Resent, Reject, Regret By Aqua Summers Chapter 1

Chapter 1 That Child Has to Go

“Mrs. McKinney? Congratulations! You’re one month along!” The doctor’s excitement only made
Deirdre McKinnon’s face pale. It was as though something had drained every drop of blood from her
body. “Are you, uh, sure?” she asked gingerly. “I’m certain what I had was just gastric pain. I don’t think
a pregnancy would be even possible. Can you just… check again?” “Mrs. McKinney, have you had sex
in the past month?” “Y-Yes?” “Did you use protection? Did you take the morning-after pill?” Deirdre
thought about all those times Brendan had ravaged her and shook her head. “There we go,” the doctor
concluded with a smile, as though he could not understand her incredulity. “You had unprotected sex
and didn’t take the morning-after pill. Of course the probability of getting pregnant would be high. Why
would you think it’s impossible?” Deirdre had no counter-argument. She clenched her hand around her
chest, hesitated, and asked tentatively, “C-Can you… amend that report for me, doctor? Make it state
that I’m not pregnant. Please, just do this one favor for me. I’ll pay you! I’ll pay you handsomely for your
trouble, I—” The doctor frowned. “I’m gonna have to stop you right there, ma’am. Our establishment
does not break the law, and what you’re asking me to do is a crime. Now, if you’ll excuse me…
Next!” Deirdre’s fingers were pressed against the report as she slipped out of the hospital, staggering
and unsure what to do. The streets outside were as busy and bustling as she had left them, and yet
something was holding her back from crossing them and returning home. She was terrified. What if
Brendan found out? Tolerating Deirdre’s existence alone had exhausted his patience—he would
terminate her pregnancy in a heartbeat. Deirdre traced a circle gingerly on her abdomen with a
trembling finger. She looked down, eyes staring. She really wanted to keep the child. However, as her
mind furiously searched for a plan, the man in question called her before any ideas could take
form. Deirdre balked a little, but she ultimately answered the phone. The voice that reverberated from
the other side was a low, baritone grumble. “Done? Get back here. Now.” Brendan’s patience was
notoriously minimal. She was only allowed to leave his sight for an unforgiving 30-minute window. The
journey back home was a nerve-wracking one, and by the time Deirdre arrived at the manor’s living
room, Brendan was on his way down from the second floor. He had just left the house’s restricted



area. Brendan Brighthall was wearing silky pajamas today, and his undone collar exposed his chiseled
chest in all its magnificence. He’d had time to groom his hair into a slicked-back hairdo, and his facial
features were unforgettably and arrestingly handsome. It was his physical perfection—a kind of beauty
that could only be found in one out of a million men—that had captured Deirdre’s heart six years ago.
She had been bewitched into becoming his unloved, long-suffering wife for two years. A cigarette
rested between Brendan’s fingers, and a thick stench wafted about him and invaded Deirdre’s nose. It
reminded her sharply that she was now pregnant, so she instinctively held her breath. Then, she heard
him ask, “What did the report say?” Deirdre held her breath even harder so that not even a sigh would
escape. She hoped against hope that she could fool him. “I-It’s all good! Yep. No p-problem at
all.” “Then explain your vomiting spree back in the family mansion.” “Gastric problems!” Deirdre
pressed her lips, determined to avoid his black, unfathomable eyes. “I-Irregular eating schedule, you
know? It’s, uh, something I’m used to having…” The air thickened around them, and the silence was
grotesque. The man seemed to have cast his eyes on her, as his gaze was burning her from above the
stairs. Deirdre bit her lip and clenched her hands in a panic. Just as she thought her jig was up,
Brendan walked past her and headed to the couch. “Lunch. I’m hungry.” Deirdre was stunned. Relief
dawned upon her in small but tangible doses, and she dashed into the kitchen. She had always been
good at cooking. Her meals contributed a lot to the scarce peace that existed between the two of them
outside of their monthly gatherings at the family mansion. Brendan adored her cooking enough that he
sometimes came here just to help himself to it. Still, the biggest reason he ever showed up here was
because he wanted to see… her. The meal was ready in half an hour. It was a modest course, and
Deirdre filled Brendan’s bowl with chicken broth and took a seat by his side. She then ate in
silence. She had not always been this graceful and elegant. Brendan had hammered all that upper-
class decorum into her throughout the years so that she would now emulate some sort of composure.
At least her eating habits were no longer jarring to observers. There were still some things Deirdre
could not replicate. She could never, for example, exude as much elegance and class as Brendan. No
one could possibly get bored of watching him eat. She got to her feet, ready to wash the dishes as
soon as the meal was over. As she reached out for the dishes he had used, Brendan suddenly spoke



up. “I talked to Steven. You’re going out with him later.” Steven Young? That was Brendan’s personal
assistant. Deirdre froze mid-action. “Where are we going?” she asked hastily. “Do they want me to visit
the family mansion today? Or is this about her old friend… Um, if it’s nothing urgent, can we postpone
the visit until tomorrow? I just had a check-up, so I was hoping I could—” “You’re going to the
hospital.” He did not even look up from the table as cruel words fell out of his lips. “I really thought
you’d play ball and take your pills, Deirdre. That child has to go.”

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