staggered back, gripping the doorframe for balance. "Connor, what the hell?!"

Another slap.

The impact sent me crashing into the table. Dishes, picture frames, everything went flying.