I Hid My Pregnancy: The Dilemma Between Motherhood and Forced Abortion.

Sometimes life forces a woman to make decisions she’s not prepared for. I don’t justify the lie—but in my case, I saw no other option.

My husband and I have been together for over fifteen years. We have three children. We’ve weathered many storms together: financial hardship, sleepless nights, exhaustion, debts, moving houses. We faced everything side by side. Just when I had finally returned to work after maternity leave, and we had started to breathe a little easier, the test showed two lines.

At first, I thought it was a mistake. How? Why now? I stood in the bathroom, holding that small plastic stick, trying to process what it meant: once again… starting all over.

I knew how my husband would react. He’s not a bad man. He’s rational. Logical. Cold, when it comes to survival. Even with our third child, he barely agreed. Not because he lacked love, but because he’s a man of numbers. A fourth child—now that we were finally clearing our debts and the mortgage wasn’t strangling us—would seem like a catastrophe to him.

And there was more. At the first ultrasound, I learned I wasn’t carrying just one baby—but two. Twins. A girl and a boy.

Saying I was in shock doesn’t begin to cover it. The doctor pointed to the screen, but I stopped listening. The world went quiet. Sitting on the examination table, my fingers numb, I felt like I was falling into a void.

At home, I delayed telling him. Until one night at dinner, I finally whispered,
“I’m pregnant.”

Alejandro exhaled. No shouting, no drama. He nodded silently. Minutes later, he said,
“We’ll get through this. I just hope it’s not twins.”

Trying to prepare him, I said,
“I saw an old coworker at the clinic today. She has three kids and is now expecting twins.”

He laughed, a nervous laugh.
“Five kids? That’s insane. If it were twins, I’d insist on ending the pregnancy.”

That’s when I decided to stay silent. Not lie—just not say everything. I hoped that, in time, he would come to terms with it. I looked into financial aid for large families. I made budget plans. The thought of being pressured into an abortion was soul-crushing.

At the 20-week ultrasound, Alejandro insisted on coming with me. During the scan, the gynecologist smiled and announced,
“Two strong heartbeats. Congratulations—a boy and a girl.”

I held my breath. Alejandro stared at the screen, expressionless. His face went pale. We left in silence. In the car, he finally asked,
“Did you already know?”

I shook my head.
“No. They said it was still early and not clear… I didn’t believe it myself.”

He didn’t believe me. I could tell. But he didn’t argue. He shut down emotionally. Days passed. Then, something changed.

He started talking to our children about “the two new siblings.” He looked at strollers, cribs, parenting blogs. A few weeks later, he brought up moving. I didn’t understand how—with our modest income. Then a letter arrived: a distant aunt had passed away, leaving me a modest house on the outskirts of Madrid. We sold our apartment and used the money to renovate the inherited home.

Last month, I gave birth. A girl and a boy. Our treasures. Alejandro held my hand during labor. He cried when he held our son. I had never seen him so emotional—not even with our older kids.

Now, he rocks them to sleep, sings lullabies, cooks, and soothes them. The older children help proudly. Our home is filled with the warmth I always dreamed of.

Only one thing haunts me: he doesn’t know that I already knew. That I kept quiet about words that could have torn us apart. I remain silent, afraid to lose his trust. To him, the truth is sacred. But I chose silence—for the future. For them. For us.

Every time he hugs the twins, I ask myself, “Did I do the right thing?” And when I see him happy, devoted, radiant with love, I whisper to myself,
“You saved this family. You made the right choice.”

But if one day he finds out…
Will he forgive me?
Or will it destroy everything we fought so hard to rebuild?