The next day, I had to deal with a document before I could eat breakfast. My father gently slid a thin envelope on the night table.
“It’s for you,” he said quietly then left.
My fingers felt numb. The envelope was heavy in the way only bad news could be. I opened it with care. I scanned straight to the last page—Nick had signed the divorce papers. His name scrawled across the line where our marriage ended.
I shouldn’t cry but the tears came hard and fast, slipping down my cheeks before I could stop them. My chest tightened until breathing felt impossible. My hands trembled, the paper crumpling at the edges.
I pressed my fist to my mouth to keep quiet, but the sound still escaped—small, broken, humiliating. That’s when the cramps started.
Sharp, twisting pains deep in my stomach, so sudden I doubled over. Fear surged hotter than the grief. I couldn’t risk anything happening to the baby—not now, not ever.
I grabbed my bag and called a private car, giving the driver the address of my destination.
_______________________________________________
St. Clarisse Wellness Center
The clinic was one of the city’s most discreet, high-end clinics—frosted glass doors, manicured hedges, and an entrance so private it could have been a luxury hotel.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of jasmine, the lighting soft, the marble floors gleaming. Patients in tailored clothes sat with glossy magazines. I checked in under my maiden name and sank into one of the leather chairs, my hands still shaking.
Then the glass doors opened. A familiar feminine laugh was the first thing I heard—Helga. She wore a cream silk dress, her hair pulled into a sleek knot, one manicured hand confidently resting on Nick’s arm as they walked in.
And my ex-husband, immaculate in his suit, went straight to the reception desk. “She’s here for her prenatal appointment,” he said, nodding toward Helga.
The receptionist smiled and handed her a clipboard. Nick turned then, and his eyes landed on me. His stride faltered in a snap.
“Mia?” His voice cut through the soft music.
Helga turned too, her lips curving into a perfect, poisonous smile. “What a coincidence.” Her gaze swept me from head to toe, stopping at my midsection. “And what brings you here, hm?”
“Consultation,” I said evenly.
Her brows lifted, her tone dripping with feigned innocence. “For what exactly?”
I didn’t answer. Nick’s gaze shifted between us, something uncertain flickering across his face.
Helga tightened her grip on his arm. “Come on, Nick. We shouldn’t keep the doctor waiting.”
But as they walked toward the private suites, Nick glanced back. Once. Twice.
And for the first time since I saw his signature on those papers, I caught the judgment and doubt in his eyes.
