Carter kept his word, at least superficially. Carmen's name vanished from his lips. The late-night calls stopped. He sent her a termination notice the next day, citing "irreconcilable differences in professional conduct." He proudly showed me the email confirmation, as if a simple piece of paper could erase the gaping wound he' d carved into my heart.
But the silence in our home was heavier than any shouting match. He' d leave for work before I woke, often returning long after I was asleep. Sometimes, I'd find a hastily prepared breakfast on the counter, or a load of my laundry fresh from the dryer. Small, domestic gestures, attempts to mend the fabric of our life, but they felt like patches sewn onto a ghost. I was drifting further and further away, untethered, watching our life from a distance. Our relationship became a delicate balloon, losing air, slowly, imperceptibly, until it had no weight left, just a thin, empty skin.
Then came the nausea. The inexplicable exhaustion. The metallic taste in my mouth. I' d wake up drained, food turned my stomach, and I spent mornings hunched over the toilet, dry heaving. I brushed it off as stress, the lingering trauma of everything.
"You look pale," Carter observed one evening, his eyes scanning me with a detached concern. "Flu going around. I picked up some meds for you." He placed a small plastic bottle on my nightstand. "Take two before bed. You'll feel better."
I took them without a second thought, swallowing the pills with a gulp of water, desperate for any relief. I trusted him. I always had.
The next morning, the nausea was worse, a burning agony in my stomach. Something felt terribly wrong. I drove myself to the nearest clinic, my hands clammy on the steering wheel, a growing unease settling in my gut.
The doctor, a kind-faced woman with tired eyes, looked at me gravely after a series of tests. "Ms. Delaney, you're pregnant."
My world stopped. Pregnant. A baby. Our baby. A wave of conflicting emotions-joy, fear, utter disbelief-washed over me. Then her next words hit me like a physical blow.
"And you mentioned taking some medication? What was it?"
I told her, the name of the over-the-counter painkiller Carter had given me. Her frown deepened. "That specific combination… it's not safe during pregnancy. Especially in the early stages. It can cause serious complications, even miscarriage."
My breath caught. Miscarriage. The word echoed the pain from that night in the loft. Had I… had I already lost it? My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The agonizing wait for the ultrasound results was the longest period of my life. Every second stretched into an eternity, filled with self-recrimination. Why hadn't I noticed? Why hadn't I been more careful? Why had I blindly trusted him?
When the doctor finally returned, her face softer, she said, "The baby is strong, Ms. Delaney. For now, it seems fine. But you need to be extremely careful. No more medication without consulting us, and absolute bed rest for the first trimester."
A sob of pure relief escaped me. A tiny, resilient life was clinging on inside me. My baby. My miracle. The joy was intoxicating, overwhelming. The nausea of before was now a beautiful confirmation, a promise. I devoured a huge meal, feeling ravenous for the first time in weeks, nourishing the life within.
That night, Carter stumbled in well past midnight, smelling of stale liquor and something else-a cloying, sweet perfume that wasn' t mine. His expensive shirt was torn, a nasty bruise blooming on his cheek.
"What happened?" I asked, my voice laced with a concern that was now tinged with resentment.
He waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing. Just a… business dispute." He avoided my eyes, heading straight for the bathroom, the door slamming shut with a finality that echoed the growing chasm between us.
My eyes fell on his phone, lying face down on the coffee table. A notification flashed, a new message. My heart pounded, a terrible premonition coiling in my gut. I picked it up, my fingers trembling as I unlocked it.
The screen illuminated, displaying a chat window. Carmen Wells. My eyes scanned the messages, each word a fresh stab wound.
Carmen: "Thank you again, Carter. You always know how to make everything better. Mr. Jiang was so upset, I don't know what I would have done without you."
Carter: "Anything for you, Carmen. You know I'll always protect you and Leo. You're family."
Carmen: "Family… It feels so good to hear that. I just wish… I wish we could be a real family. Leo needs a father like you."
Carter: "Soon, Carmen. Just be patient. We've talked about this. I'll take care of you both."
My vision blurred. Leo needs a father like you. Soon, Carmen. The words hammered against my skull. "Mr. Jiang"… that was Carmen' s abusive ex. Carter was still playing the hero, still entangled, still making promises. My baby. Our baby. What would they call him? Uncle Carter? Daddy? My stomach twisted, a searing pain that had nothing to do with the pregnancy. I was discarded, forgotten. Again.
I scrolled further, my breath catching in my throat. Another message, an older one, from Carter to Carmen.
Carter: "I can't marry her, Carmen. Not yet. Not when you need me. And besides, I hate the idea of a 'forced' proposal. I want it to be perfect, for you."
A forced proposal. He was supposed to propose tonight. On our anniversary. The locket. The argument. The money. It wasn't about Carmen needing him to "calm down." It was about him not wanting to propose to me. He was planning to propose to her.
A guttural cry tore from my throat. My fingers flew across the keyboard, a desperate, irrational fury possessing me. I typed a message to Carmen, venom dripping from every word.
Haven: "You manipulative bitch! Stay away from my husband! And my baby!"
I pressed send, the digital command a desperate plea, a futile challenge. Just as the message delivered, the bathroom door creaked open. Carter stood there, his eyes narrowed, fixed on his phone in my hand. He looked like a predator.
"What are you doing with my phone, Haven?" His voice was low, dangerous. The air crackled with unspoken threats.
