He Forced Me To Abort Now He Begs Me Back Chapter 02
The next day, Evan knocked on the bedroom door and held out his phone.
“Natalie wants to talk to you.”
The screen showed an active call.
It had clearly never occurred to either of them to ask if I was willing to speak to her.
I put the call on speaker.
Natalie’s tearful voice came through immediately.
“Leah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t want any of this to happen. I’m under so much pressure. Seeing Mason on dialysis every day… I’m just falling apart.”
I didn’t respond.
She sniffled a few times before continuing. “I want to save my son, too, but the doctors said my physical condition wasn’t suitable for continuing the evaluation. You’re our only hope. I’m not trying to force you. I’m just a mother on the verge of losing her child.”
“Really?”
I looked at Evan.
“How’s the plan for trying for a baby coming along?”
The line went dead silent.
Even the fake crying stopped.
A few seconds later, Natalie spoke again, her voice sharp.
“What do you mean?”
“Before you withdrew from the evaluation, you told Evan you couldn’t let it interfere with family planning with your fiancé. How did that suddenly become a medical issue?”
Evan immediately shook his head at me, mouthing, *Go easy on her.*
Natalie suddenly burst into even harder sobs.
“You have no idea what this is like for me as his mother! Mason came from my body. Every day I’m terrified he’s going to die. Why do you have to latch onto one sentence and use it to attack me?”
“I’m not attacking you,” I said evenly.
“I’m asking you to tell the truth.”
She hung up.
Evan took back his phone, his face grim.
“She’s already suffering enough. You didn’t need to push her like that.”
“So calling out a lie is pushing now?”
“Leah, she’s Mason’s mother.”
That line again.
As if that title alone gave her the right to lie—and the right to make someone else pay for it.
That night, Natalie posted a video to both her Instagram and the GoFundMe page for Mason.
It opened with a shot of him lying in a hospital bed, his face pale, medical tape crisscrossing his arm.
Then Natalie appeared on camera, her eyes red and swollen.
“I thought we’d finally found hope. But now that door has closed again.”
The last clip was from the fundraising dinner.
The footage had been edited down to a few seconds: Evan announcing that I had agreed to terminate the pregnancy and resume the donor evaluation, followed by the camera sweeping over me as I sat frozen in the audience.
The caption was a single, devastating sentence:
“When a mother chooses her unborn child over my dying son, my world falls apart.”
She didn’t mention that I had never agreed.
She didn’t mention that she had already passed the initial evaluation.
And she certainly didn’t mention that she had withdrawn voluntarily to try for another baby.
Less than an hour after the video went up, the donation total began to climb at an alarming rate.
The comments section spiraled into a cesspool.
“Of course the evil stepmother only cares about her own child.”
“The one in her belly isn’t even born yet—Mason is a living, breathing child!”
“How does a woman like that deserve to be a mother?”
People dug up my place of work. Others posted my full home address.
Before long, the first death threat landed in my DMs.
“If Mason dies, you and your baby should die with him.”
I didn’t reply. I didn’t close the page, either.
I opened my laptop and started taking screenshots, one by one, beginning with the original Instagram post.
The video, the caption, the time it was posted, the number of shares, the GoFundMe updates, the abusive comments, the doxxing, the death threat.
Every screenshot included the full account name and timestamp.
When Evan got home, I had just saved the sixty-seventh one.
He glanced at my screen, and his brow furrowed.
“Natalie was probably just overwhelmed.”
I turned the laptop toward him.
“Being overwhelmed made her edit a video, write a caption, and post it to two different platforms simultaneously?”
Evan said nothing.
I clicked open the comment with my public address, then pulled up the death threat.
“Strangers know where I live now. They also know I’m pregnant.”
For the first time, his expression flickered.
“I’ll tell her to take it down.”
“If she deletes the posts, will the shares disappear? Will my address vanish from all those people’s phones?”
“What do you want me to do?”
He yanked at his tie in frustration.
“I’m trying to manage Mason’s treatment, the fundraiser, and everything at home. I honestly don’t have the energy to deal with this, too.”
I looked at him for a long moment, then turned back to my laptop.
So, death threats against me and the baby inside me were, to him, just one more thing he didn’t have the energy for.
I labeled all the screenshots by time, compressed them with the original links and screen recordings, and sent everything to my friend—a lawyer.
“Archive all of this for me,” I wrote. “And get the timestamps notarized.”