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She never wanted to have children.
She had never desired them, and the mere idea felt like a death sentence… or perhaps something worse.
So she should be satisfied, right?
Wednesday clenched her fists tightly, wrinkling the fabric of her dress until it lost its shape. Her gaze was fixed on the floor, trying to drown out the tumult of emotions and thoughts overwhelming her mind.
The door to the room opened, and the distant voice of the doctor filled the air with instructions she didn't hear. The mattress beside her dipped, pulling her momentarily out of her trance. She turned her head slightly and saw Tyler’s legs. His old denim jeans were covered in splatters of pastel-colored paint, and she tightened her fists even more.
“How are you feeling, babe?” Tyler asked gently, reaching out to touch her.
She sprang to her feet before his skin could brush against hers.
“Don’t call me that,” she said coldly, almost cuttingly. Those were the first words she had spoken to him.
Wednesday strode toward the exit, hearing Tyler hurry after her, carrying her bags and the small suitcase with her belongings. She caught a glimpse of their reflections in the elevator’s chrome doors. He was still wearing the same clothes from the previous day—a white T-shirt splattered with blood, a dark blue hoodie, and his worn-out jeans.
Her stomach twisted, and she turned her gaze away from him.
“You shouldn’t be walking,” Tyler said as the elevator doors closed. “The doctor said—”
“I don’t care what he said.”
“Wednesday—” his voice was soft, almost placating.
“Don’t talk to me like that,” she snapped, grinding her teeth.
Tyler let out a deep sigh, and Wednesday turned her face away from him. The walk to the car was exhausting, but the drive home was even more unbearable. She could feel his lingering glances every so often, as if waiting for her to break down in front of him.
He had to know that wasn’t going to happen.
She was satisfied.
Right?
Wednesday tensed every muscle—her back, her legs, her lips. Her body was a sealed bunker, and her eyes remained fixed ahead.
When they entered the apartment they had shared for years, she walked straight to the bedroom. Wednesday collapsed onto the bed and shut her eyes.
“I’ll make something to eat. Do you want anything?” Tyler asked, but no answer came.
Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the weight of his disappointed gaze. The way his eyes dropped to the floor, the way his smile died before it could fully form.
Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the rage-laden tears gathering, and she refused to let them fall.
She had seen that deception in Tyler before and never wanted to see it again.
The first time was two years ago, when they were told the fetus hadn’t developed and they would need to intervene.
The gynecologist had left them alone, her abdomen exposed, the screen displaying the desolate emptiness of her womb.
“Are you okay?” Tyler had asked, though it was his voice that cracked.
He had looked at her with that same gentle pity, stroked her cheek, and assured her everything would be fine.
The second time was five months later.
They hadn’t even known about the pregnancy until a terrible hemorrhage had taken her to the hospital, where the doctor explained she needed a dilation and curettage.
Wednesday hadn’t needed much explanation to understand what had happened. With her heart in a vice, she had watched Tyler closely. The surprise, the disbelief, and finally, the pain.
“It was a spontaneous miscarriage,” the doctor stated. “There’s nothing we can do.”
Tears welled in Tyler’s eyes, his shoulders sinking under the weight of it all. He lowered his gaze, cleared his throat, and yet, his voice was barely a whisper of what it usually was.
“But… will Wednesday be okay?”
The doctor nodded, and once again, Tyler promised her everything would be fine.
Wednesday turned onto her side and tried to curl her knees to her chest. Her abdomen, still swollen, wouldn’t allow it. Without thinking, she placed a hand over her stomach, cradling it with grief.
Things were not fine.
Tyler was not fine.
They were not fine.
She had seen it the night before, while he thought she was still asleep. Wednesday had barely opened her eyes when she caught sight of him, collapsed on the couch across from her bed. His hands covered his face, muffling his cries, but his shoulders shook uncontrollably. He looked like a lost child. She had wanted to comfort him, to say something that would ease his pain, but the guilt pressing her into the mattress was stronger than any sedative.
Because, even if Tyler never said it aloud, Wednesday knew the truth: this time, she was the only one to blame.
So instead, she had closed her eyes and pretended not to hear the heartbreaking sobs that clenched at her chest.
The bedroom door opened again, and Tyler placed a sandwich on the bedside table. He knelt beside her. Wednesday felt the shadow of his hand hover over her head, but this time, Tyler withdrew it. He let out a deep sigh and walked away.
He didn’t caress her face, nor did he tell her everything would be fine.
Wednesday’s stomach twisted, and she clutched her belly tighter. A scream lodged in her throat, and she swallowed hard until it dissolved.
The next morning, Wednesday woke up with her body numb and cold. The sandwich still sat on her nightstand, and Tyler’s side of the bed remained empty.
She lowered her gaze to the floor and slid off the bed.
She turned on the bathtub faucet and slowly undressed, keeping her eyes fixed on her reflection.
Her breasts were still swollen, and her five-month belly remained taut and pronounced, as if mocking her and her stupidity.
But she didn’t want children. So everything was fine.
Right?
She turned to the side and ran a hand over what had once been a flat stomach.
A week ago, it had been Tyler who had removed her clothes, admiring her in front of that very mirror. He had knelt before her, pressing reverent kisses to her belly.
“You’re ridiculous,” she had told him, a small, teasing smile on her lips.
Tyler had responded with another string of kisses, then wrapped his arms around her legs.
“You have no idea how much I love you. How much I love both of you,” he had corrected, lowering his gaze and pressing another kiss to her skin.
But Tyler had been wrong. She could see it in his eyes—that he, too, felt his heart swell until it barely fit inside his chest. And all she had wanted was for that feeling to grow and grow until it consumed them entirely.
And the greater the hope, the more painful the disappointment.
Would Tyler ever look at her like that again?
No.
Could he forgive her for taking away the family he had wanted so desperately?
No.
Wednesday let her hand fall.
She slipped into the bathtub and closed her eyes.
The memories of the last twenty-four hours swarmed her mind. The abduction, the chase, the accident. Wednesday looked at her wrists, still raw from the metal shackles, and her back, bruised deep from her shoulder blade to her waist. She remembered how her head had slammed against the car window, how everything had felt distant, how a constant ringing had drilled into her ears.
She had crawled out of the wreckage , only for Gideon to seize her by the hair.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he had sneered, yanking her up and pressing her against him. “That Hyde inside you is mine. Remember?”
Wednesday had wanted to curse him, but the only thing that escaped her lips was a sharp cry of pain. She felt a viscous warmth trickle down her legs.
No, she thought desperately. Not again.
She felt the cold bite of Gideon’s knife against her abdomen, his sour breath brushing her ear.
“You were the one who told me to find my own Hyde, weren’t you?”
“This one is mine too,” she managed through gritted teeth. The blood was pooling at her feet, an unbearable chill settling over her.
“You shouldn’t be so greedy, Addams. That was my mistake.”
And indeed, that had been his mistake.
Tyler had arrived then, tearing through anyone who stood in his way. Gideon tightened his grip, pressing the blade deeper. A thin rivulet of blood ran down her belly.
The Hyde stopped in his tracks. His bloodshot eyes locked onto Wednesday’s with helpless rage. There was nothing crueler than seeing a magnificent creature like a Hyde paralyzed by fear and uncertainty. She met his gaze, and her heart clenched.
“If you take one step closer,” Gideon shouted, “I’ll cut this baby out right now.”
The Hyde let out a wretched growl. Wednesday’s belly trembled violently.
But what Gideon hadn’t counted on was her father being there.
A small silver knife sliced through the air, lodging itself between Gideon’s brows. His blood splattered onto Wednesday as his body collapsed behind her.
She fell to her knees.
It was too late. She knew it. She clenched her teeth so hard she thought they might shatter.
She should have reveled in all the pain, but all she felt was helplessness.
No.
No.
Please, no.
She didn’t remember when they got to the hospital or when she was rushed into surgery. Only the operating room, the anesthesia mask.
No… not again.
When she woke up, Tyler’s desolate sobs told her everything she needed to know.
Wednesday had wanted to place her hands over her belly, but she held back.
There was no point.
It was empty.
Wednesday shook her head, trying to dispel the memories, and sank lower into the tub. The water engulfed her completely. She forced the air from her lungs, but the tightness in her chest wouldn’t fade. The water pressed down on her, and all she wished was to stay there forever.
Once she was dressed, she hesitated before leaving the room.
Tyler would be on the other side, waiting, silent in his mute accusation.
Wednesday swallowed hard, gathered all the courage she had, and stepped out.
She walked to the kitchen. The apartment was silent.
The moving boxes remained stacked in a corner, and she avoided looking at the newly furnished nursery.
The old Addams family crib.
The endless rocking chairs and toys Tyler had found on some website.
She set the coffee to brew, then poured two cups, her movements slow and deliberate. Each step she took toward the living room felt like crossing an invisible threshold, inching toward the inevitable.
It was over.
It was broken.
She had read once that many relationships did not survive the loss of a child. This was their third time. No one walked away from that intact. The only mercy left was to end it here and now, before they destroyed each other completely.
She had never wanted to fall in love.
She had never dreamed of marriage.
She had never longed for children.
She repeated the words to herself with each step.
Tyler was sprawled across the couch, his sleep restless, his face still blotched with the remnants of grief. His lashes were damp, his breaths uneven. Wednesday stood over him, staring down at the raw, wounded thing he had become, and felt something in her chest clench tight enough to hurt.
She would never wake to find him beside her again. She would never lace her fingers through his curls, never hear the murmur of his voice against her skin.
This would be the last time she made him suffer. It was better this way.
Her gaze dropped to the coffee table, where the house plans still lay. Beside them, the nursery sketches Tyler had insisted on designing himself. The list of names they had fought over. Wednesday gathered it all in her hands and tore it apart with slow, deliberate force.
None of it mattered anymore.
In the span of a heartbeat, nothing mattered anymore.
The sound of paper ripping filled the silence, the sharp, tearing edges cutting as deep as claws through her chest. Her breaths came too fast, too shallow, sticking in her throat like she was drowning.
Tyler’s hands covered hers.
She went still.
Her breath hitched as she met his gaze—bleary, red-rimmed, but steady.
“Tyler, I—” The words collapsed in her throat.
Between them, the torn scraps of their future lay scattered on the floor. Accusing. Irretrievable.
Wednesday swallowed hard and took a step back.
“We never chose a name,” she said, barely above a whisper. “The funeral is in an hour, and we never chose a name.”
Tyler flinched, his features twisting as he sank back onto the couch.
“We’ll pick one later,” he murmured. “Come here.”
He reached for her, but she didn’t move. His sigh was quiet, resigned. He reached instead for the coffee she had made, taking a slow sip.
If he noticed it was from the percolator, he didn’t say anything. Wednesday was grateful for that.
“I know what comes next,” she said finally. She squared her shoulders, her gaze fixed on the fragments of their life littering the carpet. “And I won’t fight it.”
Tyler frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“We can’t go on.” The words sliced through the air between them, a final, brutal incision.
Tyler blinked, as if he hadn’t heard her properly. “What?”
“My enemies will never stop hunting us, and you will never have the family you want.” She kept her eyes on the floor. “I’m freeing you from any obligation to me.”
Silence.
Then, very quietly—too quietly—Tyler asked, “You’re serious?”
“I am.”
His expression flickered—grief bleeding into something darker, sharper. “And you’ve thought this through?”
“I have.”
“I see a lot of flaws in your logic.”
She lifted her gaze, meeting his eyes with a piercing stare. “Oh, do you?”
“I do.”
Tyler stood slowly, his body uncoiling with a quiet sort of tension, something dangerous lurking just beneath the surface. His shadow loomed over her, but Wednesday held her ground.
“You’re forgetting they were our enemies. They wanted him because he could’ve been a Hyde.”
“That doesn’t change anything.”
“It changes everything.” His fingers twitched at his sides, as if resisting the urge to reach for her. “You think you’re doing this for me, but you’re not.”
She exhaled, steady, cold. “You still want a family, Tyler. I don’t.”
His expression hardened.
“You’re lying.”
“I didn’t want him,” she said, her voice flat, merciless.
Tyler’s jaw locked.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I didn’t want him!”
The words tore out of her, raw and ragged, shattering the last fragile barriers between them. The room spun, the weight of it all crushing down on her chest. She gasped, drowning in her own breath—
And then Tyler was there.
Arms around her, warm and solid. The scent of him—earth and rain and something else entirely—wrapped around her senses. Her fingers twisted in his shirt, her body trembling with the force of everything she refused to name.
“Tyler,” she choked out, barely more than a breath.
His hold on her tightened.
“I know,” he murmured. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”
“I can’t do this again. I can’t.”
Tyler pulled back just enough to cup her face in his hands. His thumbs brushed over damp skin.
“You are my family,” he whispered. “You are all I need.”
The rain drummed against the little coffin as it sank into the earth. The rain washed away her silent tears. For this time, Wednesday stayed to listen to each time the earth hit the wooden box. There had been one hundred and seventy-eight shovelfuls. Their friends and family had retreated one by one, seeking refuge inside the Addams mansion, but Tyler had stayed with her long after the gravediggers had left.
The mound of dirt rose up, covering her tiny baby, just as her belly had done for five months. Wednesday bent down and located the small, nameless tombstone.
Tyler crouched down beside her and placed a black dahlia in the dirt.
“I love you,” he said, his voice raw.
He rose and held out his hand. She took it, slowly stood up, gently cupping her empty belly.
His fingers wove through hers, his other hand brushing against her cheek with infinite gentleness.
“I love you,” he whispered again. “I will always love you.”
Something inside her cracked—broke apart, then fused back together, stronger. That's when she knew with absolute certainty.
He was her family.
He was all she needed.
Her hand pressed against his chest, feeling the steady, battered rhythm of his heart. Wednesday parted her lips to speak, but Tyler shook his head.
There was no need.
He already knew.
Together, they walked back toward the mansion. Another scar carved into their bones, another piece of themselves buried in the earth. But still, they remained.
Still, they endured.
Wednesday had never wanted to fall in love. And yet, she loved him more with each passing day.
She never dreamed of getting married. And yet, she had felt something like joy when she saw Tyler waiting at the altar.
She had never wanted children. But still, she held onto hope that someday...
Someday, she promised herself.
She glanced over her shoulder, one last time, silent farewell to the child she never got to hold.
Someday, she would return—with a child to introduce to his older brother.