As night fell, I knew I had to act. This was my golden chance. Marcus had left the house, claiming he had some sort of impromptu business meeting, but I knew better.
A scoff escaped my lips. “An impromptu meeting at 10 p.m.? What a joke.”
To think I had fallen for his numerous lies in the past made a sharp pain grip my chest, and I shuddered.
How could I have been so stupid not to see the signs? Signs that he was cheating and that he had only married me for wealth and power.
Tears began to prickle at the corners of my eyes, but I tightened my grip on my luggage, seeking support from the nightmare reality that had become my life.
“No use crying over spilled milk,” I muttered, heaving a deep sigh that did little to ease the tension in my chest.
With a determined look, I wheeled my suitcase out of the penthouse and into the night.
---
When I reached Claire’s house, I scrambled out of the car. I rushed to the door, barely registering the buzz of the intercom.
“Claire, open up!” I half-yelled.
The door opened, revealing Claire. Her eyes dropped as she took in my expression. She stood frozen for a moment before moving to hug me.
“My God, Sasha,” she whispered, her warm hands circling around my back. “What happened to you?”
I whimpered against her neck, holding her close for warmth, because my blood had run cold ever since I found out about Marcus.
“I’m done, Claire,” I sniffed, dragging the snort back inside. “I’m done with him. I just can’t keep living like this.” My voice broke, and I felt Claire’s shoulders slump as she held me tighter.
When my sobs finally quieted, she pulled back slightly, wiping the tears from my cheeks.
“Okay,” she said, her voice calm and soothing. “You’re safe here. You don’t have to explain it all right now. Just breathe. We’ll figure it out.”
I nodded, but even as I did, I knew the truth of my situation wasn’t so simple.
The days that followed were a blur. I stayed at Claire’s, trying to get my bearings, but unease gnawed at me.
I couldn’t shake the feeling that something—something big—was about to come crashing down.
Then came the day of my routine check-up.
I had barely made it to the clinic, because with each passing day, my strength felt drained with fear of what marcus might do next realizing that I disappeared.
I wasn’t even thinking about the baby, not really. I was just trying to survive, to figure out what came next.
I sat in the sterile white room, the smell of antiseptic making me feel even more dizzy.
When the doctor finally walked in, he had that calm demeanor—the one doctors always have when they don’t want to alarm you but know they have to. He smiled at me briefly before sitting down, his gaze focused on the papers in front of him.
“Sasha, the blood test results came back,” he said, his voice even. “There’s something unusual in the genetic markers.”
I froze, my heart stopping for a moment as my throat went dry. “What do you mean?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
The doctor hesitated, glancing at the chart again before meeting my gaze. “It seems your child’s genetic markers suggest a paternal match that isn’t Marcus.”
“What?” My eyes bulged as I gripped the hem of my shirt tightly.
The world tilted beneath me. My stomach churned, and the walls seemed to close in around me. “What do you mean?” I repeated, my voice now shaky.
“I mean,” the doctor continued carefully, “it’s possible that someone else is the father.”
My breath caught in my throat, my vision blurring as my world unraveled in front of me.
“No... that’s not possible,” I whispered, my heart racing. I looked down at my hands, as if trying to grasp something solid in this new, terrifying reality.
